Of Deeds Most Valiant: A Poisoned Saints Novel

Oooh, this is where things get exciting, little sweetmeat. Tell me, tell me, little morsel, tell me, little bite, who do you think ate the Seer in front of a locked door in a house she should never have visited?

I glanced upward at the demon still locked above us. It wasn’t him, was it?

If it was, then you’ve no defense. Look at him crouched there, ready to devour, ready to eat. But no, he could not reach down to possess her. He’s truly trapped. Don’t you see the mechanism?

I could not see the mechanism, but I trusted him that it was there. I could tell the demon was stuck. I couldn’t explain why, only that I’d known from the moment I’d recognized it existed, just as I’d known I could not remove it on my own.

I’d always thought demons could not be physically trapped. That they had to dwell within the body of something else to manifest themselves. The ones we saw always did. Except for that one time we found a demon possessing a creek.

Well, a creek is a living thing in its own way, dear girl. Imagine what it would be like to be a creek. The places you’d go! The people and animals you’d meet!

The demon seemed annoyed by that line of thought. Forget demons and creeks. Think about your Seer friend. Who do you think killed her, high and mighty one?

If her head hadn’t been placed on her chest, I would have thought she’d died of madness. She certainly seemed close to it.

You should have had her read your fates while you had the chance, morsel. One of your band of upright little knights is a murderer. But which? Which? The pretty one whose eyes melt for you? His statue of a friend? The pinched ascetic? The querulous son of order?

I still didn’t think it was a person who had killed her. We were all paladins. Above reproach. And besides, that monastery was haunted — by a demon at the very least, but I was sure the rest of them must have felt how it called to us, how it made demands. Plus, there was that blasphemy of a door. Perhaps some spirit manifested itself and killed the Seer. Perhaps the demon above was no longer dreaming. Perhaps whatever it was flew out the keyhole and into her heart.

And cut off her head?

Perhaps.

And her hand? And made a pretty picture in her blood? You’re grasping. You’re hoping. It makes you deliciously vulnerable. Will you be next?

No.

What a pity.

Perhaps I should leave.

Perhaps, my girl. Perhaps.

Sir Branson seemed troubled. But why?

We were not an aspect that usually meddled in politics. We didn’t stay in one place. We were the wind that blew as it chose or as the God directed. We were no more likely to remain than the castle a child builds out of dust on the edge of the road. Of course I would melt away and it would be as if I never was. If not today, then tomorrow or the next day. It was both the beauty and horror of our aspect. To be fed every day on adventure and new hope, and every day to discard all that went before for a taste of the novel. Blessing and curse in equal measure, but mine, all mine.

And it is beautiful and worthy. But it is the demon that concerns me. Were it to become free, it would become our responsibility. Our dread task. It hovers there over the heads of all who enter that house.

Then we should cast it out right now. Recruit the others. Use our abilities together to dislodge it. I glanced upward and shivered. Brindle peered up with me.

Try.

I focused my mind and lifted my heart to the God and felt … nothing. Not even the slight tug I had felt in the past when I had prayed beside Sir Branson.

Mayhap it was because Sir Adalbrand was right and I was no true paladin.

I think not.

Mayhap I needed to sit and pray for a full seven-day under this roof.

That I doubt, also. I felt along your prayer as you lifted it to the God and it confirmed as I suspected. You cannot remove this demon. Not on your own and not while it is behind the mechanism. If the mechanism were opened and it were set free, then yes, you could try, but …

But I’d be on my own, without any other members of my aspect. With the demon possessing no physical body, I could only turn to hours or even days of prayer, during which I would be completely vulnerable.

Or…

Or it would possess either me or some other who strayed too close.

The demon in my head began to laugh.

Elegant, if I do say so myself.

I was caught, wasn’t I? Free the creature and I could fling it from this earth, but if I failed, it would escape, bringing death and destruction with it. Don’t free it, and it would remain here forever, ready to break free and entrap someone else.

I don’t even see how to free it. But we must be ready if it slips out.

Ready for what?

Ready to die with honor, trying to do the impossible.

That sounded like my destiny, certainly. I was forever being served up the impossible.

The laughter in my head — nasty and cruel — built to a crescendo and echoed on and on, making the inside of my mind loud even while the outside was silent as we ascended the stairs together.

I think everyone else was thinking the same thing — not about the demon, but about how this murder made no sense. I didn’t think any of the others were close to the Seer, but I felt ill at her death, and I was certain the rest did, too. I glanced over my shoulder every so often to see them trailing behind me in a line, and when I finally reached the top of the staircase, the muscles in my legs aching and my breath coming just a touch faster than I’d like, I paused.

Oh yes. The door.

The laughter in my head spooled out like a coil of rope about to be woven into a noose.

Would it take something more from me if I stepped through it again?

Will it take your restraint? Please let it take that! Please. I’d love to see you unraveled, little knightling.

Facing it left me with cold, slimy dread. I did not want a second dose of terror.

Courage now. Take courage. We dare not abandon that — or hope — or we perish. Step forward now, I’m here with you. I’ll walk through with you. You will not be alone.

Never alone, the demon cackled.

I didn’t dare wait to think it through a second time. I held Sir Branson’s words close and stepped. I confessed nothing, hoping it would not be necessary on the way back.

My gamble paid off.

I found myself on the other side of the dread door, panting, discomfited, but whole. The terror that had sloshed around inside me all day was gone now. Vanishing as easily as it had come.

I drew in a breath, perhaps my first full breath of the day, and it was only then that respite hit me and I had to lean down and brace myself with my hands on my thighs, taking in great gulps of joy so powerful it felt like agony.

I was alive.

I was alive.

God have mercy. Lord have mercy. I was alive.

I’d been under a demon’s hanging body all day. I’d sifted through a place so cursed it was practically a tomb, with no promise I’d ever get out again. I’d been attacked, sworn to, and attacked again.

But I’d held my own. I’d survived.

I drew in a second huge breath, bracing myself, and straightened.

I was not going back.

In the morning, I would pack up and leave.

The Vagabond Paladins would simply have to live without their cup. The relief tore through me just as the cool of evening air hit my lungs and I was — for a moment — euphoric. I didn’t have to go back. They couldn’t make me. I could just stay up here in the sweet air of the world.

Around me, dusk was settling in grey velvet like a warm coverlet. Above, the moon and stars swelled with light. Out past the crumbling ruin, the sea muttered. And I was free.

No! No, no, no, that’s no fun at all, little treat.

Brindle bumped his skull against my leg. I leaned down to rub the skin behind his ears and press my forehead to the silky fur there.

Do as you must, my girl. It never hurts to buck the aspect now and then. Remind them that we’re beggars, not kings. Harder to steer. Harder to push. Harder to grind down because we’re already on the bottom.

I opened my eyes.

The tableau of two Engineers sprawled before a fire sipping tea was no surprise. They watched me owlishly as if I were a bard performing. Perhaps they’d been at it all day. Perhaps they’d drunk the stream dry with all their tea brewing. The thought made me feel so light I nearly laughed.

Brindle padded away toward the woods to take care of doggy business and I took a step forward, my feet light underneath me.

Something grabbed me around my neck so suddenly that I couldn’t scream, couldn’t so much as speak. I reached up, scrabbling against a tight grip on my throat and an iron forearm, fighting down the sudden surge of energy that filled me with strength but clouded my mind.

“What are you doing?” someone ground out from behind me. The Prince Paladin, I thought. He sounded horrified.

I couldn’t breathe. I thrashed against my restraint.

The Engineers stood up, their faces appalled in the flickering flames.

My eyesight was charring around the edges.

My attacker spun me to face him. He put a second hand to my throat and shook, and I had to grab his forearms with my hands so I could move with the shaking rather than be moved by it. It took some of the whip and snap out of what he was doing but did nothing for how his thumbs dug into my windpipe.

I struck out with a foot and connected with a greave. Struck a second time, higher, and felt him flinch at the strength of the blow.

“That was a demon down there,” the High Saint said, sounding almost hysterical as he shifted to keep his feet. “A demon, and you didn’t stop it, didn’t cast it out. That’s your job. It’s your only job.”

Little black flecks danced in front of my eyes. I kicked a third time, this time aiming higher, but he twisted and my blow landed to the side.

Focus, Victoriana. There’d be a weakness somewhere. But my thoughts were coming from too far away. I couldn’t quite seem to grasp them.

There was a sudden scream as my vision darkened completely, and the pressure was gone. I fell to the ground, huffing, cradling my neck in both hands, scrambling to get my feet under me and get into a fighting stance. A low rumble sounded from over me. It went on and on.

“Well, of course it bit you,” the Prince Paladin said from far away. “You attacked its paladin. You’re a fool, Joran Rue.”

“Emotions seem to be running just a little high, hmm?” one of the Engineers said, as if stating the obvious would sort out the problem.

But whatever else they were saying was lost as the blood roared in my ears and breath sawed in my lungs. I pawed for my sword hilt, found it, and drew, sinking into a defensive stance. My neck and throat hurt badly. Every breath felt like fire as I willed tears not to come.

It’s fine to cry. An honest emotion.

Not here. Not now.

I was the only woman here. And this was the second time one of them thought that gave them license to attack me. I didn’t dare show weakness now.

Saints and Angels, but my throat hurt.

Brindle made a doggy huff, pacing back and forth in front of my wavering blade. I drew in a breath, narrowed my eyes, and forced my blade to steadiness.

“Try that again now that I have my sword,” I croaked out, sounding more frog than paladin. “Try again now, High Saint.”

Sir Kodelai stepped through the door into the chaos of lifted voices. On either side of him, the Inquisitor and the Penitent were staring at me and the High Saint as if the pair of us were possessed.

“It’s her fault,” the High Saint was saying, pointing at me, face flushed in the firelight. “She could have prevented it if she’d done her job.”

In front of me, Brindle’s growl went on and on.

“We’re all upset,” the Majester said. “But we should take refuge in prayer, not in attacking one another. This is madness. This can only end in more needless death.”

In lower tones, I heard the Inquisitor explaining to the Engineers what had happened below. His sword hand was restored. He kept flexing it like he couldn’t believe the blessing of it. The same relief was in the posture of the Majester and Sir Owalan, like they could breathe again after being squeezed too hard.

I don’t think they’re going to fight us.

I took in a long, painful breath and let my guard ease.

Sir Kodelai cleared his throat. He looked majestic, even now in the middle of chaos — perhaps even more so in the middle of chaos, for he was the firm rock within the waves.

“I am the Hand of Justice,” he said coolly. “Appointed by the God. There will be no vigilante justice here, so restrain yourself, Aspect of the Holy God.”

The High Saint ducked his head, his words cutting off abruptly.

“Good,” the Hand said. “Sheathe your sword, Vagabond.”

With a frown, I obeyed. I wasn’t prepared to fight them all, anyway. Especially now that the Inquisitor had his sword hand back. He’d been deadly with his off-hand down below. I wouldn’t like to fight him now. He’d been holding back when we sparred last night.

“You are not children,” Sir Kodelai went on, running a hand over his oiled beard. “You are paladins. A child of the God was killed in this place and together we will find justice. I will spend the night in private prayer on this matter. I will beseech the God on our behalf, praying in front of the door through the night. Until this matter is settled, no one shall go in and out the door or leave this camp. Are we agreed?”

It was while he was still speaking that Sir Adalbrand stepped through and almost collided with the Hand of Justice. He was breathing hard but the look of utter relief he wore made me swallow hard.

Relief softened all those hard lines of his face for a moment, and seeing him here filled me with an instant sense of solace. Here was someone who wasn’t going to kill me out of hand. That was all it was. Comradery. Safety. There was nothing else there, just reprieve. It was a reasonable thing to feel.

If you say so.

He ran a hand over his jaw and then his eyes caught mine and narrowed, as if searching for something. His gaze cleared for a moment, but it still ranged over my drawn sword, defensive posture, and the dog pacing back and forth before me.

“But surely we already know what happened,” the High Saint said bitterly. “There was a demon in there, and the girl did not cast him out.” He pointed at me, finger quivering in the firelight. In all the chaos, the sun had finally sunk the rest of the way, leaving us in darkness. “The Seer died and the girl is responsible. The blood of the Aspect of the All-Knowing God is on her hands and hers alone.”

“The girl?” Adalbrand asked, and his voice snapped like a whip, making Sir Kodelai startle. I wouldn’t have expected the big man to be capable of it. “We are all holy knights of the God. And while the Vagabonds choose to wander and fight demons, they’re no more bound to it than you’re bound to debate theology and heresy in every keep and hold. If you wanted the demon cast out, you could have done it yourself.”

“There was no way to remove the monster,” the High Saint said, looking more worried about Adalbrand’s words than for my sword. That was humbling. “I did pray it would go. I’m not the one the God grants strange requests.”

This time his petulance encompassed both me and Hefertus.

Hefertus laughed and drew his belt knife to pick at a tooth with the edge of the blade. It was dramatic. I adored it. I should have thought of that. He flicked the end of the knife and leveled a long look at the High Saint.

“I thought it was fine where it was, Sir Joran. My good sense told me it wasn’t going anywhere.”

The High Saint laughed at that, a touch hysterically.

“I don’t think it killed the Seer,” Hefertus said, sounding bored. “It was stuck up there. Trapped. I studied its cage with care and saw no way out.”

“It’s a demon. It can leap. To any open vessel.”

Hefertus rolled his shoulders. “Open vessel? Is that what you are, High Saint?”

“Enough,” Sir Kodelai said, emerging from his tent. I hadn’t even seen him go in, but he was carrying a wooden box out with him. He unfurled a small prayer mat, forcing Adalbrand to move out of the way, and then laid the box on it and slowly began to remove his armor piece by piece. “I will entreat the God. In the morning, we’ll go together into the monastery and we’ll dress the Seer’s body and enact the God’s justice.”

And after that, I would leave.

“That’s good enough for me!” The High Saint said loudly, as if we were all waiting for his stamp of approval. Ha. “The God is satisfied. We shall set all other arguments aside!” He shot me a glare at that, as if it were I and not he who had throttled the other. “Let us gather around Sir Kodelai to pray, brothers … and sister.”

I blinked at him. Was he in earnest?

He coughed awkwardly, and when he met my eye and saw the rage there, he swallowed. I held his gaze for a long moment. My throat still hurt. He’d hurt it out of panic and shame. I was not sure I could forgive that.

Excellent! Feed your anger.

Annoyed that I must be contrary to a demon, I sheathed my sword and whistled to Brindle to call off his pacing.

Very well. I would give grace for now. But I would not forget.

When I looked up, Adalbrand was watching me, but I could not meet his eye. Where he had been peaceable, I had drawn my sword. Where he had been collected and reasonable, I had heard only the roar of blood in my ears. I was ashamed that I was exposed for him to see.

“Gather,” the High Saint called. “Let us gather.”

I resented being ordered around by a man who had just choked me, but I couldn’t help the warmth in my heart as we gathered around Sir Kodelai. These community moments were always rough on me. A tiny taste of a “could-have-been” that I would never possess, except for in these few fleeting minutes. Community of any kind was not a thing granted my aspect.

Sir Owalan set a hand on Sir Kodelai’s shoulder — bare of pauldrons now, but still broad and hard under his jerkin. Beside him, the High Saint limped over to set a grim hand on Sir Kodelai’s other shoulder and one on Sir Owalan’s shoulder.

I didn’t know what the others saw at moments like this one. But I know what I saw. I saw a faint glow and a warmth like the air over a boiling kettle.

It made me softer toward the idea of forgiveness … or at least tolerance.

I saw it grow when the Inquisitor bowed his head and stepped up to place the splayed fingers he’d newly received back from the grave across the back of the High Saint’s hand. With his other hand, he beckoned the Majester over and wrapped an arm around the older general’s shoulders.

The Majester’s head was bent, but he made room when Hefertus pulled in beside him, wrapping his huge arms over the High Saint’s and across the Majester’s shoulders. He placed his other hand over Sir Kodelai’s clasped hands, breaking the silence as he murmured.

“The God grant us an ear.”

The two engineers had moved in silently. They clapped their hands over Hefertus and Sir Sorken reached out and wrapped a meaty hand over my pauldron, drawing me into the group. He didn’t even look at me. And that was the thing with praying over someone. We were one in that moment. Differences set aside. No need to ostracize or jockey. No place for grudges.

Even extremely warranted ones.

Like the one I had.

The light was so bright now that it felt blinding to me. I glanced over my shoulder at Brindle and hoped he’d stay put. He yawned.

I will stay right here.

Good enough.

It still felt awkward when Sir Adalbrand found his place between me and the High Saint. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t touch me. His hand was on top of the High Saint’s and his other reached over and clasped Hefertus’s forearm, his wrist brace barely brushed mine, and yet I felt his nearness like one feels a fire near. It was impossible to ignore.

We said the benediction together, in unison. And for those moments that our lips moved as one and our bodies were joined by touch and intention — for those moments — I felt like I was a part of something bigger, greater, deeper than I was on my own. For those moments, I felt more like a paladin than I had since I kept vigil. It bound me to these others, knit us to each other in hope and faith.

And when the words were spoken, the God entreated, our duty — but also our gift — imparted, we broke apart. The gaze of the High Saint grazed mine and for a moment there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, as if all had been forgotten.

I did not find forgiveness so accessible.

“We made stew,” Sir Sorken said, enunciating the word “stew” like he was making a grand announcement. “I hope you like mushrooms. The ruin is full of them and Cleft has a surprisingly deft touch.”

We ate mushroom stew and drank tea in a strange attitude — a kind of mix of gentle grief over the Seer combined with an almost jubilant relief — the kind you feel when the end of a difficult job is finally over and you can rest.

The High Saint whispered a quiet word to Adalbrand, and when he went to get his bowl of stew, his limp was gone and Adalbrand’s was worse. I couldn’t have explained why that rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect the paladin sworn to me to keep his healing from the one who hurt me so.

Particularly unreasonable since you intend to abandon him in the morning.

Ouch.

The Majester explained what had happened down below to the Engineers with the air of one giving a military report.

“Bad circumstance,” Sir Coriand said. “Very sad. We should sort through the Seer’s things. Send anything personal on to her family.”

“Did she have a family?” the Majester asked.

Everyone shrugged.

I felt my throat carefully and tried not to look at the others. No weakness. No give. If they saw me so much as flinch, another of them might take a swipe at me.

“Everyone has a family,” Sir Coriand said. “Originally.”

I tried hard not to think of mine.

“What’s it like down there?” Sir Coriand asked. “A proper monastery?”

The Majester produced his map and we all pored over it.

“Strange architecture,” Sir Sorken had said. “More like a house of learning than a house of faith.”

“More like a house of sin,” the High Saint said acerbically.

“Do you really think so?” Sir Coriand asked. There was a note to his voice that made it hard to tell if he were serious or teasing. “I was in a house of sin once. It didn’t quite have this architecture.”

The High Saint sighed as if unwilling to concede that he could be wrong.

“And the cup?” Sir Sorken asked. “Any sign of it?”

The Majester produced his sack and dumped it out beside the fire. With a grunt, Hefertus began to line the cups up from tallest to shortest.

“Interesting,” Sir Sorken said, studying them grimly, though what he saw, I couldn’t have guessed. To me, they just looked like cups. None of them more or less likely to be a prized Cup of Tears. None of them had the cabochon blue gems. But did the cup really have that, or was it mere fancy? How accurate were records a thousand years old?

I didn’t really care anymore anyway. After we buried the Seer, I would be gone. Another leaf drifting on the winds.

Oh dear. This is one of the things I neglected to tell you.

“Will you go down again tomorrow?” Sir Coriand asked gently.

He was treating us like … survivors, I realized. The same kind tones, the same interest in trivial things to keep us occupied. The same nonjudgmental way of asking without prying. I’d done this myself. Young as I was, it still made people trust me, listen to me, tell me things. It felt unnerving to have someone using it on me. Sir Branson had never done that. He’d always left me to make my own judgments and find my own comfort.

“We all must,” the High Saint said grimly. I saw him flicking through the beads of his rosary as if on instinct. “For the Seer.”

Yes, that’s the part I forgot to mention. Once Sir Kodelai began his ceremonial prayers and beseechings, well … you can’t leave before he passes judgment. It’s a law of a sort.

If I broke it, would they take away the paladincy?

Yes.

It may still be worth it.

They’d also torture you to death. Slowly.

That would not be worth it. Fine, so I’d wait for the Seer to be buried and also for the judgment to be made. He’d said he’d do them both at once. Mayhap it wouldn’t take very long.

The High Saint looked up, his face a mix of grim concern and smugness he couldn’t quite hide.

“You Engineers will have to come, too. Do not fear. You get back what you have to give to the door when you come back up again.”

“Are you certain of that?” Sir Coriand asked lightly.

“The Inquisitor has his hand back,” the High Saint said, pointing at the hand with which the Inquisitor was holding his bowl of stew.

We all stared at it grimly.

“And will you offer up the same sin again, I wonder?” Sir Sorken asked.

“What?”

“You confessed to pride on the way in. Will you choose a different sin next time?”

“I hadn’t … I hadn’t thought.”

The High Saint’s eyes met mine and I looked away. I didn’t want to see into his soul. I didn’t like the look of shame in his eyes. I wanted to go back to the moment where we were all in unity praying over Sir Kodelai.

“I need to get water,” I murmured. My voice was rough from being choked, but I couldn’t help that. I stood, gathering up my dishes.

“What did you lose when you went through?” Sir Sorken pressed as I left the fire.

“My confidence.” The High Saint sounded agitated.

“So it stands to reason that if you want to keep your confidence, then you should offer something else. Greed, perhaps.”

“That’s no sin of mine.”

If they landed on an accurate sin, I was too far away to hear it.

I made my way to the stream, checked on Halberd and cared for him, washed my dishes, and was refilling my water skin when I heard the drift of voices.

It was only then — for some reason — that I remembered my promise.

In the chaos of having to defend myself, in the relief of returning to the land above, in the pain of my bruised throat, I’d forgotten it entirely. It stung as I remembered my words to Sir Adalbrand. Words that meant I couldn’t just abandon him.

Oh, I forgot, too. Sir Branson sounded ashamed of himself.

The demon only laughed.

I had promised Sir Adalbrand that I would work hand in hand with him until the cup was found and returned to the church.

I couldn’t just get up and go. Not now.

Saints bless it. What my curse lacked in originality, it made up for in sincerity.

The mere thought of returning to that place under the ground made my skin crawl and my stomach try to worm its way out of my mouth. I had not wanted to go back for Sir Kodelai’s judgment. I certainly didn’t want to go back for any longer than that.

Perhaps I could convince him that we could keep our vow without going back down there.

I wish you the God’s blessing with that.

Thank you, Sir Branson.

The demon’s laughter told me I’d guessed wrong again.

The voices grew louder and now I could distinguish words.

“ … with us.”

“Cramped enough in there already,” Hefertus complained.

“You saw how the High Saint was looking at her. And the first victim was a woman. It stands to reason that if her killer strikes again, he might go after the other woman here.”

That was Adalbrand. He sounded thoughtful, though why he was worried about me was a bit of a puzzle. I’d held my own down in that monastery. Against two opponents at once.

The man is a knight. Will you truly deny him the right of chivalry?

I glanced over to Brindle, who looked up from lapping water innocently.

Perhaps you feel like you need to prove yourself, but you really don’t. That’s a desire that can only lead to trouble. People who need to prove how independent or strong they are … well, my girl, those are the weakest people in the room.

“I find it strange that you think whatever killed the Seer might harm the Beggar. Whatever killed her, I would guess it was most likely due to her insight. So what did she know that we don’t?” Hefertus’s voice grew nearer.

“The future.”

“Ha. Yes. But what else?”

Adalbrand shrugged, but he looked thoughtful. I’d pay my last coin to know what he was thinking.

It’s copper. I doubt he’d take it.

“I should also remind you that it’s unseemly for you to invite a lady into your tent,” Hefertus said, but now it sounded like he was teasing. “People will talk.”

“I’m sure you can manage to chaperone.”

“Oh, it’s not you that I’m worried about, my friend. A hot-blooded woman like that? Who knows what she might do in the darkness.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited, Hefertus. If I had to guess, I’d say she will likely sleep, or failing that, she may plant a dagger in one of our throats. As yours is by far the prettier, I will pray for your sake that it remains whole.”

Hefertus was still laughing when they turned the corner around the ruined masonry and saw me there, squatting over the stream, filling my water skins, likely looking as wild as a creature of the forest.

The hitch in Adalbrand’s breath told me I did look like a threat. Good. These two shouldn’t underestimate me. I had two knives. That was enough to put one in each of their throats.

I pushed back my long hair and stood. It had escaped from its braid again. It did that a lot. I was fond of it, though, and I would not cut it. It hid my face nicely when I didn’t want to answer questions and it kept my neck warm in the winter.

Adalbrand’s eyes met mine as I straightened and I froze, searching in them for any glimmer of all his angst from below. He seemed lighter. I wondered if he felt as guilty about that as I did. A woman was dead. What right had I to feel relief?

He smiled warmly. “We have room in our tent for one more if you’d like to share the watch, Lady Paladin. If there really is something prowling about, perhaps there is safety in numbers.”

“The dog sleeps with me,” I said awkwardly. I could have sworn I heard his snicker as Hefertus rolled his eyes and squatted down to fill his own water skin.

Adalbrand swallowed and looked grim for a moment before giving a sharp nod.

“Spare us, Poisoned,” Hefertus said in a way that sounded like a curse.

Adalbrand spread his hands out. “You wanted to be safe. What’s more safe than a killer canine to guard you?”

“Not having a killer canine,” the blond paladin complained. “Look, Lady, I’ll tell you this once, that dog is trouble.”

I nodded. There was really no animal more troublesome.

“He’ll probably bite someone.”

Adalbrand grimaced. Maybe he was feeling that bite all over again.

“He might get you in such a deep hole that you never dig out again.”

I sighed. “All that is true and more, Sir Hefertus. Do you want me in your tent or don’t you?”

“I don’t,” Hefertus said, kicking at a stone. He pointed at Adalbrand. “But he does, and I suppose that will have to be enough. Just be sure to put your bedroll between us, Bran. I don’t much care to be killed in my sleep — from that without or that within.”

Hefertus leaned a shoulder against a chunk of rubble that had once been a low wall and watched his friend through slitted eyes, clearly weighing and measuring.

“I’ll have a moment with her, if you’ll allow it, Hefertus,” Adalbrand said.

I held back a tiny shiver. The intensity of his cinnamon eyes was enough to burn a parchment. When he leveled that look at me, I could hardly tell whether he was furious or simply intent.

“Poison yourself with her if you wish, my old friend,” Hefertus said, snorting. “But be wary. She acquitted herself well down below.”

He left us and Adalbrand drew near — not touching me, never touching me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my chilled skin. He looked paler than he had before. Was that from drinking in the High Saint’s pain?

“I know not what was forged between us in the bones of the earth, Lady Paladin, but I feel it still. It goes beyond the vow we made. As if a line has been drawn between your fist and my heart.”

“It’s not of my making,” I said steadily. He was so … sure. His very certainty was shown in how he moved and how he spoke. Like he already knew the whole story of our lives and was reading it again simply for his own enjoyment.

The light in his eye — fierce though it was — made me want to melt for him.

Celibate, remember? There won’t be melting.

Yes. Good. Excellent reminder.

Realizing I’d been leaning toward him, I straightened and forced my face to a flinty expression.

“You’ve bound me just as handily, Sir Adalbrand. I can no more leave this place than I can fly. Even if it makes me shudder to think of going down below for a second day.”

“I won’t hold you to that,” he said, and now his fierceness had a hint of pain — a lion with a thorn in the paw. He ran a hand through his hair.

Lions are still lions, and this one will shred you like grass.

“I made vows to you,” I said simply. “We are bound together because of that.”

He bowed his head. The faint light of the moon shone off his armor despite its blackening.

“And we are also bound because we are friends — if you’ll allow it,” I said, softening my words, and when he looked up at me the softness in his gaze was too much. Like a burst of fire through the belly.

I took a step back.

Seriously, he should think about swearing to our ranks. Hell’s forces are always recruiting and this knight knows how to tempt.

“My friendship is the least of all I offer to you,” he said through a thick throat.

“I think it will do well enough.”

“I made vows to you, too.” I didn’t know what he was trying to tell me. I could feel him hinting at something deeper than his words but when I tried to grasp it, my hands came back with nothing. “I have the faith to honor them.”

I smiled slightly. “I wish I had your faith.”

His answer was so soft that I barely heard it. “You have more than faith. You have blessing.”

Which was how I found myself turning in early under the covering of a crane-painted silk tent. I was given a space on the far side of the tent from Hefertus and Brindle was kind enough to lie at my feet.

“If the dog moves, I stab him,” Hefertus groused from my left. Even with Adalbrand between us, he was still unhappy.

“I’m pretty sure that if you move, you’ll crush us all, and then he’ll have to attack, so it’s a coin toss really,” I said dryly.

And if Adalbrand’s muffled chuckles were balm to my soul, who would deny me? Below, in the monastery, it had been hell. Could we not enjoy a single night of reprieve?

Enjoy it at your peril.

It was hardly excessive. After all, I had the edge of a ruin as a pillow and Hefertus smelled of horse.

Admit it, sweetmeat, you like it just fine.

I fell asleep trying to ignore both a demon and the loud chanted prayers from the man kneeling in vigil before the monastery door. But before I drifted off, I thought I caught the edge of another prayer muttered low in a soft tenor as teeth clacked together on a string.