“I’ll find her, see. I’ll find her and tell her I’m well, and the two of us will escape into the forest again, like before. Then no one will bother us. Well, Caius might keep looking for us, but I can deal with that.”
“Caius?”
“That big man with black hair and scars on his arms. Gods only know where he got those. Probably playing with fire in the forest with his sweet little Evelyn. Not anymore I suppose.”
Maven’s mocking voice turns Priscilla’s stomach. A sudden thought sickens her further. “Was Evelyn the one you…”
“I didn’t!” Maven shouts, rocking the room. Priscilla hushes her. “I meant to kill Caius, not Evelyn. Tristus’ sword, everyone thinks I’m an awful murderer, but I didn’t mean to kill her.”
Priscilla listens carefully for any sign that someone heard her, but all seems quiet. “But you did intend to kill someone. And you did.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be her. There wouldn’t be such a big stench if I’d killed Caius. No one would have missed him.”
Priscilla hushes her again. “You have to be quiet. You don’t want people finding you.”
“I’m tired,” Maven huffs, “and I haven’t eaten since…”
Priscilla squeezes her knee. “I’ll fetch you some food. You stay right there, and don’t make a sound.”
Maven nods. Downstairs, Priscilla prepares a tray. Anna passes the door to the kitchen, holding a stack of blankets.
“Hungry again?” she asks.
Priscilla laughs uneasily. “Yes. Famished. What are you doing this evening?”
“I’m just taking these fresh coverlets to your room before I head to bed. David is staying with Gabriel’s—”
“No,” Priscilla blurts, reaching for the blankets. “I’ll bring them. Don’t fret.”
Anna raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I am just over-exerted. I’ll be better on the morrow. Good night.”
Not quite convinced, Anna walks away. “Good night.”
Priscilla takes the finished tray with her blankets back upstairs, praying silently for wisdom in this situation. When she opens the door, Maven drops a book she was perusing. A folded piece of parchment and a small lizard-shaped charm falls out of it.
“Could you please not go through my things?” Priscilla says, trying to be calm. She sets the tray down as Maven reaches for the charm.
“What is this?” she asks. “It’s lovely.”
Priscilla plucks it from her hands and replaces it and the parchment in the book. “A gift. Here’s your food.”
“From who?”
“An old friend. You should eat.”
“What friend? A man?”
Priscilla clenches her hand. She can’t help but lose patience for this woman in this instance. “Just eat, please.”
Maven’s eyes widen under her creased brows. “You must understand. I’ve lived in the forest with only my young daughter for company. I’ve never had a real friend before.”
Priscilla sighs. What would Filium Herus have done had he been in this situation? She pauses a moment. Wasn’t he in the company of publicans and sinners? Did he not love the worst of them as much as the best? This thought cools her frustration at once. Does he not love me at my very worst?
She finally says, “It’s just a gift from a friend I used to have. Now, eat. You said you were hungry.”
“No. I just said I hadn’t eaten. Was it a man?”
Priscilla pours water into her washbasin. “Yes.”
“Was it a lover?”
She stares into her reflection. Brown eyes. Brown skin. The other woman had pale skin and pink cheeks and hair like burnished copper. Candlelight glistens off the surface of the water. “Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You know, Caius was my lover. Alesia is his daughter, too. But he wanted to be with Evelyn. The rat. That’s why I wanted him dead. I wanted him to pay for all the things he put Alesia and me through.”
“You should eat.” Priscilla sets the basin down at Maven’s feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Your feet are dirty. I’m washing them.”
This silences Maven for a long moment. Finally, she says, “Why?”
Priscilla looks up at her. “I know what it’s like to be where you are, in a sense.”
“Really?” Maven drops her voice to a whisper. “You’ve killed someone too?”
“No, but I took a married man when I was in Lembross.” She swirls water against Maven’s leathery heel. “His wife was a powerful diplomat in the country, but I figured she didn’t love him the way I did. I was there for him when she wasn’t. But one night, she caught us. She was incensed.”
Priscilla recalls that night so vividly. The door flying open. The screaming. The whip that tore across her back. Helena’s men had her in chains before an hour had passed.
“She sold us—both of us,” Priscilla goes on. “I know it isn’t customary in Ardellon, but in Lembross it’s very common. And this woman had that kind of power. Kreston and I were stripped of everything and sent to this country because of our wrongdoing. Kreston was able to ride in the cart, but I had to be tied to the back as Helena, his wife, had ordered. I walked the entire way here. My feet were so calloused and swollen that I could barely feel them. We were not permitted to speak at all during the trip. It was the longest journey of my life.
“We arrived in Tarreth in the morning, much like you did. That day Gabriel, our ministry elder, had organized a trip for his ministers into the heart of the city to share Herus’ message. As they were readying themselves to go, they spotted us. Gabriel took pity on the two of us and purchased us for two hundred gold apiece.
“After he bought us, we expected to serve the Sanctuary in any way we could, cleaning and cooking, doing chores, running errands. But Gabriel immediately took us to the Chancellor’s Gallery and signed for our freedom. That was another fifty gold apiece. He must have drained the Sanctuary’s coffers that day.” Tears still well at the memory. She’d never been shown such warmth and kindness. “We eagerly accepted his message of salvation through faith in Herus, and became ministers in this Sanctuary. Slavery was officially outlawed a year later.”
“What happened to Kreston?” Maven wonders.
Priscilla dries Maven’s clean feet. “I have an extra night dress if you’d like to borrow it, since yours is ripped.”
Maven cocks her head. “What happened?”
Priscilla sighs deeply. She did share enough that the ending must not be left out. “He took a trip to Prynveil last year to meet with some chapel leaders there. When he returned, he was different. Secretive. Disconnected. We had a gathering here with Sanctuaries from across Ardellon, and, while I worked to prepare beds and food for our guests, he spent the duration speaking to one particular woman with this…beautiful copper hair.” Priscilla sets the basin on her desk, eyes faded with the memory. “After the gathering had finished, he left again, and this time, the only thing that returned was a letter.”
It’s stayed tucked away with the charm since he left. At one time, she read it over and over, trying to make sense of Kreston’s thoughts. She hasn’t opened that note in years, but she can still remember every word. She can still imagine the places the ink smudged when she sobbed into it.
“’Priscilla,’” she recites, “’I’ve met a wonderful woman who would like to marry me. She’s a widow and has two children. I think I’ll do it. But I’ll never forget what we had. Much love, Kreston.’”
“That’s it?” Maven’s mouth drops.
Priscilla nods. “After years of partnership, that was it.”
The pit of her gut aches, like it did when she saw him with her during that gathering. At first, it seemed he was just socializing. But he never strayed from the woman with copper hair. The sickening helplessness of watching him slip away was more horrible than any physical pain she’d ever endured. She once pictured a joyous ceremony celebrating their union, their childre
n growing up in this Sanctuary, living to further Herus’ work. One letter destroyed all of that. Less than forty words, and all her dreams were crushed.
“He deserves to die, I say,” Maven pipes in.
Shaking her head to clear away the thoughts, Priscilla says, “No. He doesn’t. I want him to be happy.”
“How could you? He betrayed you. He left you for someone else.”
“But that was his choice. I wasn’t.”
After a stretch of silence, Maven says, “You know, if he would ever have me, I’d marry Asher.”
“Asher?”
“The man bringing in my daughter. He was smaller than the other two and far more handsome. He wanted to take care of Alesia and me before he even knew Caius was her father.”
Confused by the story and all the names, Priscilla remains silent.
Maven kicks her legs back and forth on the bed like a child. “Why are you being so kind to me? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m just showing you what Herus has shown me—that every wanderer deserves a resting place, and every lost human deserves hope.”
Maven laughs harshly. “When my mother found out I was pregnant, she said that if I killed the baby, I could stay with her. It was my only hope of staying.”
Priscilla cringes. “This isn’t the same kind of hope. It’s not wishful. It’s the anticipation of a sure future.”
Maven slips one of Priscilla’s night dresses over her head. Pulling her hair back into a braid, she says, “I have no future.”
Priscilla touches her shoulder. “I didn’t think I did either, but Herus bought me and set me free. I thought I would die lost without him, but now, I can live eternally through him.”
Maven waves a hand. “Enough Herus talk. I don’t know what you’re saying anyway.”
Priscilla drops her hand, gut clenching. When will I stop failing you, Father?
“I hope I get some sleep tonight,” Maven says, climbing right into Priscilla’s bed. “I haven’t slept for days.”
Priscilla eyes her as she lays out blankets on the floor to sleep on. “If you need anything, just tell me,” she says, then blows out the candle.
Silence settles over the dark room. In the stillness, Priscilla wonders if sleep will ever find her.
Chapter 11
The Pink Tree
Somewhere in the darkness, Priscilla hears commotion. Maven’s quiet breathing signals she’s fast asleep already. Priscilla rises from her blankets and takes a wrap before leaving the room.
Downstairs, she can hear it more clearly. Someone with a deep, booming voice is shouting at the Shrine. She eases open the Sanctuary door. It’s that man with the scarred arms. Caius. He’s being dragged away from the Shrine by the Orc and the woman in fine clothes.
“You already took everything we have. Just let us in,” Caius is yelling.
“I told you to get away before I call the guards,” comes a voice from the Shrine.
Priscilla steps out into the darkened lane. “Hello?”
The woman glances at her. “I’m sorry for waking you,” she says. “We’re just leaving.”
“They took everything,” Caius says in exasperation. “Every copper we have. And now they won’t let us bury her. They said it’s too late. They’ve filled it, and we’ve missed our chance.” He runs his hands back through his hair.
“Lady Ilvara, what do you suggest?” the Orc asks the woman.
She drops her shoulders. “I suppose it won’t matter if we wait until morning. They said her grave is filled. Our only other option is to bury Evelyn outside the city.”
Chills run down Priscilla’s spine. Evelyn. The pieces fit a little better now. “Wasn’t there another man with you?”
“Asher?” Caius says, starting to pace. “Oh, they let him in hours ago. He left when he was finished testifying. Had to come back to check on Alesia. Just had to.”
“I’m sorry for troubling you,” Ilvara says, approaching Priscilla. “It’s been a very trying day for all of us.”
“That’s all right. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” She bites her lip, arguing with herself, torn between helping the fugitive and helping these poor souls. Finally, she comes to a conclusion. “You know, we have burial grounds too. I could get our boys to dig a grave within the hour, if you want her buried tonight.”
Ilvara’s mouth drops. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes. Of course, it is far less prestigious than the Shrine’s Resting Gardens, but I won’t charge you anything to bury Evelyn.”
The name alone seems to bring the woman to tears, or perhaps it is the gesture after her day of hardship.
Ilvara squeezes her hand. “That would do famously. Thank you so much.” She turns back to speak with the men.
They seem to agree, and the solution tempers Caius’ agitation. Priscilla leads the three of them through the Sanctuary, out the back door into the burial ground. It is simple, she knows. A simple fence and simple stone markers. No columns or white marble or embalming rooms or frightening depictions of dark lords. The grandeur of the Shrine intimidates her, or at least it has during her few visits there. She personally prefers the comfort of the Sanctuary.
Caius walks up to the cherry blossom in the corner of the grounds and points to the empty spot beneath its pink blossoms. “I think there,” he says.
“Perfect,” Ilvara agrees. “She would have loved this tree.”
Priscilla nods. “I’ll get the boys digging.”
As the sleepy workers carve a hole into the soil, the others stand nearby, watching. Priscilla glances at the plain wooden box, and her mind flickers to Maven, asleep in her room, unaware of the events happening outside.
“I remember,” Caius says softly, “she dug graves after our first battle together. It took her an hour to dig one grave. She had lived through Hades that night, and yet, she stuck through and stayed up all night digging. I saw her shut her eyes, stretch her back, drink her wine, and keep digging. I’ve never seen a woman so determined.”
Ilvara swallows visibly. “She certainly was. And she would have seen it through if…”
Caius glances at her, but she keeps her eyes trained forward. “If what?”
“Nothing.”
“If what, Ilvara? If not for me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you did. You said it in your heart. Everyone has. You’ve been cold to me ever since Maven spouted that nonsense in the forest.”
Ilvara spins on her heel. “Was it nonsense? How much of it was untrue?”
“Maven said it wasn’t her fault. That is untrue.”
“But you were supposed to die, not her.” Ilvara’s voice deteriorates into a croak. “It all connects together.”
“You’re letting Maven manipulate you. You’re letting her make you think I’m the villain when she was the one holding the dagger.”
Ilvara jabs her finger in the centre of Caius’ chest. “Evelyn sat in her old room with two arrows in her because of what you did. She was sent to prison for life against my will because of what you did.” She shakes her head, sobbing now. “She fell in love with you and got in the way of that dagger when she knew your life was being threatened. The reality is that, if not for you, Evelyn would still be alive. But now, she is dead. You may not have been holding the dagger, but without you, there would have been no dagger.”
Caius backs away, tears in his eyes. “I loved her.”
“And that’s what killed her.” Ilvara’s watery eyes turn back to the gravesite. “I can’t even bear to look at you.”
Caius wipes a hand across his face. “Fine,” he says with a nod. His dark eyes settle on the coffin for a long moment. He reaches forward and touches it once, Ilvara’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he does so.
He steps back. “Goodbye, love,” he says quietly. Then, he’s gone, walking off the grounds and disappearing like a phantom into the Sanctuary.
Priscilla watches him go. “Do…you think he’ll come back?�
��
Ilvara lets out her breath in one tired gasp. “I don’t think so.”
The scrape of the shovels are the only sounds for a long while. Finally, one of the men says, “We’re finished.”
“It’s time, my lady,” the Orc says behind Ilvara.
Priscilla tips her face to the heavens above—a sheet of inky parchment scattered with stars. She shuts her eyes. Hears them lift the coffin and lower it gently into the grave. She thinks of Caius, gone for this moment. This moment.
She wants to lay her hand on Ilvara’s shoulder. She wants to offer some kind of comfort. But she cannot open her eyes. The only thing blazing in her mind is Herus. His power. His love. Her heart cries out to him in this shadow of pain.
And he responds.
Something is happening. Priscilla’s mind seems gone from her, not controlling her movements, barely conscious of her own thoughts. She feels herself raise her arms. From her throat rips a voice that booms and does not quiver:
“Herus, let this night be a testament of your almighty power, that those who do not believe might see you only.”
A weight rips her upper body downward, slamming her to the earth in front of the grave. She grips the dirt tightly between her fingers. A current as strong as lightning hits the top of her head but does not manifest physically. It stuns her entire body and saturates the ground below. The ground trembles, shaking pink blossoms over the coffin in the dark grave beneath.
Then, there is only silence. Priscilla sucks in a breath as if she’d held it for hours. Her muscles slacken with sudden exhaustion. She can sense the stares of those around her. Did they feel what I just felt?
The silence breaks with a single sound.
Something like…scratching?
Priscilla looks down, tilting her head in disbelief as she listens. Ilvara throws her aside, leaping into the grave, sweeping off the pink petals and crumbs of dirt, tearing open the lid.
Pale arms encircle Ilvara’s throat, throwing her to the dirt wall. Ilvara screams. Priscilla screams. The men scream. But the arms do not loosen. Ilvara sobs hysterically as she wraps shaking arms around the creature in front of her—the woman who, not five minutes ago, was stone-cold and dead.
Of Embers Page 8