Stoltz called for silence. It was a long time waiting for the crowd to quiet, for the sounds of crackling hearths to reemerge from the anticipation on the verge of erupting from either side of the hall. The act was over. The duke refused no more. “I believe I can speak for the whole of the court when I say, ‘God has spoken.’ Sir Gildmane, bring me the sword.”
He had yet to finish that final word when his duchess turned and, with the gesture, renounced him as she stormed from the hall. It was an excellent performance, Trey thought as he counted the forsaken lords now taking their leave. They were more than he expected; a quarter of the chamber gaped vacant by the time the latent traitors had evacuated. But he would tend to that later. Just then was the task at hand.
The captain marched for the servants’ pass where a man awaited him, Leonhardt’s sword in hand. The blade was naked and stripped matte as satin, and they exchanged the weapon like a newborn babe, cradling it in their arms. The paladin returned to the center of the chamber where Jael knelt before Father Pozchtok and Duke Johan. Again, the sword changed hands—priest’s from paladin’s.
Stoltz’s sonorous tone echoed, “Jael Leonhardt, squire of the Lord’s court, sworn sword of the Saint’s Cross. I stand before you by my divine right as duke of the Summerlands, vassal of His Holiness, Saint Paul; and it is with His Holiness’s authority, ordained to him by God, that I might raise you to peerage within the holy order—so be if you swear by your life in sight of God and men.”
“In sight of God and men, I swear by my life,” she said, her voice shaking at first then settling as she recited each line of the oath.
“I shalt forever hold faith in God and in His church.
“I shalt observe the commandments of my father, in Heaven and on earth, and shalt remain leal to my lord long as his law lies in piety;
“for I shalt live in eternal service, both in flesh and in soul.
“Never shalt I grace safe haven to heretic, nor allow blasphemy to go unpunished.
“I shalt become a ward to the weak and an aegis to the frail. My hands are of the Lord and shalt give to his children freely.
“I shalt revel in my toil, finding relief only in prayer and never in the pleasures of the flesh.
“May Lord God judge my soul and forgive me my mortal sins.
“This I swear before God and man in faith that soon his kingdom come.”
“May soon His kingdom come,” answered Father Pozchtok, offering to the duke Leonhardt’s Temple blade. “My lord duke,” he said.
Stoltz took the bare sword on his sleeve and the hilt with a delicate grip of spindle-knob fingers; he brought it to bear on Jael’s shoulders, slapped with the flat of the blade each cheek, then atop her crown—the final strike she’d take while forbidden retaliation. Her last humiliation, henceforth she should never forget from whence she was raised, never let her pride fall into shame.
“Rise now, Knight Leonhardt.”
Jael rose, head down at first, biting her lips trying to dam the tears alighting either side of her face. A heavy breath filled her breast, air laden with anticipation. Then her eyes lit up, all the lights from the chandeliers and hearths and candelabras reflected in her stare. Forward, not at the duke standing in front of her, but at her sword. She almost stole from his hands—Trey caught the urge: a tension in her legs, a tremor in her fingers. She hungered for it, could hardly hold still while Pozchtok dressed the bare steel in anointing oil. He flicked the sodden rag above her head, sprinkling her hair as if with an aspergil.
“Sir Gildmane,” exclaimed the duke.
Now it was Trey who could hardly contain his excitement. He knelt, his armour shifting noisily as he did, but it didn’t matter now. More certain he felt than in anything else in his life that the crowd must be enamored with Jael as he was, as he answered, “Yes, my duke?”
“Lady Leonhardt is your charge, your ward for this night until dawn shines again. It is your duty to bear witness that His holy vigil is observed—as it is yours, Father Pozchtok.”
The priest bowed to hide a scoundrel’s smile.
Johan continued, pretending not to notice. “Now, take your posts at our parish’s holy altar. Given the rest of the measures my nephew has taken, I’m certain your armour has been prepared for you there. Don it, and stand guard against that which rules the dark.”
Then Stoltz spoke no more, nor did he try to quell the upswell of gossip among the guests. He’d have encouraged them if he could, Trey was sure. For what happens next is dependent on them, and us…and her. He took Jael by the arm, sidled close to hold her upright lest she faltered. He wasn’t certain how much she’d drank or how much she’d sobered, just that the walk would be arduous in the snow.
Seven men were chosen, Aestas knights every one, to escort the three of them crossed the castle bailey, from the great hall to the Aestas parish—either structure buttressed the central keep like the arms of a titan; it towered over every building Gildmane had ever seen, save for the Impii monolith. But that was mere monument. This was the place he had once called home; then and now, it retained the magic of his memories:
