The Vampire & Her Witch

After what felt like an eternity since her arrival in the temple, an acolyte finally arrived with word that the pyre had been prepared and they were ready to light the way for Eleanor’s journey to the Heavenly Shores.

Jocelynn followed mutely behind the Sisters of Light as they carried Eleanor’s body out of the temple, into the bitter cold of the winter night. Jocelynn was prepared for the cold, and Eleanor’s blessing protected her from the chilly winds even now, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her when she entered the courtyard.

Captain Albyn had not been permitted to accompany Jocelynn into the chambers where Eleanor’s body was prepared for the pyre, but he hadn’t been idle while the Sisters of Light did their work.

Now, when Jocelynn stepped into the courtyard that was sheltered from the fiercely blowing winter winds and hail by tall fortress walls, she found not only Captain Albyn waiting for her, but dozens of people, each one familiar to her and holding a torch against the darkness of the night.

Captain Albyn had been joined by Captain Devlin and the other captains who had accompanied Owain and the Guild Masters to Lothian from Blackwell County, but they weren’t the only familiar faces from home who had gathered here.

The knights and templars from Jocelynn’s escort, the wagon drivers, cooks, and other servants who had come all this way to ensure that Jocelynn was not ’alone’ in Lothian March the way Ashlynn would have been, had gathered here to support their lady and to pay respects to one of their own.

”My Lady, we,” one of the knights started to say, ready to accept whatever rebuke Jocelynn might have for them for failing to protect her in her hour of need.

Like the High Priest, they’d been led to believe that Jocelynn and Eleanor had only been confined to their chambers while the Inquisition hunted the men who conspired with the cook and the physician who had poisoned the Marquis. Percivus had even posted guards outside of Jocelynn’s chambers to keep anyone from approaching her. They’d only learned the truth when Albyn returned to Lothian Manor to gather them up for the funeral.

”You didn’t know,” Jocelynn said gently, shaking her head at the knight whose pained expression told her just how seriously he took his ’failure.’ ”And even if you had, you couldn’t have done anything. But you’re here now,” she said, forcing herself to offer a fragile smile as she looked at the people who had gathered here to help see her cousin off.

”You’re all here now,” she repeated. ”That’s all that matters.”

There was no point in chastising the people who had come to support her for failing to take a stand against the Inquisition when they hadn’t even known that she was held captive in the dungeons, especially not when they’d all come here for Eleanor, to see her off on her journey to the Heavenly shores.

Only, it wasn’t Eleanor that most of them had come for.

Word had spread throughout Lothian Manor that something had happened to Lady Ashlynn at the Summer Villa. The knights and servants of Blackwell had already been gathering, planning to force their way past the guards that Percivus had left behind in order to reach their lady, to offer her the support she was certain to need.

So, when Albyn arrived and told them what had happened to the lady they’d come all this way to protect and to care for, on top of losing her sister to demons, it had shattered the hearts of even the most stalwart knights. At that point, Albyn didn’t even need to ask them to accompany him out into the wind and the hail of the winter storm... He couldn’t have held them back even if he bound them with anchor chains.

The Sisters of Light placed Eleanor’s body, now wrapped once again in the robes of a Confessor, atop the stone slab at the center of the pyre before retreating to the back of the courtyard, allowing High Priest Aubin to lead the ceremony.

When Aubin stepped forward, the white fur cloak he wore over his pristine white and gold robes seemed to glow in the torchlight, giving him an aura that was almost sacred as he raised his weathered hands toward the heavens.

”We gather here tonight to light the way for our sister, Confessor Eleanor Blackwell, as she begins her journey to the Heavenly Shores,” he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard despite the wind that howled beyond the fortress walls. ”May the flames that we offer rise high enough to guide her path, and may the Holy Lord of Light welcome her into His eternal embrace.”

”Lady Jocelynn,” he said as he turned toward the young woman clutching her fur cloak against the cold. His age-lined face softened with compassion and his voice was gentle and mild, speaking to her as though she was the only one present. ”As her closest kin, it is your honor and your burden to light the pyre. Are you ready to help us guide your cousin’s spirit toward the Light?”

Jocelynn opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She could only manage a small nod, her throat too tight to speak as tears blurred her vision.

Captain Albyn stepped forward without a word, extending his torch toward her as if he’d carried it all the way here just for her. The flames cast dancing shadows across his weathered face, highlighting the mixture of grief and worry etched into every line of his face as he looked at the young woman who had suffered far too much pain and loss in the brief time she’d been away from home.

”For Eleanor,” he said softly. ”I know it’s heavy,” he said as he guided her trembling hands to the rough wood of the quickly fashioned torch. ”But I know you can bear this. For her,” he said softly.

Jocelynn’s hands shook as she took the torch, feeling its weight as though it were far heavier than wood and oil-soaked cloth had any right to be. For a long moment, she simply stood there, staring at Eleanor’s body wrapped in red and gold atop the stone slab, surrounded by carefully stacked firewood that had been soaked in precious oils until the scent of herbs and purifying spices filled the air.

Then, with slow, deliberate steps, she approached the pyre.

The first touch of flame to oil-soaked wood was gentle, almost hesitant, but the fire caught quickly, flowing along the base of the pyre like the gentle waves of the incoming tide. Jocelynn stepped back, watching as the flames began to climb higher, reaching upward like countless hands stretching toward the night sky.

One by one, the others came forward. Captain Devlin was next, his torch adding to the growing light. Then the knights, the templars, the servants... Each person approached with their own flame, paying no attention to rank or station as they took their turns adding their torch to the pyre until the fire had grown into a column of golden light that pushed back the darkness and filled the courtyard with warmth.

The flames rose higher and higher, wrapping around the carefully stacked wood with an almost tender embrace. The blessed oils caught and flared, sending sweet-scented smoke spiraling upward into the winter night. And at the center of it all, Eleanor’s body rested peacefully, the red and gold of her Confessor’s robes seeming to merge with the flames themselves as the fire claimed her gently, almost lovingly, drawing her into its light.

Jocelynn watched as the flames grew until they seemed to fill her entire vision, transforming her cousin from the broken, withered woman she had been in death to something else entirely, something bright and beautiful and free that reminded her more of the ghost of a woman she’d seen in Eleanor’s final moments than the broken, withered husk she’d left behind after her death.