Shock.

  This was all he felt upon hearing what had been found at shore in the morning.

  Could all of his ideas and conclusions been wrong?

  Could he have really erred too much in his judgment?

  His feet were heavy as he ran with his men to the crime scene. Half of him expected not to find the fisher-boy there but the one who found them, an equally shocked inhabitant of Harren, had no reason to lie. And lying he did not.

  Upon arriving at the shore the first thing Rosomil noted was the crowd of shocked onlookers and the bone shilling cries and wails of Alistair.

  “Step back!”, Rosomil and Lodwin shouted in unison, while the others corralled the gawkers aside.

  “Someone get the mayor!”, added Lodwin while securing the parameter.

  Some of them left, and Rosomil used his chance to immediately approach the blood-covered fisher-boy. Upon doing so, he drew his sword, ready to plunge it into Alistair should he be stupid enough to fight. But soon he realized that there wasn’t much fight left in him, if at all. All the fisher-boy did was cry and cradle Aila’s lifeless body in his arms.

  This wasn’t right.

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  This wasn’t the reaction of a murderer.

  “Something’s not right”, he murmured, which in turn made Alistair notice him.

  “Sir Knight!”, he cried, his voice almost completely gone. “I… Aila…”

  “I… know”, he replied pained and lowered involuntary his sword. “I need to apprehend you.”

  “No! No!”, he shouted and hugged his dead fiancée closer. “Don’t take her from me!”

  “Please, it needs to be done”, he continued, unable to continue to look at him. “Come with me out of your own accord. Don’t force my hand.”

  That moment, the mayor arrived and ordered the remaining onlookers away. Upon moving next to Rosomil, he crossed himself and let out a short prayer.

  “Alistair”, he addressed the fisher-boy a moment later. “Please, come along. I know you didn’t do it. We want to help you.”

  “There’s no helping me”, he replied, exhausted, and without letting go of Aila. “I can’t be helped anymore. Maybe I could never be helped.”

  “Please, boy, let us at least try”, the mayor continued and reached out with his old, weatherworn hand. “As your family…”

  “Then, please, take care of Aila”, he finally said and looked at forlorn at the mayor.

  “I promise, we’ll take care of her”, he replied and kneeled down, still offering his hand. “We placed a nice linen sheet on her, so she can keep her dignity. No further harm will befall her. I promise.”

  “T-thank you”, Alistair replied and placed her down while gently stroking her cheek one last time. “Just don’t harm her.”

  “We won’t harm her.”

  He nodded and let himself be pulled up by the old man. Together, he and Rosomil, guided Alistair away from the shore towards the inn.

  Behind the inn, where the mayor usually split fire wood with a heavy slightly rusty axe, there was a small stone cell once built to imprison sailors accused of mutiny. For decades, it hadn’t seen any use. If it had ever been used at all.

  Rosomil and the mayor locked him in the cell after giving him some clothes and lighting a lamp and a small fire for him to not freeze. Rosomil was going to interrogate him soon enough but for now, he needed to take care of everything.