“Is Catarina really dead?” John asked.
“She is, your Eminence.”
“May God have mercy on her soul.” John crossed himself and shook his head. “Lord knows, we tried to guide her on the right path.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Now what do I do with you?”
Lucian offered the blade to John, who took the sword and ran his fingers over the sheath. “How did you come by this?”
Unable to look his Elder in the eye, Lucian spoke to the floor. “Matthew Kellogg gave it to me when he helped me escape Hadra. He said I should bring it you and tell you that in the end, he did what was right.”
“Bloody fool got himself killed, didn’t he?”
Lucian crossed himself. “He died so I could get out of Hadra. He said he dreamed.”
“Best spy I had, Matthew Kellogg. And a good friend.” Tears glistened in John’s eyes, and he turned his head for a moment. “Damn.” John returned his attention to Lucian. “That was a high price for your life.”
Lucian studied his hands and didn’t dare raise his head.
“What says my new Inquisitor?” John snapped at Rachael.
“Miserere,” she whispered. Have mercy.
Lucian’s heart broke. She, who he had hurt the most, wanted mercy for him. He would never know what he’d done to deserve her and Lindsay.
Rachael cleared her throat and began more formally. “Miserere, your Eminence, for Matthew dreamed and a vision sent by God cannot be denied. In spite of your better judgment, you sent me into the Wasteland based on a dream, and I returned free of the Wyrm. Know that if God sent Lucian back to us, it must be for a reason. This we take in faith.”
“He violated his covenant not to open the Hell Gates.” John tapped the hilt of Matthew’s sword against the palm of his hand.
“It’s not forgotten, but he only violated that covenant to bring a foundling out of Hell. Lindsay has extraordinary talents, and Lucian guided her through her first days in Woerld with great care. He encouraged her to pray and taught her to avoid the complicit by teaching her their signs. He watched over her as a true Elder. I find no complaint with his actions.”
“There’s my girl,” John whispered. Louder, he said, “Get up, Lucian.”
Lucian struggled to rise and felt a hand under his arm. Rachael helped him to his feet and didn’t move from his side.
John raised his finger, his glare boring into them. “Your trial will be at dawn. Rachael, you’ll present your arguments. I will not challenge you.” He turned to Lucian. “Based on Matthew’s actions and the child you drew through the Veil, I’m willing to revoke your exile.”
Lucian leaned heavily on his cane. He needed to sit, not from pain but from relief. Rachael’s fingers squeezed his arm, and he drew comfort from her strength.
“Don’t go singing hosannas yet, son,” John warned. “You’ll be on probation for the next five years. You will not step outside these walls without written permission or you will be shot. Your movements will be accounted for and if you give me the slightest reason to doubt your loyalty to the Citadel, I will put the noose around your neck with my own hands. Do you understand, Lucian Negru?”
Lucian whispered, “I do, your Eminence.”
John said, “You and Lindsay are going to have to spend some time apart. You have grown so close to that child, I can’t tell where her soul begins and yours ends, so I am sending her away with Tanith for a while. When she returns, Rachael will act as Lindsay’s guardian in all formal occasions until your probation is over. But God sent that child to you, so you will remain her Elder.” John leaned close and whispered to them, “And may she never bring you the grief you two have brought to me.”
Lucian opened his mouth, but John silenced him. “Don’t say a word.” He made the sign of the cross over them. “God forgives you, Lucian. He absolves you through me, but you’ve got a long way to go before you’ve earned my trust again.” He handed Lucian the sword. “Matthew gave it you. A Katharos’s soul remains close to their weapon, so you’ve got a guardian angel. Take care of his blade and cherish his spirit. He was a good man.”
“Thank you.” Lucian accepted the weapon.
“Thank God, son.” John turned on Rachael. “Since you’re so willing to tie your fate to his, you’re responsible for him for next five years. Find accommodations for him. You’re the Inquisitor, so he’ll report to you. Get cleaned up and be in my office by noon. We’ve got work to do. I’m ordering a Purge.”
A Purge dictated no mercy for the condemned. Exile wouldn’t be an option; they would be hanged. He’ll take their blood on his hands, Lucian thought. He locked the heaviness of his guilt for Catarina’s murder deep in his heart. Better she die by his hand than be hanged as a traitor. Perhaps, in the end, he’d saved her after all.
John stared at the floor, his face sad. “We’ve a hard road ahead of us, Rachael.”
“I know.”
He shook his head and kissed her cheeks. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“I won’t.” Her hand slipped down Lucian’s arm as John left them. When he had gone, she moved to one of the pews and sank down to stare at the altar. Lucian sat beside her and put his hand on hers. She didn’t pull away from him but remained so still, she could have been made of stone.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I only told the truth. This doesn’t fix what happened between us, Lucian.”
“I know.” He could never undo the past. In his youth and arrogance, he’d thought repairing the damage would erase the misdeed. Now he realized it was merely the first step on a long road to healing. “I wanted to make you well, take your pain. I loved you then.” He whispered, “I love you now.”
“Love doesn’t cure everything.” She sighed and rubbed the patch over her missing eye. “We can’t go back to the way we were before all this happened.”
“We could go forward.”
“Forward?” She looked at him and he seized the opportunity.
“From here. We can’t pretend nothing ever happened, but we can acknowledge the past. Move beyond it. Give me a chance, Rachael.”
“A chance for what?”
“To earn your love again.”
She turned her head, showing him only the blind patch covering her eye. The silence lengthened between them. He held his breath and tried to still his pulse.
“I can’t promise you anything,” she whispered.
He cupped her chin and turned her face to him; he was surprised to see tears glittering on her lashes. She was beautiful. “No promises,” he said. “No more promises. All I ask is for an opportunity.”
“Nothing more.” Her voice carried a hint of warning, and he couldn’t help but smile. She searched his heart and judged his words. Time slowed until she eventually said, “All right. We’ll see. We’ll see how it goes. A day at a time.”
He understood this was as close to a commitment as she could come. He had no right to ask for more. “Today then.” He kissed her hand and didn’t press her. They sat together and watched dust motes dance in the sunlight, and Lucian recalled a star falling across the Wasteland’s sky.
And a wish.
Soft as a kiss.
Lucian smiled.
He had an opportunity.
Nothing more.
But for now, that was enough.
†
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First, foremost, and always to my husband Dick who spent many an evening consoling me through this project, because he believed in me. He forever has my heart. To my beautiful daughter, Rhiannon Reeder, my co-conspirator and constant companion throughout all the plot twists and character developments. We spent many an evening hashing out Miserere’s details after our long days at work. She is an inspiration to me.
I want to thank my vibrant agent Weronika Janczuk for her enthusiasm and for loving not just Miserere but all my writing. She challenged me to make Miserere better and I believe it was through her steady guidance that we brought Lucian’s sto
ry to publication. She marvels me with her energy and beauty. I love working with her.
To Jeremy Lassen for taking a chance on Miserere and giving me excellent editorial advice to make Miserere the novel it is today. And a big thanks to Ross Lockhart who suffered through numerous emails and answered each patiently while editing Miserere.
My constant (and I do mean constant) readers: Kelly Kennedy Bryson, Liz Colter, Peter Cooper, J. R. Hochman, Valerie Jones, and Terri Trimble. All of you worked with me through multiple drafts of chapters and scenes until I got it right. You are all amazing writers in your own rights and I love and look forward to celebrating your successes with you. Thank you.
To Mary Gomez, my final reader: I knew the manuscript was ready when it received the BookLove seal of approval. To Kim Shireman for being there when I needed sage advice and clear sight; you have always been a power of example to me. To Sylvia Thagard for a thousand good mornings and the wisdom you bring to my life.
Thanks to David Felker for pointing me to some wonderful resources on Eastern Orthodox Christianity and exorcism. His advice and reading list helped me immensely.
For Kathryn Magendie: you and your novels will always have a special place in my heart. Thank you for cheering me on and giving me the benefit of your experience through the publication process but mostly for just being yourself. Kathryn introduced me to Lisa Mannetti, a wonderful author who has, in turn, introduced me to so many great horror writers and their works. Thank you, Lisa, for giving me so much wonderful advice and taking such time with me. And to Alex Bledsoe for his Eddie LaCrosse series, which resurrected my love of fantasy. He proved to me that you can do something different and do it successfully.
My most special thanks goes to the original God’s Squad: a group of writers represented by James Allen of the Virginia Kidd Literary Agency back in the 1980s: Lisa W. Cantrell, Theresa Gladden, and M. Scott Gilliam. You ladies will always and forever be a part of my personal story, and I will never forget the laughter we shared. And yes, I still have that damn t-shirt.
Most of all, I would like to thank you, the people who read Miserere. Without you, the reader, none of this would be possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raised in a small town, Teresa Frohock learned to escape to other worlds through the fiction collection of her local library. She eventually moved away from Reidsville and lived in Virginia and South Carolina before returning to North Carolina, where she currently resides with her husband and daughter.
Teresa has long been accused of telling stories, which is a southern colloquialism for lying. Miserere: An Autumn Tale is her debut novel.
Table of Contents
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PART II
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PART III
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Miserere: An Autumn Tale Page 31
