“I wouldn’t be playing,” she snapped. Gasps and snickers swelled from behind, just as they always had.
They were not the first to pressure Jael to conform; her mother had failed at that long before, as did her neighbors, and even Gavin till he recognized the fool’s errand for what it was. Only her father accepted her for who she knew she wished to be; and when others offered nothing but mockery, he told her that dreams were worth following.
Dreams, that’s all they’ll ever be.He’ll never give me the chance to prove myself. Why would he? He’s never seen me pull a plow or thresh a harvest, or how I hold my own in practice. All he sees in me is some stupid farm girl too weak to—
“Yes, you’re serious, I can see that now,” Saint Paul replied after a long, contemplative silence. Jael’s heart jumped in her chest so loudly she could hardly hear him. “Given the timing of our meeting,”
Ba-Bum!
“and the nobility of your blood,”
Ba-Bum!
“our Lord may have meant it to be. Yet to take such a drastic divergence from tradition… it is not my decision to make.”
Ba—
“I shall leave it to God to determine your fate, Leonhardt. You may return with us to the capital and join the aspirants in their Struggle. If it is His will, perhaps you may be permitted to swear the knights’ holy oaths. If not, then the Brothers Scribes might be graced by their first sister.” Paul reached toward the deacon again, this time seizing Æturnum’s scabbard by its brazed lace. “Now, though my visit here has been among the most pleasant of the pilgrimage, my duties demand me elsewhere. For those of you who have sworn your souls, I beseech you spend this night in prayer with your family, for we shall meet here tomorrow and depart come first light.” He rapped once on the chancel floor with the sheathed point of his sword. “In the name of the one true Lord, God almighty. May soon his Kingdom come.”
Third Verse
“It’s a miracle my son met you this morning,” said David, the Messaii pastor, smiling kindly, broad-jawed, tall, trim, and bright. “I still can’t believe it. Today of all days. This is a celebration for your people, after all.”
Cain flung his hand toward the four banquet tables crowding the length of the parish nave. Every bench was full, every Impii and more than half the city’s Messah had gathered that evening for the holyday feast. “Don’t try to sweet talk me, old man. The Impii are your people, not mine.” His scowl never left the pastor’s face.
A few feet away from the men, at the eastern end of his table, Adnihilo broke a chunk of stale bread from the trencher, crunching the crust to drown out their feud. He gnawed and chewed and glanced to Adam and Jezebel who occupied themselves doing much the same. They, however, had the sense to pace themselves. Their plates were half clean while his was twice emptied—a regret as he struggled to swallow the wad of bread softening in his mouth.
Never in his life had the half-blood seen so much food in one place: trenchers of age-hardened barley overflowing with roasted mutton, mashed turnips mixed with butter and cream, and a medley of stewed beans and cabbage. All of it was covered in a dark-brown gravy so thick that not a drop stained the pearl-white tablecloths.
Adnihilo sipped the bitter red from the bottom his cup then took another hunk from the trencher. Nausea hit as soon as it touched his lips, and he dropped it on his dish and listened. The sacrifice was speaking too loudly to ignore. “There’s never been peace between us, Messah. We remember the war. You’re murders and rapers. And the babe; hiding behind a newborn like cowards. If I knew the man it was, I’d kill him myself.”
“Listen, Cain. What happened—what we did—there is no justification for it. But you’re chasing ghosts. There’s not a man alive who’s the same since then. These people you hate, they’re gone, they’re in the past.”
“The past?” He lunged an inch from the pastor’s face. “What part is in the past, Messah? The slums? The graves? Why don’t you go tell that to mothers of the boys you killed? To the wives of the dead men? To the orphans? See for yourself how much it’s in the past!”
David didn’t budge, just glared down his nose with ice-blue eyes at the dark, naked face glowering up at him. Sweat hung from his hair and beard like dew on fields of straw at dawn; a drop slipped from the tip of his nose and landed on Cain’s glistening scalp. The pastor stepped forward; the sacrifice lurched back.
“The Lord has forgiven our sins,” David said, “and he’ll forgive yours, too. Heaven knows they must weigh on you.” Cain chuckled, and the pastor stroked the stubble on his chin. “What’s so funny?”
“Something like that coming from someone like you. Should have known soon as I saw your boy. A real killer. But I bet he doesn’t even know you’re hiding those scars, let alone how you got them. Damn well wasn’t by preaching.”
David’s hand slipped from his chin. “Like I said, the Lord has forgiven my sins.” He looked to his son, to Adnihilo and Jezebel. “You know, Cain, there is a saying among the veterans in Pareo. ‘Every soldier has to come home someday.’ For your family’s sake, you’d do well to remember it.”
The sacrifice stared, silent for a moment, started to speak—stopped—started then stopped again. His face turned a shade of ebon violet. “Say that again,” he said, colored with rage. “Say it again, brave Messah. Find out what happens.”
David repeated the saying without a second’s hesitation. Cain hadn’t expected that, and now he was trapped. He’d made a threat, and now he’d follow through or prove
