Brothers Apart, Part Three

“You did what?”

Furen was not normally so evocative. Tyrric lay down the scroll he was perusing slowly, frowning at the nightborne.

“Did I not make myself clear?” he asked. “The stable master position is now empty. You are to assume those duties until I find another to fill it.”

“I know. That’s… not what I meant. You exiled Mirium?”

Was this what it took to get a rise of loyalty out of the rogue? Interesting. “I’m not sure why she is so precious suddenly,” Tyrric said acerbically. “One would think you were thinking with your infatuation of her and not your head. She is a traitor, thrown her lot in with Sylvanas’ loyalists. At least I did not execute her! Now she is free to take her beloved and go–“

“You think I am infatuated?” The outrage he had provoked in the nightborne gave Tyrric a little thrill. 

“Prove me wrong,” Tyrric said smoothly. “I know how you lingered outside her door at night. I suppose it a good thing, ultimately, that you never gained the courage to inquire within, or you would feel some heartbreak over all this, if not Keelath’s fury–“

“I lingered because I could hear her crying,” Furen replied stiffly. “For her husband. She was afraid she would lose him in the war. She would’ve done anything to save him–“

“And she did, didn’t she?” The thrill was souring. The rogue was beginning to annoy him with his foolishness. “By committing treason. I didn’t sign the name that put her in contract to that Lellith woman, nor was mine the head that came up with the notion that Keelath wasn’t safe in Horde custody. She committed the act, and now she has paid the price.”

“Extenuating circumstances–” began Furen.

“Are you telling me how to run my manor?” Tyrric cut in, raising a cool eyebrow.

Furen stared.

Tyrric eyed him during the silence that followed. Perhaps his cleansing of the manor wasn’t complete. Furen would fight this decree, obviously. Well, Tyrric didn’t have to listen to it anymore. He did not have to harbor any more sympathizers of his brother, nor of Sylvanas! From now on, only the people he chose need stay‚Ķ

He schooled his voice and his face to disdain. “If you cannot do the tasks I’ve set for you, Furen, you can leave my employ.”

He expected the fool to cringe and wheedle his way back into Tyrric’s good graces. It would be gratifying, really–finally a show of respect for his power.

Instead, the rogue startled him by slapping a hand to the desk. “I resign my services,” he said thickly. Furen’s voice was shaking. Fear? No, fury. Interesting, Tyrric thought, even as he suppressed a sudden flip of fear for what else the nightborne might do.

“Then take your withered hand off my desk,” Tyrric snarled.

Furen met his eyes, glowing silver to glowing gold. And he did remove the hand, but then he spat on it, and rubbed the saliva into the fine grain as a vicious grin spread across his face. “Polish for you,” he said coyly. “I can’t reach your boots from here, unfortunately–“

The hammer of Light came to being, unbidden by his thoughts. Tyrric wasn’t sure if he had hit the man with it, or if the nightborne had merely gone over backwards to avoid it. Still, Furen rolled away, and Tyrric leapt on top the desk, rage singing in his veins like wine.

He slipped on the spit, falling hard on his tailbone.

Furen was out the door by the time he had recovered.

Humiliation. Humiliation become rage become… how to handle this gracefully? He certainly wasn’t graceful, sitting on his rump in another man’s saliva. He must appear graceful. He was a baron, Light damn it–

“Furen!” Tyrric shouted, then, “Wife!” when he realized Furen wouldn’t answer him.

Furen wouldn’t answer to his call ever again.

Wife!” he called more loudly, shrilly. He banished the sudden notion that his life had suddenly become the polished steel jaws of a bear trap, closing around his neck.

And I the one to put it there, said the quiet voice. It sounded as smug as a child.

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