Jenn sat in silence next to the corpse of her husband, an untouched glass of brandy cupped between the palms of her slender white hands. It was cold down here in the stone walled basement beneath the manor house, as chill as his lifeless skin, but she did not care in the least. The dim light of a single candle could not penetrate the deep shadows, stopping far short of the boundaries of this subterranean enclosure, but it did illuminate his features and that was all she needed.
She did not know how long she had been down here. It made no difference to her anyway. Neither hunger or thirst had she felt since he had been brought to her. No warmth or discomfort, weariness or regard had touched her. It had all been washed away in a tidal wave of despair, leaving only a yawning pit waiting to be filled and fill it she did.
Her gaze travelled slowly over his face, taking in every detail. She could not force herself to look elsewhere; she did not want to. She wished to fix this image in her mind. How still he lay, how silent. The yellow light glittered on his eyelashes and his thick mane of hair, making them seem like strands of pure gold, more precious to her than any mere metal. It picked out the ruggedly handsome lines of his wide cheek and strong jaw, the soft curve of his forehead, the angular plane of his long nose. It lent a ruddy complexion to his skin, making it seem that the colour had returned, that by some miracle he might breathe again. She willed him to. She wished him to. She yearned to see his chest once more slowly rise from a soft intake of air, to just as gradually fall in exhalation.
She knew that her desire in this matter would go unfulfiled. That knowledge, his image, filled her senses, her mind, her heart. It filled her with anger, anguish and, above all, animosity. Her rage, like her heart now, was a thing made of ice born aloft on wings of vengeance. It would soar, oh how it would soar, when the time came to direct her venom at the one responsible.
As if in answer to some unthought prayer, the trapdoor opened to admit the lanky figure of Ystcild. Jenn turned her gaze to the woman as she closed the door behind her, crossed the wide swath of floor with her long-legged gait and came to a stop next to the granite slab upon which Siward now rested. Ystcild stared down at her dead brother for a time, appearing hesitant to break the deafening silence. Her hands, covered as ever in thick leather gloves, ran slowly along the stonework a bare inch from touching the cadaver as she parted her thin lips to speak.
"I followed the tracks as best I could," her voice echoed into the darkness.
"And?" Jenn asked, derriving a small measure of unwelcomed comfort from the use of their native Rohirric.
"Whoever it was fighting him had small feet. Very small," the taller woman stated with a frown. "Bled a lot though. There was a trail of it leading away from where I found him. About thirty feet from where he lay, the trail ends. Larger feet took over. It looks like someone saved the wretch, carried them away. It would seem Siward gave the person a good going over though, looked like whoever it was had to crawl that distance. I was able to follow the signs until they reached a nearby village, but footprints don't show on cobbles."
Jenn considered the information breifly. Ystcild was a seasoned and skilled hunter of men. It was an extreme rarity that the woman did not find whom she was looking for and she was patient and persistant enough to follow a lead to its conclusion no matter how long it took. Her word could be trusted, especially when the matter was one so close. Siward had been her only family.
"I care not what it takes," Jenn stated flatly. "Search every house in the village if you must, but find whoever did this. Do not make your presence known. Do not confront them directly. Return to me when you know."
"And then?"
Jenn paused before replying, her plump red lips stretching in a smile of unadulterated malice. The light cast by the candle outlined her beautiful face in shadows of spite whilst her sea-green eyes glittered with an unending viciousness.
"Then," she purred in a sinsiter tone, the words drifting back and forth eerily on the still air. "I shall play a game."
Ystcild gave a single nod and, turning sharply on her heel, gangled out of the basement. Jenn watched until she was gone, the door closing behind her sounding sharply in the silence. She returned her gaze to her husband and, reaching out her hand to tenderly stroke a lock of hair back from his cheek, returned to her silent vigil.
