A glimmer of comprehension showed on the woman’s face. “What happened to my boy? To little Dante?” She began blinking fiercely. Soon her whole expression was pink and wet and puffy. “It was…It was the bishop. He did something to my boy, something horrible! Just look at him. He ain’t right no more! He won’t talk; he won’t even look at me!” The woman pushed her child aside and threw herself at Jael’s feet, clinging and groveling, her pug nose a runny mess. “Please, you have to help us! What are we going to do? If Donny never gets better, there’ll be no one to work when we’re old! And big Dante’s got a bad back! We’ll starve, milady! We need justice! The church has to pay for what they done to my boy!”
Leonhardt felt the wet of snot and slobber seep through her hose, the woman’s shapeless warmth enfolding. The weight was enough to knock her over. She stumbled backwards and crashed into Corvin’s breast plate. He glared down on her, soundlessly as he had entered the room, and behind him stood Ogdon and the cowering husband. The paladin spoke, “Come, Leonhardt. We’re going.”
“But!”
The knight turned and ordered the horses prepared. He would hear no protest. “That is a command,” he made clear. Jael didn’t have a choice. She left the Dim, swearing to herself to not disappoint the poor family—though she knew full well that such a promise was not in her power. So as they road for the cathedral, she pressed Corvin about what they would do.
“Are we going to detain bishop Vaufnar?”
They crossed from soft ground to stone paving, and the clatter of hooves grew doubly loud. The paladin pretended not to hear her. She asked again, and again he pretended. Then Ogdon opened his mouth to repeat her words. Corvin cut him off. “Don’t talk, Sylvertre!” He spat at Jael, “What are our orders?”
“The captain would want us to help them,” she shot back, refusing to let the mud-blood push her around.
“Jael,” interjected Ogdon, “maybe we should calm down. Let’s trust that Sir Brandon knows what he’s doing.”
“Of course he knows. He knows he could help, but he won’t because he’s a goddamned coward. Either that, or he’s taking tithes from the church.”
Corvin raised a hand, and the horses stopped. They had arrived at the Compassionate’s Cathedral. Never was there a less fitting backdrop to the tension in the air: soft pink walls pearl smooth as the doors wrought from rosewood, stained glass in the mandalas and in the sparkling dome at the cathedral’s head. A crowd was pouring out the portals as the Cross alighted from their horses—the former smiling, the paladin scowling, Leonhardt glaring back at him as he marched straight for her. He struck her full in the face without a word. It was an open hand, yet still, it hurt worse than any blow she’d received in the yard—the shame of it in public—the crowd was looking now.
Ogdon hurried to help. She shoved him off.
Corvin loomed dark over her. “I’ve had enough of your mouth. Find a place to tie the horses and stay there until we get back.” He started for the cathedral, paused, then muttered, “How many men need to die before you’ll learn to control yourself?”
The question burned in her heart as she watched the paladin and Sylvertre leave without her. It served only to make her angrier, that he could resurrect her guilt with a false accusation. She had already decided on her innocence, had she not? And for him to do so in broad view of an entire assembly—Trey would have never approved something so damning to the Cross. It was Corvin who was wrong. The more Jael mulled on the thought, the more right it seemed. Yet her feelings betrayed her. She bit her lip to keep the frustration from spilling onto her cheeks, but nothing could staunch the deep pangs of shame bleeding inside her breast. She tried regardless, pressed a hand to her chest and felt parchment crinkle. The letter. She’d forgotten about it in the course of her antagonism with Corvin. Now, though, there was nothing else as close to her heart as this embodiment of turncoat emotions: the longing to read her father’s words, the shame of knowing what her lie had done to someone who truly loved her. Jael scanned the grounds. Neither squire nor paladin were anywhere to be found, only strangers passing by and giving her odd glances. No different than Herbstfield chapel, she realized that she possessed only two real options: suffer their unfair judgement alone or suffer it in the company of loved ones.
She tore open the letter like an itching wound and poured over Ricard’s heavy handwriting.
Jael,
It’s been more than a month since you left, and every day without you has been harder than all the days of my life. But it is worth that, knowing you are living the life you want to live. I knew since the day you were born that nothing on this earth could hold you back, and though so many leagues lay between us now, I know that you have succeeded. No matter where you are or what you have decided, remember that you have God on your side, walking with you always, as He walked with me so that I could bring you into being. That was my purpose, and now you are serving yours, and I could not be a prouder father for all you have done, become, and will be.
We miss you, Jael, both myself and your mother. I hope the shade between you two has lessened in your heart during your time away. It has for her. Since you’ve been gone, we have spoken long and hard about the last few years. I confess that I played my part, just as she confessed the same to me. She’s ready for your
