January 25 – 1027 YD
Régan paced her chambers, oscillating between straightening the items on her shelves, clawing her hair, flattening her blankets, and cursing at herself and the sky beyond the window glass.
She had not brought the arrow to smite Brennan. Banishment was not a proportionate response to his interest in the faith of his fatherland. Better to have sentenced him to months in the treasury exploring the cost of servicing the temples throughout the region. But when Brennan’s lover had appeared to claim him and revealed his intention to flee, her fury had tightened her shooting arm and the deed was done while the woman’s—that bald, linen-robed woman!—violet smoke still twirled in the air.
__Régan, you are the queen of fools. Volatile and witless. Conniving and selfish.
__Mátac’s hateful voice reverberated in her mind and to smother it she hurled a vase against the stone wall.
__Of all things, it was Mátac’s mouth she hated most. The criticisms, chastisements, ridicule, denigrations, dismissal, and quashing that spewed from it had been over the decades like a deluge of outrage that he had been given an heir who challenged him rather than one who overflowed with idolisation. The arrow was marked to plug the sewer from which his limited perspective expressed its self-interested ideas, but the stranger had thrown her hatred off course.
__Her arrow had soared.
__Mátac had commanded.
__And she had been dragged as a writhing and screeching mess to the chambers where she still remained, where silence thundered and the void tortured.
__She had made the easy kill. What cowardice she had shown in felling the fawn over the stag.
Image courtesy of: http://www.museumsinflorence.com/musei/palazzo_davanzati.html