She was too late.
They’d hardly set foot inside the vestibule when a stranger greeted them dressed in a simple white robe. He was no Herbstfield native, not that Leonhardt could recall such a tall, trim, broad-jawed man. Given his ice-blue eyes, his hair and beard the color of straw, she figured him an immigrant from another Summerland village. Yet his accent threw her off—like something from another country she’d never heard before. “Welcome to Herbstfield chapel,” he said, looking them over. “My name is Abel, serving for the saint as vicar-deacon here. What brings you at such an hour?”
“Vicar-deacon?” Jael asked. “What happened to Gavin?”
The man paused. “I’m sorry. You must be locals coming home. The former deacon passed before my coming. I was told it was an autumn illness: rain, cold, and his aged constitution.”
“He’s dead?” Jael felt Trey’s hand press softly between her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” repeated Abel, then, “You must have been close. I didn’t get the chance to know him, but I’m certain he would have been happy you came. Perhaps he’s smiling down from Heaven now. From all accounts, he was a good man. I’ve never known a clergyman so beloved by his assembly, nor a people so heartbroken by his pass.”
“Yes,” Jael mustered, speaking in portions just small enough to keep the tears at bay, “he was like family.”
“He is buried with the chapel graves. The church afforded him a worthy headstone; I can show you to it if you wish to pay your—”
“No,” she interjected, inhaled, then reversed her tone and breath. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be so brusque. On the morrow, I’ll come. Just now, I can’t. There’s too much today already. I—”
The captain’s hand landed gently on her arm, squeezed and calmed her some. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll come first light.” He bowed to the substitute deacon. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Abel bowed in return. “It was a pleasure meeting you—And again, I’m sorry to have been bearer of such sad news, Lady…”
“Leonhardt,” she finished for him.
His eyes went wide like she’d knifed him in the gut; then he tore them away from her, nodded to Trey, “My lord.”
“Sir, actually.”
“You’re an Aestas knight?”
Gildmane shook his head. “We’re of the Cross.”
A second stab. The vicar-deacon stepped back, his breathing quickened. “I see. You have my condolences…Sir. My lady,” He bowed to each of them. “I’ll be happy to receive you in the morning. And if there is any need, I beg you’ll come speak with me. What else are the clergy for but to shepherd their fold?”
“Nothing.” Save for kidnap, rape, torture, and murder, thought Jael as she turned for the portal. “May soon his kingdom come.”
Abel echoed her affirmation with the same somber tone. The doors drifted shut, and Leonhardt marched straight off for the stables. Don’t stop, carry on, she repeated to keep her mind too busy to process what occurred, what she’d learned, what she was about to face. Carry on. It could be worse. Dahilla’s nothing. Don’t think about it. Let’s go see Father. Think of how happy he’ll be…Gavin would’ve been happy… Don’t think. Keep moving.
“What do you think?” asked Trey as soon as they were clear of the chapel. “About that deacon, I mean. Anything seem off to you?”
She swallowed down her tears but did not dare to speak. She would not cry; she’d had enough of crying, enough of weakness. The captain was trying to distract her from her grief, and she couldn’t even play along. How was she going to handle her mother if she couldn’t manage her own feelings?
Then Gildmane uttered the worst thing, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she snapped, angry beyond intention.
But he didn’t stop. “I didn’t mean for something like this to happen.”
“Nothing seems to go as you intended, does it?”
They arrived at the stables, every guest stall full with Aestas coursers, the carriages themselves stationed like sentinels along the fence. One long stride and Trey crossed in front of her. He tossed open the stable gate, found the two horses he’d ordered saddled and bridled. “Not a thing,” he answered. “If it did, Corvin wouldn’t have been arrested, you wouldn’t been mauled by a pagan freak, we wouldn’t be stuck picking up after Little Lord Sylvertre’s mistakes,” mounting his horse, his tone became playful, “and mayhap my cock would be thawed out by now.”
“Very funny,” she mocked, climbing on her courser, but it was too late to hide behind fake wrath—he’d gotten her with laughter. One snickering smile and the foul winds turned sweet, her stagnant ship took sail, ocean sprayed about the bow like the tears stinging her cheeks, steaming in the air. She nearly fell from her horse laughing and crying. “God dammit, Gavin. You couldn’t have waited another year?—I swear to God, I’m going to slap him when I see him again.”
They rode out at a trot to keep off the cutting winds and talked much and more about Herbstfield’s good deacon. He was as much a grandfather as Jael had ever had, and her first lost loved one. She’d never known either of her parents’ parents, not even where they were they were from.
“Truly?” Trey said, astonished. “And you never asked?”
“I have, but Father never knew his own, and my mother’s died young. She said she moved around a lot south of the castle after that and couldn’t remember the name of her home village.”
“I suppose that makes you the start of your lineage.”
She chuckled, her cheeks stiff where the tears had dried. “The start and the end. I don’t have any siblings to carry the name.”
“A cold marriage bed, then?”
Jael nodded.
The captain glanced about the dead trees and rolling, white mounds. “Yours is too great a name to just let it die out.”
“And what exactly is so great about
