The Vampire & Her Witch

It would have been so easy to accept it. To let herself lean into the warmth of the older woman’s concern and admit that she was frightened and exhausted and carrying more than she could bear alone.

More than that, somewhere deep in her heart lurked the shadow of the dream that Baroness Peigi had suggested. Raising children of her own, one to rule the march next, one to return home to Blackwell to take over for her father... the way that Ashlynn’s children were supposed to.

That thought alone was enough to pull her from the warm comfort of a cozy fantasy. There would be no happy future for her, not after the things she’d done, or the things she intended to do. And there would be no children for Owain Lothian either. After everything he’d done, she refused to become a vessel for his seed and the mother of yet another Lothian Monster.

But the Baroness didn’t know about any of that. She had no idea about the blood that was on Jocelynn’s hands, or the family she’d lost because of Owain. She couldn’t possibly understand how useless her ’advice’ was, even though it was offered from a position of genuine friendship.

For a moment, Jocelynn wanted to accept that friendship anyway. Even if Peigi didn’t know the truth, she was still offering a hand and a respite from the loneliness. But Jocelynn couldn’t do it.

If she let someone in now, if she allowed herself to depend on the kindness of women like Peigi Aleese, then she risked losing the resolve she’d spent the past few days sharpening into a blade.

Kindness made you want to survive, and survival was a luxury that Jocelynn had already decided she couldn’t afford, especially when her resolve was so fragile that it might crumble if anyone came too close.

”You’re very kind, Baroness,” Jocelynn said as graciously as she could manage. ”I, I doubt I’ll be blessed with children so soon, but I’ll remember your offer,” she said diplomatically, neither accepting nor declining. ”If the opportunity presents itself after the coronation, perhaps we’ll speak again.”

Peigi studied her for a moment, her grey eyes searching Jocelynn’s face as if she could see the distance between the words and what lay beneath them. Whatever she saw, she didn’t press. She simply reached across the space between them and laid her hand briefly on Jocelynn’s wrist, just above where her fingers gripped the chest.

”See that you do, my dear,” she said softly. Then she sat back, drew the wool blanket across her lap, and turned her gaze to the carriage window, giving Jocelynn the silence she needed for the rest of the ride.

They passed through the streets of Lothian City as the darkness slowly retreated. Jocelynn watched through the opposite window as lamplight gave way to the first grey suggestion of dawn, pale and reluctant behind a thick ceiling of clouds that promised rain before the day was through.

The temple district came into view ahead of them, its gold-capped towers rising above the rooftops like fingers reaching toward a heaven that felt very far away this morning.

The carriage slowed as they approached the fortified walls of the Temple of the Holy Lord of Light, and through the window, Jocelynn could see the subtle changes taking place at the temple already.

The Temple in Lothian City had always been a fortress with high walls and a large bailey that could provide shelter to hundreds, if not thousands, of people in time of need. When Jocelynn had arrived in the late spring, the walls had been sparsely manned, and the bailey resembled a city park more than a vital part of a castle’s defenses. The displays of martial discipline put on by the Temple Guard felt out of place in such an idyllic setting.

Now, however, watchfires burned along the temple walls at regular intervals, and their golden flames reflected off the polished mail coats of dozens of Temple Guardsmen, even in the hour before dawn. Templars had joined the ranks of the guards at the gate, and the line of townsfolk waiting to enter the temple gates to offer morning prayers or receive the Church’s aid was a quarter the length that it had been in the spring.

While Owain prepared to hunt for his coronation feast, and Jocelynn came to mourn for her sister, the Temple of the Holy Lord of Light was preparing for war against the demons who had grown bold enough to destroy the Summer Villa in the depths of winter.

Any other time, it might have been a worrying sign. But those worries belonged to a future that Jocelynn no longer saw herself being part of. Rather, her only worry was that the Templars who had followed her from Blackwell in order to keep her safe from those very demons would be forced to remain to fight them instead of returning home when they had the chance...

Or perhaps they would choose to stay, as a matter of faith. She didn’t know, but as she passed by the watchful gazes of Templars who had lived in Lothian their entire lives, she promised that she would do her best to give the men who followed her here a chance to make that decision for themselves. She owed them that much at least.

Once the carriage passed through the fortified gates, Jocelynn caught her first glimpse of the Chapel of the Rising Sun.

It was smaller than the grand cathedral at the temple’s heart, a modest stone structure built against the eastern wall of the temple complex, with tall, narrow windows of colored glass that faced the dawn. On clear mornings, she imagined, the rising sun would pour through those windows and set the chapel’s interior ablaze with color. Today, beneath the heavy overcast, the glass was dark and muted, catching only the faintest suggestion of the grey light beyond.

It didn’t matter. Jocelynn hadn’t chosen this chapel for its beauty, or for the way the dawn would fill it with light. She’d chosen it because the Chapel of the Rising Sun faced east, toward the sea, toward home, toward the cliffs above Blackwell Harbor where she and Ashlynn used to sneak out of the manor to watch the sunrise paint the waves in gold.

This was a chapel for new beginnings, not for funerals. It hosted small weddings, blessings for infants, and the quiet daily prayers of those who found their faith renewed by the morning light.

This time of year, there were few people who made their way through the cold, blustery gray winter mornings to pray at the Chapel of the Rising Sun at the break of dawn, and High Priest Aubin had promised Jocelynn that he would send any worshipers to a service in the grand cathedral this morning instead, leaving her a place to mourn in peace.

While the Chapel of the Rising Sun seemed like an odd place to host a memorial to most people, Jocelynn didn’t care whether outsiders thought it was proper or not. She just needed it to face the dawn, so that for a few moments, she could pretend that Ashlynn was sitting beside her the way she used to, watching the light break over the horizon and believing that every new day held the promise of something better.

The carriage came to a stop. Devlin dropped down from the driver’s bench and opened the door, offering his hand to help first Jocelynn and then the Baroness down onto the frost-covered flagstones.

Jocelynn stood before the chapel entrance, holding the chest against her body, and drew a slow breath of cold air that stung her lungs and tasted faintly of woodsmoke from the temple’s ever-burning braziers.

”Thank you for the ride, Baroness,” she said, turning to Peigi. She did her best to offer the baroness a smile, but the expression felt stiff and brittle on her face.

”I’ll be in the main temple if you need me,” Peigi said as she touched Jocelynn’s arm lightly, the same way she had during the carriage ride. ”I have my own prayers to attend to. But I’ll come back here when I’m done to light a candle for Ashlynn before I go.”

Jocelynn watched the older woman walk away toward the main temple entrance, her dark cloak disappearing into the grey light of the early morning. Then she turned back to the chapel doors and felt her breath catch.

There were voices inside. More than one, and louder than she expected.

She glanced at Devlin, who had already placed his hand on the hilt of his fighting knife, his body shifting into the coiled alertness of a man who trusted very little about this city and even less about its temple.

”Wait here,” she said quietly. Then, pressing the chest to her chest with both arms, she pushed open the chapel door and stepped inside.