Heartrate returning back to normal, Priscilla thinks, Then I must be very strong right now…
✽ ✽ ✽
Hours later, Rose’s groans of pain turn to weeping as another sound fills the air—the wail of a newborn baby girl. After cleansing her, Priscilla rubs her with salt and swaddles her in clean cloth. She hands the baby to her mother. Tears stream Rose’s face.
“A girl,” Doran gets out.
Rose can hardly speak. She shuts her eyes, pressing the child close to her face. Doran kneels next to her. He caresses the baby’s soft, brown head.
“Pretty,” Rose says. Her red eyes find Priscilla’s. “Thank you.”
Priscilla nods once. The arrival of the child has ebbed out the great burdens of self-loathing at her own incompetence and near failure. It’s as if an enormous held breath has finally been released.
“I think I have a name for her,” Doran says.
Rose kisses the baby’s forehead. “What?”
“Priscilla.” Doran looks up. “Priscilla Rose.”
Priscilla shakes her head. “After I’ve made this process so much more difficult with my selfishness?”
Rose smiles. “Priscilla Rose. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.”
Priscilla bows her head, tears welling. Thank you, she prays. I could not have done this alone.
Chapter 9
Flight
Maven stumbles behind the wagon. She yells through the rope between her teeth, but the Orc doesn’t hear. Her feet aren’t fast enough. She hits the ground, scraping her knees against the stone, the brittle fabric of her dress tearing along the waist. Bare stomach and legs dragging on the sharp stones, she screams against the rope. Finally, the wagon slows enough for her to stand shakily to her feet.
Eyes glare at her immodest form. Her cheeks burn. The first time she came to this horrid city, Alesia was only a baby. Maven was desperate for food, and she’d rather subject herself to begging than starve her child. But no one gave them anything. They shouted obscenities at her for having a child with no father, since she was only a child herself. Some threw rocks. When she left, she swore she would never return.
Yet, here she is again, at the mercy of Tarreth’s hateful people and cruel system of justice. She does not deserve to die. Evelyn’s death was not her fault.
Finally, the hellish journey comes to an end. Grogar stops the wagon to untie her. Before Maven is a tall tower that marks the junction of two outer walls. Guards clad in pearly armour step out. They must be changing shifts. Panic triggers at the sight. These guards will drag her off, and she’ll be beheaded by morning.
Inside, she avoids the eyes of every passerby. Grogar takes her to a huge desk. Behind it sits a man with a silver breastplate bearing the crest of Tarreth, a lion with a diamond eye. The man stands, eyes flitting from Grogar to Maven.
“Trouble?” he asks of neither in particular.
“Yes,” Grogar says. “Are you able to prosecute criminals?”
“I am. My name is Hamish Bertrand. I’m Captain of the Guard.”
“Good. This woman is a murderer.” Grogar gives Maven a little shove.
Maven rolls her eyes, shaking her head. If she is to survive, she cannot give up.
“She is?” the man asks doubtfully.
“If you want proof, check the Shrine of the Seven,” Grogar says, in a voice that demands no argument. “The body of the woman she killed is going to be buried there. There are also a number of people who can provide testimony to the fact.”
“What do you have to say for yourself, eh…”
“Maven,” Grogar answers for her.
“Maven, what is your response to this accusation?”
Grogar yanks the rope out of her mouth. Maven tilts her head up at him, licking her sore lips. “Captain Bertrand, I am no murderer. There are hundreds of people buried in that Shrine. None of this proves anything.”
“What about the testimonies?” the captain wonders.
“Supposed testimonies. You haven’t even heard them. You aren’t really going to behead an innocent woman on the word of some Orc, are you?”
She spots Grogar’s glare out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t look away from the captain.
After a long moment, Captain Bertrand looks back up at Grogar. “We’ll lock her in the cells until you can provide the testimonies.”
As Maven reaches forward, Captain Bertrand steps back. “But what if he just coerces some strangers to condemn me?” she whimpers.
“What reason would I have to do that?” Grogar asks.
Maven blinks her long lashes dramatically. “Unreasonable hatred. Spite. Indignation. You’re letting your own personal feelings cloud your judgment.”
“What personal feelings?” Grogar laughs.
She leans closer to Bertrand. “The wretched fool is in love with me,” she whispers. “He just doesn’t understand that I love another. So now, I suppose he figures that if I cannot be his, I might as well die.”
Grogar wrenches her backward. “What are you yapping about?”
Maven cries out. “See what I must endure?”
“Guards,” Bertrand calls out. Men circle them. “Escort these two out. Make sure they don’t cause any more trouble.”
Maven glances around, keeping her eyes wide and innocent.
Grogar stares at the man. “You cannot possibly—”
“I don’t appreciate my time being wasted,” Bertrand cuts in. “Once you have solid evidence, we’ll talk. Until then, get out of my dungeon.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Maven says graciously. She holds up her tied wrists. “I don’t suppose you could…? He tied it so tight.”
Bertrand sighs. “One of you cut those. Now let me get back to work.”
Maven smiles as they’re led outside. One of the guards moves to cut her binds. Grogar grabs his arm.
“I’m telling you,” he says. “She’s a killer.”
The guard just says, “Orders,” and cuts through the rope in one swift motion.
When Grogar reaches for Maven, she cries out again. “Help me! Someone, please!”
The guards pull Grogar off her. She shakes herself. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
“Are you all right?” one man asks.
“I think so.” Maven brushes hair from her face. “Just…keep him away from me.”
“I’ll get those testimonies,” Grogar says, voice shaking with anger. “I’ll drop Evelyn’s body on the step of Bertrand’s house.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave me alone.”
Maven ducks into a crowd of people. She smiles when she turns back to look at him, held back by the guards, forced to watch her get away.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ilvara gazes up at the white pillars, the domed ceiling decorated with thousands of mosaic tiles shimmering in the light, depicting scenes of gods in their most natural states. All along the walls are images of them, each twice the size of a human. Incredible detail has gone into their craftsmanship. This place makes the chapel in Lockmire look quite pathetic, and Ilvara’s own idols nearly disrespectful.
Medela, goddess of health, is a voluptuous woman of reddish stone. Bright red flowers adorn her hair, cascade down her arms, and pile in her cross-legged lap. Profectus, god of prosperity, is depicted as a tall elvish merchant with a brass scale in his hand, a sage pouch bulging with coins weighing down one end, balanced with weights on the other. Each god is majestic and richly accented.
Arx is at the front, flanked by Clarus, his female companion and, in earthly terms, his wife. Clarus has always captivated Ilvara. She stands tall, with icy blue gems sweeping down the length of her skirt. Her arms cradle a baby, but her eyes stare forward, determined, courageous. Arx’s strong arm curls in front of her. His stance and expression embody his protective nature. There’s something about his grave posture and low brows that reminds Ilvara of Caius.
She turns to him now. He, too, gazes up at the gods. Libentia, with
his basket of plums and round, purple belly. He signifies pleasure, enjoyment, luxury. Caius shakes his head at them. Quickly, Ilvara looks away. Might he hate the gods for not sparing Evelyn? Might he see Clarus there, goddess of life, and think of Evelyn, whose own life was snuffed out far too soon?
Does he see the part he had to play in it all?
A Shrine worker helps Caius carry the coffin since Asher was taken to an upstairs chamber where they will heal Alesia. Ilvara, Caius, and the worker follow the priest through a doorway off the main hall, down a narrow staircase, and into a wide room with many windows and innumerable tables. Ilvara blinks in the mid-morning glare from the white walls. Each table carries a body covered in white linen. She shivers at the sight. She hadn’t seen this room in her previous visits to the Shrine. She wrinkles her nose. It reeks of myrrh and death.
“You did say you already embalmed her, correct?” the priest wants to know.
“As best I could,” Caius says.
“Wonderful. Let’s proceed to the burial site then.”
Ilvara wonders if the priest is always this cheery when burying a human being. Perhaps the valuables clanking in the pouch at his waist have something to do with his sunny demeanor. Somewhere in that purple robe is Ilvara’s silver circlet—the one with teal gems that Hadrian gave her when they were first married. Burial here is more expensive than she remembered from other visits, but the only other option is to bury Evelyn outside the city, and that would not do. What good are those trinkets anyway?
The Gardens are not what Ilvara expected. She’d pictured an expanse of green grass covered in embellished memorials and grave markers, accented with bushes of colourful flowers. Instead, she faces a wide patch of dirt covered in stark white markers. Chipped columns line the perimeter, along with ugly depictions of Nex and Tristus, dark lords of death and sorrow. Their hideous faces stare down like demons from atop the columns, depicted as goblins and trolls with hateful, empty eyes. A chill vibrates down Ilvara’s back. When this is over, she’ll spend the remainder of the day resting in some inn. Tomorrow, she’ll make for Nequa.
Commotion behind stops the procession. All eyes turn to the doorway, where Grogar’s voice echoes:
“Out of my way. I have to get to them before they bury her.”
Ilvara leaves the foreboding Gardens without a second invitation. She meets Grogar in the embalming room.
“What’s going on?” she asks him.
“It’s Maven,” he says in a low voice, cursing her. “She manipulated the captain into forcing us to give testimonies and evidence of the murder.”
“So we must go and attest to Evelyn’s death?”
“Correct. And bring her body.”
Ilvara sighs heavily. “All right. We’ll load Evelyn into the wagon again. I’ll fetch Asher, then he and Caius can give witness to her murder. We’ll show him the body, and that will be that.”
“Well…not quite…”
“What do you mean?”
Grogar lowers his eyes. “She got away.”
Ilvara glares at him. “What?”
“After the guards dragged us out of the tower, Maven got into a crowd. I tried to follow, but she was gone in an instant. The guards didn’t want me going after her.”
“You mean Evelyn’s murderer is wandering the streets of Tarreth, a free woman?” Ilvara bites each word. “She could walk right out the city gate and be lost in the forest!”
Grogar stares straight ahead, shame in his murky eyes. “You have my deepest apologies, my lady.”
Ilvara rubs her eyebrow. “Bring her back in,” she calls out to the Gardens. On Caius’ question, she offers a brief explanation.
“You’re leaving with the deceased?” the priest asks.
“We must,” Ilvara tells him. “We need her body to condemn her killer.”
The old man’s brows furrow. “Your grave might be filled by the time you return, and I won’t have my workers dig another one.”
“We’ll return shortly,” Ilvara promises. “The two of you, see if you can manage getting the coffin back into the wagon while I fetch Asher.”
As she goes, Ilvara wonders if this day could get any more difficult.
Chapter 10
The Raven’s Descent
Priscilla wakes late from her nap, groggy. Anna is beside her bed, taking away the empty food tray.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” Anna says softly.
Priscilla glances out the window above her bed. “I slept long enough,” she replies, then smirks. “Sorry I couldn’t join your shop excursion.”
Anna sits on the end of the bed. “There’s always next week. Anyway, you had quite the day. You deserve a little rest.”
Priscilla sighs, lying back. “I nearly failed them.”
“But you pulled through. What caused that, anyway? You’ve been better for months now.”
“There was a wagon out in front of the Shrine this morning when I came back. People bringing their sick and dead to the Shrine, like usual. But then, there was a woman tied to the back of it. It reminded me so much of…”
“…yourself,” Anna finishes for her. “She wasn’t a slave, though, was she? That’s still against the law, isn’t it?”
Priscilla shakes her head. “She was a criminal on her way to the dungeons. The Orc transporting her even said she was bound for the executioner. And I didn’t even share Herus’ gift of hope.”
“You must not have had time to say anything.”
“But I did. I told her she was always welcome here.”
Anna’s eyes widen. “You welcomed a criminal to our Sanctuary?”
“It was before I knew what she was. And still, it was the only thing I could think to say. I’m such a fool.”
Anna touches her leg. “Offering help isn’t foolish. You wanted to give her the kind of hope you were given. But she wasn’t the same as you.”
“No,” Priscilla says. “And anyway, it made me remember everything again. Kreston.”
“My dear, last year was a great valley, but Herus has a plan in store for you.”
“I know, but it still hurts.”
Anna slants her mouth. “Of course it does.”
It is silent a moment before Priscilla sits up again. “Gabriel is blessed to have you.”
“I’m blessed to have him,” Anna says with a smile. She rises. “Herus knows what you need. Wait for him.”
Priscilla nods. She’s been hearing that for months, and it hasn’t gotten easier. “I will try.”
Downstairs, the setting sun sends deep orange beams into the main worship hall. The ministers have retired for the evening, leaving the room quiet and empty. Priscilla kneels before the plain, wooden cross.
“Herus,” she prays, “I was so weak today. I risked two precious lives. I neglected sharing your love with a hopeless woman. Why, Father, when I have everything, do I behave so greedily? Your truth is only salvation to those who accept it while they are alive. Now that woman will be damned to Hades. I could have stopped it if only I thought more clearly. Why am I alive if I am only meant to act a fool?”
She grinds her forehead on the rough mat below her knees. Tears spill onto it. “Forgive me. I am not questioning how you made me. I only wish I could stop failing you. Even the victory of Rose’s child is only a victory because you gave me strength. Without you, I’d be nothing. Blind me to my own accomplishments. Help me to only see you. And Father, I beg you to give me peace about Kreston. About companionship. Teach me to be content with you alone.”
The sweet peace and presence of Herus encircles her like warm arms of comfort. His love satisfies her, like it did when she first met him. Like it always has and always will.
Pounding at the door startles Priscilla nearly out of her skin. She leaps to her feet and rushes to it, the incessant knocking a sure sign that something is wrong. She pulls open the door.
A hand smacks over her mouth, shoving her back into the Sanctuary. Priscilla freezes with panic until she recognize
s the woman’s face in the light of the worship hall. It is the woman from this morning. The murderer.
“You told me I was welcome here,” the woman hisses, voice pinched with panic. “Well, I need help.”
Priscilla reminds herself that this woman has killed someone, perhaps even several people. That coffin this morning… and the sick one in the other man’s arms…
She nods slowly, but fear still doesn’t quite reach her. After a long moment, the woman removes her hand. Priscilla draws a deep breath to return her heartbeat to normal.
“You killed someone?” Priscilla asks quietly.
“I’m not just some blind killer,” the woman bites. “My name is Maven, and I need to hide here until that group leaves.”
“The group.” Priscilla struggles to think. “But they were just next door. Don’t you want to hide somewhere farther from here? Even leave the city?”
Maven glances in the direction of the Shrine. “My daughter is there. I can’t go far. I saw the group bring Evelyn’s body to the guard captain. They’re going to be looking for me soon.”
The coffin. Evelyn’s body. “Might they suspect that you’ll want to stay close to your daughter?” Daughter…the injured one in the man’s arms?
Maven’s smile quivers when she says, “I hope not. But you’ll hide me, right?”
Completely unsure, Priscilla nods. “I will try. Let’s go upstairs.” When they enter Priscilla’s room, she says, “You can hide here. No one enters without permission except Anna, and I can explain you to her.”
“No, you can’t.” Maven’s dark eyes burst open. “Do not tell anyone I am here. I can’t risk it. They will kill me.”
Priscilla wrings her skirt in her fist. She remembers the rule in the Epistles being that, if one should kill, their life should also be taken. She takes a seat on the bed next to Maven.
What does Anna always say? “Do you need time alone, or would you like to discuss it?” Priscilla asks softly.
“No,” comes the quick reply. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“You can’t hide here forever. If your daughter gets well, they might take her with them, back to wherever they belong.”
Of Embers Page 7
