Lyall wasn't quite fond of the direction in which the conversation was headed and he knew damn well if Hendrix didn't hold his tongue, it wouldn't end well.
"I will repeat, if you wish to be the first to question Van Merikh about his decisions and motives, then by all means do so," Lyall fired back, his teeth gritted.
Hendrix grumbled in response, swinging his feet onto the table.
"The wench is a witch, I say," he remarked. "And what do we do with witches? We burn them at the stakes until only nothing but their cursed ashes are left."
Lyall was growing impatient, almost frustrated.
"If you dare to lay a finger on her, Van Merikh will have your head and hide to wear as armour next," Lyall said pointedly. "The lady is not to be touched."
Hendrix drained yet another cup of wine before repeating, "She is a witch. Have you not counted how many battles we have encountered? Van Merikh is the Devil himself in ear and smites all who oppose him."
