The Crimson Knight.
Sybyll sat her nightmare of a horse in her blood-colored armor and listened to her name run the length of the walls of Lothian City like water from a burst dam.
"...say the Crimson Knight cleaved a knight clean through. Not just him, either, through knight and horse as one…"
"...armor dyed red with the blood of the slain…"
"...always thought he was a traitor from a fallen house out to watch the world burn…"
"... hear that right? The Crimson Knight is a woman?"
"...nonsense and lies is this? Brighton Hanrahan died without so much as a bastard to claim as his own…"
Sybyll's hands clenched into fists at the last one, and she resisted every urge in her body to leap onto the wall for a few pointed words with the man who implied her father would have sired a bastard. Sybyll had never known her father, but the stories her mother had told her painted the picture of a man both devoted to and besotted with her mother despite her difficulties bearing a child.
