by Jasmine Walt
But even at a distance it was obviously not one of the tall, bracing knights who always protected her. It was a diminutive figure shrouded from head to toe in white, her face hidden completely by a thin white veil. Lorelai swallowed the gasp that clung to her lips. A priestess of San Mael, the patron saint of death.
“I need not see a shrouded one,” Lorelai said quickly, goosebumps rippling down her arms.
“You will see me.” The priestess’s voice was misty underneath the heavy white gossamer.
The white was supposed to remind the people of the light at the end of the hallway of death, of the white clouds where everybody would rise and their spirits would rejoice in the divine light of the saints. But Lorelai had seen too much death and never a transcendent light. The shrouded white priestesses of San Mael only reminded her somebody had died and would never be seen by their loved ones again. She hated the white shrouds that covered them from head to toe.
A deep shiver moved over every inch of Lorelai as the priestess stepped into her cell and the guard shut the cell door.
The clinking of the closing gate drove into Lorelai’s heart. There was nowhere in the cell to sit, so the dowager queen stood firmly staring at the white priestess. “Say your psalms and depart.”
“It is not I who will depart this cell.” The priestess glanced over her shoulder, and her voice slipped out of its former wispy tone into a lilt Lorelai recognized. She took a slow step forward, trying to peer through the veil. The priestess lifted the veil to the side. Lorelai’s breath caught in her throat. It was not the face of some old crone. It was her lady-in-waiting, Cateline.
“What are you doing here?” She gripped Cateline’s hands, pulling her closer and whispering against the white veil that separated them.
“There was no way I could leave you here on your own,” Cateline replied.
“You cannot stay with me,” Lorelai insisted. “It’s impossible.”
Cateline looked over her shoulder again, but the hall was dark. The only sound was water dripping in the distance. She turned back to Lorelai, the light of a single candle shedding shadows on her face.
“I will not stay with you,” she said, carefully removing the shroud from her head and slipping out of her gown. “I will stay here in your place.”
Lorelai grabbed Cateline’s arms. “You cannot,” she said. “You mustn’t.” Frantically she dipped to the ground and grabbed the smock Cateline had dropped to the floor. “Put it back on. Quickly, before they see you.”
“I will not,” Cateline said. “You shall.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a red wig shockingly similar to Lorelai’s own hair. “I found this in your cupboards. Why in the saints’ names would you have a wig made to look exactly like your natural hair?”
Lorelai hadn’t seen the wig in years. “It was made through the dark times in Bas Terrenia. We attended so many funerals my hair fell out. The king had this one made.”
Cateline slipped the wig onto her own head, tucking her blonde locks tightly inside.
“You must go,” Cateline said. “Quickly.”
Lorelai didn’t move.
Cateline slipped Lorelai’s shift off her shoulders as she had done so many times before. “You must go to the Temple of All Saints,” she whispered to the queen. “There you will be met and escorted out of the city.”
“I am just supposed to run away and leave you to certain death?” Tears pooled in her eyes at the sacrifice of her lady-in-waiting.
“Lorelai,” Cateline snapped.
Lorelai started. As the queen, she wasn’t used to being spoken to like that, but it was even stranger to hear Cateline call her by her first name.
“I have seen what Guntram is. Do you think you’re the first woman he has pushed himself onto? I was only at court a day before he forced himself on me. But you stood against him. This is a man who takes anything. He does not care for people. He relies on his breeding and mages for power. He cannot run this kingdom. The country will be destroyed.”
“But you can’t sacrifice your—”
“I can,” Cateline said. “Lorelai, you live here in a castle. You don’t see the people of your kingdom.”
“We hear petitions from the lords,” Lorelai said.
“The people live in fear,” Cateline whispered fervently.
“I know, I know,” Lorelai said. “But we have made treaties with—”
“How long will those treaties hold with Guntram in power?”
“They won’t.” Lorelai twisted her signet ring.
Cateline gripped Lorelai’s hand. “And you can’t make a treaty with the Grosse Obscurite.”
Lorelai ripped her hand away. “And what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” Cateline said, “but the omen said—”
“The omen? You are going to sacrifice yourself for an omen?” Lorelai pushed the priestess shroud into Cateline’s chest.
“Your child will rule Valliere in a golden age of peace.” Cateline’s eyes were bright and burning in the dark light. “One like we’ve never had before.”
“You can’t believe in omens,” Lorelai said.
“Yes, I can.” Cateline put the white shroud around Lorelai and adjusted the red wig on her own head. She rattled at the prison bars. “I give my life for yours, so you can save Valliere.”
“Cateline…”
“Guards! Guards!” Cateline called, her voice bold and commanding, like Lorelai’s own. “Get this priestess out of my sight.”
It was all happening too fast. Lorelai spun from the iron-barred door, leaning into Cateline.
“I will not forget you,” Lorelai said.
“Take this letter to my people. They will care for you. You will find a true following there.” Cateline tucked the letter into the priestess’s shroud covering Lorelai and pulled the veil over her face. Grabbing Lorelai’s shoulders, Cateline turned towards the guard.
“Get this woman of death away from me,” Cateline said, her head bowed. She turned away as the iron bars slid open and Lorelai, hidden in the white shroud, slipped into the dark hallway. Tears slid down Lorelai’s cheeks, hidden by the shroud, and as the guard ushered her towards freedom, she said a silent goodbye to Cateline and prayed the saints would reward her sacrifice in the afterlife.
8
Bruno pulled the wide-brimmed beggar’s hat low over his face as he sat on the front steps of the Temple of All Saints. The six spiraling towers of the temple cast long shadows across the main square. Crowds bustling to and fro were muted during this time of mourning. It had only been a few days since King Peverell had died, and already it was known the queen was in prison on charges of treason. It was commonly spoken in the ale houses that only by luck would she be able to retire to a monastery somewhere.
A monastery. Barre du Corbeau. There was no more foreboding monastery in all Valliere. Set high in the mountain peaks between Grenoble and Fado, its white walls and blood-red tower were renowned for unspoken horrors. It was the place mothers threatened their children with when they wouldn’t do as they were told. Especially his mother. Just the thought of the place brought goose flesh to Bruno’s arms.
She’s not a mage.
She wouldn’t be sent there.
No.
If Guntram let her live, he would send her to one of the saint’s monasteries. Probably the patron saint of her house. Bruno didn’t even know which saint that was. Eight years with the woman, practically day and night, and he’d been so busy covertly looking at her ass, he hadn’t even learned the most basic thing about her.
But what an ass…
When he’d come to the Order at twenty-two, he’d been expecting women and adventure and to be free of his domineering mother and the iron hand she wielded over their duchy. What he hadn’t expected was the queen. At first, he had just admired her from afar. She was his liege lord’s faithful and loving wife. He would never dishonor their union.
But then in the garden, when he had held he
r, and she’d rested her head on his shoulder…
Bruno shook the image from his mind. This was not the time for a hard cock.
He had to stay focused. He wasn’t some dumb, love-struck page. He was a knight of the Order of the Regent. His king had died under mysterious circumstances and his queen was imprisoned. His task was to get her to safety and regroup with the rest of the Order, not sit here and think about her curvaceous body pressed against his.
A flicker of white across the square caught his attention. Was it her? It had to be. They had made a heavy donation to the temple to make sure all the priestesses were otherwise engaged. There could be no witnesses. But he couldn’t make a mistake. He had to be patient.
Bruno’s gaze followed the billowing white shroud as the San Mael priestess stepped cautiously around the corner, her veiled head tilted up at the temple.
“Come, Your Majesty,” Bruno muttered to himself. He couldn’t approach the priestess or draw attention to her. The soldiers in the square were still on high alert for the Order of the Regent, and any one of them could discover the priestess was truly the queen.
Slowly the priestess drew towards the six spires of the Temple of All Saints, stepping into the plaza. She was a white dove floating towards Bruno, flying for her freedom. He marveled at how, even under an ungraceful white sack, he would recognize the queen’s movements anywhere. She was graceful and sublime, like a river of light flowing through the darkening square.
He raised his dirt-covered hand as she pressed a timid toe onto the bottom step. Her gaze was upturned to the massive wooden doors, just open a crack.
“Alms for the poor?” Bruno asked in a low voice.
The queen paused, her head slowly turning as she gazed at the bent figure in ragged clothes.
“Alms for the poor?” Bruno asked again. This time he slowly turned his tan hand, flashing the insignia ring of House du Montbard.
“Sir Bruno.” The words were like a delicate breath taken without a sound. His name had never sounded so sweet on anyone’s lips.
“It is I.” He kept his voice low.
She visibly relaxed, and he wanted to gather her into his arms.
“Is this beggar troubling you?” a soldier’s voice rang out across the square. He wore a helmet as all guards did, pulled down around his face with just his eyes showing. The brass on his shoulder shone in the afternoon sun, and the blue lines of the uniform were crisp against his strong forearms.
A second guard reached down towards Bruno. “Leave this place, beggar, or you’ll be meeting the saints face to face.”
“No.” Lorelai’s voice was low and breathless.
“We will escort you into the temple, Mother, and away from the rabble of the city,” the first soldier said loudly. The men flanked Lorelai, separating her from Bruno and escorting her into the dark interior of the temple.
It only took Bruno a moment to slip in through the priest’s door.
“Really, really, I’m quite fine.” Lorelai’s voice echoed inside the hollow heights of the temple.
They walked her through the entry and up the nave. “I’m quite fine,” she repeated. “You can leave me now.”
“It is best if we protect you from the beggars,” the guard said.
Bruno stayed in the gloom, moving his way up the nave as Lorelai was guided into an alcove and cornered by the guards.
“Leave me,” she said.
The soldier lifted his helmet and sank to one knee, his blond head bowed. “Forgive me, my queen,” Reyn said.
Lorelai’s squawk was a mixture of thrill and relief as she reached forward and rested her hand on his head. “Sir Reyn.” She nodded. Immediately she looked to the other soldier, who removed his helmet, his tight black curls framing his worried face. He dropped to his knee also. “Sir Marrok.” Lorelai blessed him with her hand as well.
Bruno bowed his head, swallowing hard. The queen had never looked lovelier than she did now, the white priestess shroud draping across her lithe body, her red hair falling in billowing cascades down her shoulders. His heart and chest swelled. She was out of the dungeons and safe.
“Did he hurt you?” Bruno asked, stepping forward as the other knights stood.
“No,” Lorelai said. Bruno held her gaze. Was she telling the truth or just saying what they would want to hear? “But he would kill me if I would not submit to be his wife,” she added.
“That will never happen.” Bruno’s voice echoed in the empty temple.
“We are going to get you out of the city,” Reyn said.
“He killed my husband,” Lorelai said. “He killed him.” Bruno hated the way her voice trembled as she said the words. This was his queen. His strong and regal queen. And now she sounded as if every part of her wanted to crumple and fall to her knees.
Bruno stepped towards her, wanting to hold her in his arms and tell her it was all going to end well. But Marrok stepped between them. Bruno checked himself. Marrok was right. A knight does not just hold the queen.
“Bruno will take you to safety,” Marrok said, and by the look Marrok gave him, Bruno knew exactly what he meant by safety.
Bruno bowed low. “I will escort you. There’s a tunnel beneath this temple that will take us out of the city.”
“But they have Taron,” she said. “And Andre.”
“We know,” Marrok said. “Reyn and I will go back into the city and figure out a way to get them out. We shall meet after.”
“Meet where?” Lorelai asked, her voice cracking. “I have nothing. We can’t even go to my people’s land. There is only a small stretch of Bas Terrenia left, and no one with resources lives there.”
The tone tore at Bruno’s heart. “We believe you will be welcome at Cateline’s family’s house. They are staunch supporters of King Peverell.”
Bruno didn’t tell her that was as far as their plan went. They weren’t quite sure what to do next. Only that it would have to be a group decision of the knights led by the queen. This much he understood. But if they were not all together, they could not decide. And they needed space from the city and King Guntram.
“Cateline?” Lorelai asked, looking to Marrok. “Who sent her?”
“It was me,” Bruno said, the confession weighing heavy on his heart. He wished there had been some other way to get Lorelai free. “She is a friend of mine from court, and I knew her deep loyalty.”
“You must get her out.” Lorelai leaned in, grabbing at Marrok’s shirt. “You must. She cannot be left to die in my place. They will know soon enough it’s not me in the cell, and when they find her, she will be torn apart.”
“We will do our best, Your Grace,” Marrok said. “But the most important thing right now is to get you to safety and get Taron and Andre out of the castle. If the Order of the Regent is intact and has the queen, there’s a chance to remove the murderous usurper from the throne. Without you, this country will be ruled to its damnation by Guntram.”
9
In the dark staircase, a warm hand clasped Lorelai’s. Tingles laced up her arms, and she sucked in her lower lip. A man was touching her. She was the queen of all Valliere. No man but her husband was allowed. But Bruno only gripped tighter as he felt her pull back.
“You will fall if you do not have a steady hand to guide you,” he said. “The stairs are narrow and worn smooth from the priestesses. There is water, and it can be slippery as well.”
“Thank you, Sir Bruno,” Lorelai acquiesced, though her heart raced at his touch.
“Never thank me,” he said. “It is an insult to thank someone for doing their job.”
Lorelai stepped carefully in the gloom behind him, not daring to say what was in her heart. Bruno was just doing his job. Caring for the king’s preferred regent. It was his task to help, nothing more. She must remember this and not romanticize it. The chill that slipped into her chest was not simply the cool air clinging to them as they descended farther down the darkened stairway.
A gentle blue light grew brighter a
s they made their way through the earth.
“Are those blue stones?” Lorelai hated how her voice quivered in the dark.
“Aye,” Bruno said.
Lorelai’s steps slowed. “But this—this is a temple, not a mage’s den,” she said. “How does the temple have them when even the king does not?”
The famed mages’ stones were guarded jealously by the guild and never shared. The mages mined and empowered the egg-like stones with light, which they held forever. Each mage had one. But now, as they entered a cavern, Lorelai saw she was wrong. The priestesses of the Temple of All Saints had them in the caverns underneath their shrines.
“I’ve heard the mages and priestesses had some agreement,” Bruno said. “It must be about the blue stone.”
They rounded a corner of the passage, and after the dimness of the hallway, the azure glow almost hurt Lorelai’s eyes. Together, they stood at the edge of a large pool of water sheltered in a glowing cobalt cavern. Water dripping from stalactites above the pond reverberated a gentle, rhythmic sound through the chamber.
Bruno released her hand.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The real Temple of All Saints.” He motioned towards the underground pool. “Where the priestesses and sorcieres commune with the saints and with each other.” The sorcieres were the men who served the temples of the saints. While the women became priestesses and communed with the saints, it was the sorcieres who acted as healers.
Lorelai trailed her hand along the moist cavern wall. “I thought they were celibate.”
“If you ask them, this is what they’ll say. They only fornicate with the saints.”
“What? Really?” Lorelai couldn’t stop the completely inappropriate giggle that escaped her mouth. “But the saints…they aren’t real.”
“They say the priestesses and monks bathe in the waters and are imbued with the spirits of the saints, and then they—”
“How do you know so much about the ways of the priestesses and the sorcieres?” she interrupted, not daring to let him finish.
His gaze was unabashed as he turned towards her. “I am not second-born to my house,” he said simply. “I am third-born.”
