Another cry tore from the room. It pierced the air, and Brand felt another piece shredded from his soul.
"What is happening in there?" He turned violently toward Lawrence. "Blasted hell! What is happening to my wife?"
There was no answer to give.
His pacing wore out the floorboard as minutes stretched into eternity.
The lanterns high on the walls brightened the corridor enough to mistake it still for day, but the sun had long gone down. And for every passing moment, her screams accompanied it. Sometimes sharply. Sometimes weakly. Once he heard her sob.
That nearly destroyed him.
Then silence came. Brand's heart lurched painfully. He rushed to the door but would not enter.
Please, please, please.
Please, be alright.
Please, be well, I beg you.
Minutes later, while his trembling hand still contemplated if to, the knob turned and the door opened.
Agatha stood there. "Your Highness."
