Brute 175

Chapter 175 

MATRON YARA’S POV 

Something was wrong with Atasha and she knew it at a glance. 

Grace helped her step down from the carriage, one hand at her elbow, the other hovering at her back as if she expected her to fall. 

The Lady of the North wore a thick cloak, trimmed in fur at the collar, the kind meant to flatter and reassure the people. Someone had taken the time to paint color into her cheeks and lips, to line her eyes just enough to look composed. 

It didn’t help. 

Up close, the powder couldn’t hide the way her skin had gone too pale beneath it. Her eyes were rimmed red, not from tears, but from strain. Her movements were slow, careful, as if every step had to be measured. There was a stiffness in her shoulders Yara hadn’t seen before, not even after the attack at the infirmary. 

Cassian came down after her, jaw tight, hand hovering near the small of Atasha’s back without touching. His eyes did not leave her for a second. The Lord of the North, who faced poisoned blades and wild creatures without a flinch, looked like a man trying very hard not to show worry. 

Yara frowned. “The Consort does not look well,” she said under her breath, more to the council than to anyone else. “Unfortunately, we can no longer postpone the testing.” 

She tipped her head back. The sky had already swallowed the last of the sun. The square sat under a deepening blue, the first cold stars starting to appear. 

Soon the moon would rise, and with it, the Stone of the Goddess would reach its peak. Everyone knew that. Stories had been drilled into Northern children since they could walk. The stone answered strongest under the moon. 

Perfect timing. 

Inside, Yara allowed herself a small, private smile. 

She had prepared for this day. She had listened to rumors from the infirmary, from the mines, from the guard barracks. Someone had said the Lady healed a boy with a wound that should have taken his arm. Someone else claimed she had eased the pain of a miner whose lungs were burned with dust. There were rumors, nothing solid, but enough to force her hand. 

She had sent her own people to observe. They came back with almost nothing. “The Lady was there.” “The boy stood up.” “The miner breathed.” No one saw what actually happened. No one could explain how. 

Then, almost overnight, the story changed. 

The Lord announced that the consort had taken ill. The servants spoke of fatigue, of weakness, of the Lady needing rest. But no one said why. No one mentioned wounds. No one mentioned the Stone of the Goddess. It was too neat. Too clean. 

Yara did not believe a word of it 

A woman who could heal others with a touch, who could mend flesh and calm fever, did not simply “fall sick.” Someone whose body answered broken things and made them right did not spend days hidden from view without reason. 

So when she saw Atasha now, standing in front of the stage with that washed-out complexion and that unsteady sway, the Matron’s eyes narrowed. 

Does it have something to do with the stone? 

The question dug into her thoughts like a hook. The timing was too tight. The testing and then the sudden illness. The way Cassian had closed ranks around his consort and limited who could see her to a select few. 

Sadly, the people saw something else entirely. 

The moment Atasha appeared, the mood in the square changed. Several women near the front pressed hands to their mouths in concern. A soldier Yara recognized from the western patrol swore under his breath, not at her, but at the situation. Others muttered, “She shouldn’t be standing.” 

“Look at her! She’s weak!” 

“This is wrong.” 

Just as she expected, their anger turned. Not at the Lady, but at everyone who had called for this. 

Yara’s jaw tightened. 

The Lady’s weakened state only fanned the crowd’s outrage. Now they would say the council was cruel. That the King’s envoy was heartless. That the North was forcing their saint to stand trial while sick. Every soft breath from Atasha, every careful step, worked in her favor, whether she meant it to or not. 

Is this on purpose? 

The thought burned as Yara watched Cassian guide Atasha toward the set platform where the ritual would be held. Was this some ploy? Show the frail consort, draw sympathy, make the crowd more protective. Then, when the stone refused to react, call it a miracle of patience, not proof. 

Yara’s hand curled at her side, nails biting into her palm. 

After this testing, when the truth comes out, the King will have no choice, she told herself. If the stone reveals any trace of corruption, if the Lady fails, then Cassian’s position will shatter. A Lord who hides a witch or a cursed woman under his roof cannot keep his title. Not even with Northern loyalty behind him. 

She let her gaze sweep the council platform. 

Oren Frostgate watched with a deep frown, hands clasped behind his back. Ilya Keldar stood rigid, arms crossed, his eyes fixed not on Atasha, but on the crowd. Both men had the same look, one she’d seen too often lately, concern for the Lady, not for the order Yara tried to maintain. 

They pity her, Yara thought, and the realization soured her mood further. 

She drew in a slow breath and stepped closer to the front of the stage, just enough for her voice to carry to 

those nearest. 

“The Lady looks weaker than before,” she said, keeping her tone gentle, almost sympathetic. “But you all know her gift. She has healed others from worse. If she wished it, she could likely mend herself as well.” It was a reminder, not just to the people but to the council members as well. Atasha has the ability to heal! This is nothing but an act, a show! 

Almost immediately, a murmur rolled through the nearest rows. 

“Why hasn’t she healed, then?” 

“Is she holding back?” 

“Maybe it’s different this time…” 

Yara stood still, letting the questions spread. She didn’t push them. She didn’t have to. Suspicion had a way of growing on its own once planted. 

Then, she caught Lady Kenneth’s eye. 

The envoy’s gaze flicked from Atasha to Yara, then to the stone stand at the center of the stage where the test would be held. 

“If there is no further delay,” Lady Kenneth said. “We will proceed with the testing.” 

The square immediately shifted. 

Before the envoy could take another step, Lieutenant Rio moved. He crossed the stage toward Cassian with quick, measured strides and bent his head close to the Lord’s ear. His voice was too low for Yara to catch, but she saw Cassian’s eyes narrow, then harden. 

He gave a single nod. 

Grace stepped forward at once, moving to Atasha’s side. She slid an arm around the consort’s back, not in a way that drew pity, but in a way that made it very clear Atasha needed support. 

Cassian turned toward Lady Kenneth. 

“Something requires my attention,” he said, voice firm. “Lieutenant Grace will stand with the Lady in my stead. Proceed as planned.” 

The square reacted in a ripple. Some gasped. Others muttered. A few shouted his name, confused. 

Yet, Yara did not move. Of course, she thought, watching him. Of course you would step away now. 

Her lips curled in the faintest smirk. 

She had expected this. Cassian would never stand next to the stone when it was brought out. Now that Cassian is gone. It is finally time to show the consort her place. With a faint smile, Matron Yara looked at Lady 

Kenneth. 

“Shall we start?” she asked.