Read No True Way for Free Online Page A

tragedy,” Syrriah said, more harsh than she intended, letting her own emotions bleed through. But the vehemence in her voice caused Mariette to finally look up at her again, and that was when Syrriah was able to see the almost completely faded medallions of bruises just above Meriette’s eyes.
    She looked into Meriette’s eyes, opened her Empathic link wider than Cefylla—outside, but always connected to her—warned against, and understood the truth.
    She’d seen this before, had helped other women in Traynemarch Reach deal with it.
    â€œMeriette,” she said, with a gentle pressure against hands that now weren’t quite as cold, and a gentler pressure against the woman’s emotions, “your husband wasn’t a kind man to you, was he? When I was the ladyof a manor keep, I saw this happen to women in the village, and I did what I could to help. The Heralds never stand for this. But if we’re to help you, you need to tell me what happened.”
    Meriette took in a deep breath, a deeper breath than she’d probably allowed herself in years, decades. It rattled through her, and when she exhaled, it was as if a window had been opened, releasing the stale, sick air of illness and finally allowing in the sweet, clean air of truth and release.
    â€œHe . . . hurt me,” she said, her voice a rasp, unused for so long. Possibly for years, really. “I thought . . . I thought for a long time that it was my fault, that I wasn’t good enough, and then that it was . . . bearable, because Meri and Ethan were safe.”
    Her children, Syrriah knew.
    â€œBut then—then, he shook Ethan, threatened him, and I couldn’t take it—I had to stop him!” Meriette was sobbing now, her words nearly incomprehensible. She didn’t need to say any more. Syrriah gathered her up and held her while she wept, a release that had been a decade in coming.
    Over the next hour, she coaxed Meriette to speak and also carefully probed her mind with the lightest of touches, confirming the details the lady still couldn’t bring herself to speak. Her lord had been well-loved in the community; nobody knew what he was truly like in private, not even the servants. She hid or explained away her injuries, for who would believe her?
    In truth, it would still be hard to convince some people, especially only on the basis of Meriette’s words. Syrriah went to the door and asked the guard to fetch Joral. For a moment she expected to have a problem askinghim to leave his post, but he did so without question, and she remembered: she was a Herald, considered the voice of the Monarch, honorable and just above all.
    When Joral stepped into the bedroom, Meriette flinched.
    â€œThis is my partner,” Syrriah said. “He’s a Healer. Will you let him examine your wounds? I won’t let him hurt you.”
    â€œVery well,” Meriette said. Beneath the tired resignation in her voice, Syrriah heard an undercurrent of resilience. She was still, after all, the lady of the manor keep.
    Syrriah and Joral worked together, examining not only the fading but still visible bruises, but also using their Gifts to explore more deeply. Old breaks to the collarbone, ribs, forearm. Injuries that could be hidden, or explained away by clumsiness.
    Lord Prothal had known exactly what he was doing.
    Syrriah kept her anger in check, not wanting to let even the tiniest shred of it influence Meriette.
    Joral waited in the sitting room while Syrriah helped Meriette dress and comb her hair. Then the three of them went down to the manor keep’s main hall, where Mayor Quentlee waited.
    Fires warmed the room from the two great stone fireplaces at either end, and a servant had put out bread, cheese, and sausages, along with slices of juicy melon.
    Lady Meriette had taught her staff well.
    â€œLady Blenvane,” Quentlee greeted her, standing and brushing a kiss on her cheek.