And lastly, before I fill the last of the parchment, Zach sends his prayers. He is a good man, your goatherder. He has agreed to help with the autumn harvest and winter crop since you are gone and Troy is useless. Damned horse. He is lucky we don’t eat him.
You are one to repent for the sins of the world,
Your loving father, Ricard Leonhardt
Zach
Jael folded the letter and wiped the tears from her eyes, whispered a prayer begging the Lord for forgiveness. Her father was right. How else could she have made it this far unless it was God walking with her? The shame was her own doing. She’d allowed herself to lose faith despite the miracle of her journey when to doubt herself was to doubt the Lord—But there would be no more of that, she reassured herself, her prior worries seeming ridiculous now. Corvin and the others could claim all they wanted it has her Leonhardt blood that got her into the Cross. She knew better; a name was not enough to make a lady into a knight, or why else was there but one woman warrior before her? And her guilt about leading Zach to believe there’d be an end to her service abated some knowing he’d discover the truth sooner than later and that’d it’d likely be her father to break the sad news. And this accusation, she thought, her heart and mind in harmony, that it was obvious that Bishop Vaufnar was guilty. It was a matter of revealing it, but she would have to hurry.
Jael strode at a military march through the portal doors, into the vestibule, and didn’t slow until she happened upon an open room thrice the size of Herbstfield chapel. From every angle, colors filled the chamber, pouring from the dome and stained glass windows onto the maroon marble floor. And though there were no pews nor pulpit, she knew at once that this was the sanctuary. She stepped back, slowly. For at the sanctuary’s center rose a dais; and from the dais, an altar; and before the altar, an old man with a long tail of hair and a white cassock with a gold-fringed sash. He was Bishop Vaufnar, talking with her two companions, seeming an angel in the resplendent light—
—or a demon in Jael’s eyes as she glanced around the vestibule. Only now did she notice the twin corridors which enshrined the sanctuary. They were identical as far as she could see, lined with pearl-white pillars partially hiding passageways to the cathedral’s cells and offices. She counted thirty doors at least—endless possibilities, yet not a single lead. So she prayed for a sign and started down the corridor to her right, ringed the inner sanctuary, and found nothing. Have faith, she told herself, listening closer and circling a second time. Again, only wind revealed itself: the wisp of brooms and of sighing servants, the laughter of children—her heart wrenched.
Jael followed those impish voices to an atrium at the eastern end of the cathedral. Here, the windows and dome were chased in gold, and the polished stone floor shone pastel pink. All the servants wore nurse’s clothes—formless black gowns and white aprons. There were two of them in the room watching two dozen children who in turn were watching Jael as if she was the messiah come down from heaven. The oldest of them, a boy of perhaps eight dressed in a stained yellow tunic, pointed at her with awe on his face as he exclaimed, “Nurse! Nurse! It’s Camilla come again!” Leonhardt didn’t know what to say, but another boy, this one in red and next in age, shouted over the chattering of the others, “Everybody, shut your mouths! That’s not Camilla! She don’t even got a halo!”
“My apologies,” started one of the nurses, rushing to greet her at the door. The other was staring from across the room. It took a moment for Jael to recognize her sapphire eyes and homely face beneath the hood of the Religious Sisters. “Jael, sweetling!” gasped Sarah Purwynn. Leonhardt excused herself passed the first of the nurses to meet her friend in the middle of the room. They kissed one another on either cheeks, then Sarah continued, “What are you doing here? And all in armour—you must have made it in.”
“I did, and I’m even serving as squire for the captain.”
“Oh, that one?” Sarah uttered, “Yes, I’ve heard enough about him. He’s all the novitiates talk about, Trey Gildmane and Holland King. It makes me wish you’d have been meant for the Sisters, dearest. Then I’d at least have pleasing company.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t look for you sooner,” Jael winced, ashamed of her negligence, a feeling worsened by her urge to hurry before the paladin discovered she was gone. “And I’m sorry to be so brief, but I’m actually here on an investigation. There’s been an accusation made against the bishop.”
Purwynn’s smile soured at once. “This isn’t the first,” she whispered, “I hear rumors all the time about that pig. But before we talk about that,” she glanced toward her tiny wards gathered around, chattering like birds. “Listen everyone. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Her name is Lady Jael Leonhardt.”
“Ha! I knew she ain’t Camilla,” said the boy in red.
“Nicholas!” Purwynn chided him.
Jael knelt level with the children. “It’s alright, Sarah.” She beckoned the boy in red and the boy in yellow. “So you’re Nicholas. And what’s your name?”
“Giovanni,” the boy answered.
“You two like that story, huh? The Purge of Babylon. It’s my favorite too.”
“Are you a knight or something?” blurted Nicholas.
Purwynn scowled. “Rude child. You’re lucky his grace doesn’t allow us to cane you.” She leaned and whispered in Jael’s ear, “We can talk outside.”
Leonhardt stood and bowed to the children, answering them, “A knight? not yet, but someday I will be.”
Outside the atrium, the sister and
