Even her mother seemed shocked by what she had done, for all that she held her wrist as if she had smacked stone, shaking her head as if in utter contempt, before turning around and proceeding to the doorway.
“All you had to do was tell us, the moment you had an inkling of suspicion, Jessica!”
Agda wouldn’t even turn around to look at her, cold voice slithering across the room. “But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you? You had to chase demons that for all we know aren’t even there. So caught up in your self-righteous outrage that four men now lie dead as a result. You would have broken guest rights, and killed Kipu as well, had Verona, a Crown Agent herself, not intervened! By the Gods, Jess. I don’t have any words to say how utterly and completely disappointed I am in you!”
When her mother turned around at last, her eyes were bitter and cold. Just gazing in them made Jess want to crawl under the bed and whimper. But her words, her words were filled with bitterest sorrow. Jess felt as if she were a broken animal, dying on the road, best killed quickly, not left to suffer and linger on.
"It was folly to allow your father to take you to a school that trains young nobles to be killers. You yourself don't have the common sense of a sheepdog! Your body might be that of an adult, Jessica, but I fear your mind is that of an impulsive child. It always has been, it always will be. We should never have allowed you to train in the arts of war. And then you were forced to face things that would send even a sane man screaming!"
Her mother sighed, gazing at her daughter with such unbearable pity. “And here you now are, damaged and broken, from exposure to things you never should have had to face or endure. For that I am sorry, my daughter, I truly, truly am.”
Agda turned around again, resting her forehead against Jess’s bedroom door. “Your father will be back later. To take away all your deadly little killing toys. All your armor, all your boy's clothes. You are done with that chapter of your life. Do you hear me, Jessica de Calenbry? Done!”
“Mother!” Jess managed to gasp, through her self-loathing and tears.
"Don't say a word. Not one word." Her mother's breathing was sharp and ragged. She stood there, clenching the door handle so tightly it shook. "I cannot change what has already passed, daughter, but I am your mother. And I will do what it takes to undo the damage done, even if we both weep bitter tears for the effort of it. You will be wearing a dress at all times. You will be speaking as a proper young lady, taking meals as a proper young lady, and most of all, even if it takes a dozen healers, controlling your temper! No more training in death, Jessica. We are going to undo the horror Highrock made of you. And somehow, we will save you."
Agda herself was shaking with pent up sobs, and Jess was left numb at how deeply her own mother was hurting for her daughter, as much as she was outraged at the things Jess had done.
"I will teach you to think. I will train you to consider all the ramifications before you act. Even if it takes years, daughter, I will salvage you. I love you too much to give up on you!"
Those final words, said with such despair, were too much. Jess burst into loud wracking sobs even as her mother left, quietly shutting the door behind her.
Her mother’s harsh condemnation burned through Jess, the most agonizing of torments. The moment, the very moment she had had the slightest inkling that Kipu might have been trouble, all she had to do was to quietly share her concern with her parents. Jessica herself had known that the threat wasn’t imminent, that it was lying in wait. Now she understood with painful clarity that Kipu had just been performing reconnaissance that evening. If she had just informed her father, he could have simply strolled over to Apple and Kipu's rendezvous, guardsmen politely in tow, and firmly informed Kipu that romancing his daughter outside the bounds of her chaperon was not allowed. Apple would have been frustrated of course, but the whole thing could have been resolved quietly, discretely, no one losing face, and most important, not an ounce of blood would have been shed.
No one had to die. That realization burned through Jessica. No one had had to die. For as much as she was lost in her waking vision, circling Kipu and declaring her challenge, as much as it solidified the dark truths she thought she had sensed from him, had it truly been necessary?
Her mother had implied that she would have trusted Jess's judgment, had it been a simple hunch. They were leery of leaving Appolonia alone with a man in any case, even had he been as lily white as a saint. It would have been nothing for Jess to come with a single chaperone and politely inform Kipu that they needed to head back to the house. Yet that hadn't been enough for her. Instead, she had embraced her darkest self, hunting Kipu down like he was prey.
In her heart of hearts, she knew a part of her had been goading him. Hungry for the sweet rush of battle. The hot coppery tang of blood splashing from her blade's cruel edges. She had sought a righteous slaughter. The moment she had seen him as a threat she had wanted him dead, killed by her own hand, never to walk the face of Dawn again.
The dark realization made her shudder with an acute wave of shame.
Jess grimaced, realizing how painfully true her mother’s words were. She had been trained with exquisite care in the arts of death, expertly molded into a ruthless killer, as all Squires of War had been. For all that she had entered Highrock with the ideals of a girl wanting to become the most noble of knights, using her grace and glory to wipe Erovering free of all evil, making it a place of peace and harmony for all, fate and Mord had set her upon a different path.
Jess chuckled at the bitter irony of it all. For what had come out three years later was no chivalrous knight or paladin out of the storybooks, but perhaps one of the best trained and most ruthless killers ever to emerge from Highrock. A girl who had enjoyed drawing up battle plans for the most violent of conquests just for fun in her off hours, and more than capable of leading like-minded hellions on just such a campaign. Perhaps she really was little more than a half-mad war hound. Hardly fit company for polite society, having absolutely no place in a proper home, suited only for the battlefield, until the tides of fate eventually took her the way of all those who fell before her.
Jess clenched her eyes closed and forced herself to consider the horrid possibility she so desperately wanted to avoid facing.
What if her mother was right? What if her whole fear of Kipu was based on nothing more than mad delusion? In which case… she had acted the raving lunatic, killing four innocent men, putting everything and everyone she loved in jeopardy. If word of this got out, all but assured thanks to an understandably furious Kipu, it could spell disaster for her entire family.
And never had she been forced to question if perhaps her whole attack had been based on nothing more than folly-laden delusion. If so, she was indeed little more than a mad killer who had slain four innocent men, and endangered the well-being of her House, and all for nothing.
That thought alone made her gut clench in a fierce paroxysm of self-loathing. Her silent sobs rocked through her, crystalline tears a constant stream of bitter regrets that did not stop flowing even when her cat, curled on the chair beside her, gracefully leaped upon the bed, curling up next to her as he gazed into her eyes.
She was too drained to move, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment she knew would be in her father’s eyes when he arrived to take all her weapons away. In a brief, bleak moment her eyes caught sight of her many finely honed and well cared for knives. She collected everything from the pristinely sharp narrow dirks used for thrusting into the chinks of a knight's armor once close quarters combat was initiated, to her cinquedea daggers, almost as wide at the hilt as her fist, their triangular, fullered blades designed so that almost any hard thrust to an unarmored torso would result in a foe collapsing from the shock of the blow almost immediately.
Jess had a fascination with all blades, almost a fetish, she acknowledged to herself, yet never before had she imagined what it would be like to thrust such a blade into her own chest, hot and fierce, ending her bitter humiliat
ion and self-loathing with one sharp hot blow.
Her cat suddenly snorted, shaking his head.
"No, Jess. No matter how much your heart burns, you are not to end your life so cheaply. I will not have all the demons of Hell laughing at me for allowing you to fall to such a trivial, pathetic end."
Jess blinked, startled. It had only been an ideation, her eyes alone locked on the blades, but the sapphire gaze of her beloved familiar let her know that he knew all too well what she was thinking. He read her like a book, as he always had.
“Mother thinks you are a delusion, you know,” Jess said, smiling sadly through her tears.
“That’s because your mother is sometimes an idiot,” Twilight said. “Now listen, Jess. Your father approaches, and we need to prepare.”
“There is nothing to prepare for, Twilight,” Jess said softly, eyes still red with tears. “Mother is right. I’m little more than a mad dog, broken and bloodthirsty, a shame to my family, putting them all at risk with my stupid, stupid folly.”
"I will not tolerate self-pity!" Twilight hissed, ears flowing back, gazing at Jess with a look that froze her still. "You may cry all you want, after your father leaves, but for now I need you to stop your maudlin tears, and focus! Are we clear?"
“Even you are angry with me! I mess up everything, Twilight, don’t you see?” And as if her confession was a final catalyst, Jess broke down in great big gasping sobs, crying like a small child.
"By the angels above," Twilight sighed in exasperation, flowing into Jess's lap, allowing her to take comfort in stroking his fur as he gently butted her with his head. "I am not angry with you, Jess. Only angry at your vulnerable heart putting everything at risk. Please, Jess, trust me as you always have. You are the same girl you were months ago, fighting a prince of Hell to save the Turnsby lands from sinking into the Shadowrealms and from there, straight into the Abyss."
Jess’s sobs quieted, though she was too exhausted and numb to do anything but stare vaguely into space as she gently stroked her familiar’s belly.
“Now Jess, I need you to listen and focus, all right?” A purring Twilight gently licked her cheek. “Your father will come, solemn and serious. You need to promise nothing. Do you understand? He may well try to hedge you into making an oath not to draw a blade ever again. Do not, I repeat, do not make such an oath. Your parents, for all their wisdom, for all that they see a bigger picture than perhaps you yourself are fully aware of, are themselves aware of only the smallest corner of the board on which we all play our deadly little game.”
Jess blinked. “What do you mean, Twilight?”
"What I mean, my beloved Jess, is simply this: For now, promise nothing. You may hedge, you may imply, you can let him know you feel deep regret at the chaos that has transpired. But Jess? Under no circumstances are you to promise not to draw your weapons or take arms against your enemies.”
Jess blinked, but nodded. “Very well, Twilight. I’ll just curl in a ball and be too despondent to speak coherently. Which is pretty much how my heart feels, even now.” Jess smiled through her bitter tears.
Twilight butted her head in gentle reproof. "What you are to do, is when you speak to your father, let him know that you feel remorse, but ask him if it's okay for you to at least claim your armaments in your dreams. Let him know it will help protect you against nightmares, and will soothe the blow of him disarming you as if you were a sick patient, or an untrustworthy child."
Jess sighed, nodding at her familiar's words. "Very well, Twilight. I will try."
“Do more than try, Jess,” her familiar cautioned. “It is more important than you realize. After that? We can talk. Later. When your heart isn’t crushed by the weight of your mother’s sorrow.”
Jess’s nod was slight, head lying back on her pillow, but it was enough for Twilight, who gently licked away all evidence of her tears, crystalline though they were, and curled up beside her on the bed, quiet and still, saying no more.
47
When her father gently knocked on her door, Jess opened it automatically with the slightest surge of will from her exhausted form. Her mind was still spinning with regret, thinking of all the things she could have, no, should have, done differently. But what was done was done. She had made a mess of things, and she had to live with the bitter results of what had transpired.
Silently the baron of all of Calenbry entered, and Jess dared to gaze up at him through reddened eyes. To her relief and shame, she saw his gentle blue gaze was filled with pity. Not anger. The sympathy a good commander had when one of his troops suffered a grave wound, perhaps by his own stupid folly, but tragic nonetheless. He sighed, softly, gently stroking her hair. Jess wanted to remain strong but couldn't bear the softness of his touch.
"I'm sorry, Father. So very, very sorry," she cried, sobbing and hiccuping as she held him close, much as she had as a child, even now having the presence of mind to grasp him with but the smallest fraction of her strength. She took some small comfort in the gentle soothing touch of his hands stroking her hair, allowing her some moments to collect herself before he gently lay her down, pulling her blanket to her chin, tucking her in like he did when she was a sick child.
“Rest, my dear. Just… rest. Seek calm, my love. Rest your mind. That’s it. Let your thoughts ease, Jessica, find healing in sleep. I will be done soon enough, and then we can say what needs to be said, and I will have broth and milk sent up to you. all right, my daughter?”
Jess sniffled and nodded, letting her father take care of her, not protesting when he adroitly removed her mail lined gloves, smiling warmly as he did so, stroking her cheek before methodically claiming all her weapons; poniards, parrying daggers, dirks, cinquedeas, arming blades, long swords, as well as her more exotic prizes. All of it carefully, methodically, claimed by her father and to her humiliation, her brother Geoffrey as well, who besides a single sympathetic smile had the grace not to shame Jessica, confronting her with the horrific follies of the evening that had necessitated their defanging her completely.
It took several trips before her collection of gambesons and suits of lamellar armor and mail hauberks of bronze, iron, and steel, all well cared for, had been cleared from her rooms, much bulkier items that they were.
Only at that moment did she think of poor Onnika and Karine, who had no doubt traveled for hours to see her on her special day, only to be turned away, the gala canceled abruptly, her family's pride and joy in Jess having turned to disgust and shame. Jess shuddered, unable to bear the thought of Onnika seeing her now, grimly certain that her mother would never let Onnika visit again, in any case.
At last, all of Jess's displayed arms and armaments were removed, though not her secret, super secure stash of her most prized and precious weapons, locked securely in a discrete oak chest beneath her bed. Fastened by an act of her will, the strength of its protective enhancement resonated with the resilience of all the woods in Erovering. And with a single meaningful glance from her father, she relaxed her binding and the oaken chest popped open, as normal and plain as any oaken chest could be.
Geoffrey whistled approvingly, testing the heft and balance of her prized blades, though a single stern glance from their father and he quickly apologized, sheathing the arming blade in his hand and offering Jess a sympathetic smile. “I think that’s the last of it, Father,” Geoffrey said some time later, and Jess turned her head away, too sad to speak, when her father gently stroked her hair.
“Jessica?”
"Dresser. False bottom, lowest drawer. Oak chest, false bottom. Loose floorboard, leftmost one beneath the far window," Jess whispered before shutting her eyes and ignoring them, even as Geoffrey chuckled softly.
Her father sighed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving to collect her secret stashes. She didn't need to see him to sense the haunted look in his eyes. Never had Jess felt so low.
She still bled from her mother’s words, cutting deep into her soul. Now she was to be left helpless and vulnerable, w
ith no means to defend herself. A sad little lamb judged too stupid and foolish to be allowed the teeth and jaws of a wolf. Forever to be seen as the black sheep of her clan; pitied, never to be trusted again, never to be allowed or considered worthy of following her own dreams. Her mother had made it crystal clear: she would be reforged into a far less shameful creature than she was at present, no matter how painful the transformation, no matter how much Jess loathed it. And it was all due to her own folly no less, so the only one she could hate, the only one she could be mad at, was herself.
Jess shed bitter tears silently as her brother and father left her alone at last, having taken everything that gave her a sense of power and freedom. Because she was unfit to have any of it.
Exhausted in mind, if not in body, Jessica at last felt herself slip into a deep sleep. It was sometime later that she awoke to gentle knocking, her father entering once more, face filled with the same solemn concern as before.
"Thank you, Jessica." He offered those words of comfort at least, gently stroking her forehead once more. "It takes a brave soldier to fight the battle that needs fighting, yet sometimes it takes even more courage to know when it is time to put down the blade, perhaps for good." He sighed. "I will not burden your heart any further with my take on the sorrow and folly of this day, I have no doubt your mother has said all that needs to be said. Let me just say this: I know you have a good heart, my Jessica. I know how strong it beats within you, brave and true, and I have no doubt, absolutely no doubt, that your only goal was to protect those you love."
The former general of Erovering paused a moment, considering his words. "Sometimes though, when our tours of duty run too long, when the madness of battle seems more real than the dull routine of day to day life, it is easy for our minds to slip into the folly of feeling that everything must be solved with the same hot fiery passion which serves one so well when charging enemy lines, yet so often leads only to tragedy in the politics of the everyday."
Paladin's Oath Page 57
