The Vampire & Her Witch

Ragna was already moving toward the chapel doors to bring Charlotte and Adala inside, and Jocelynn braced herself for the brief storm of introductions that she knew was coming. She set the chest down on the nearest pew and straightened her back, arranging her face into the expression of gracious composure that her mother had spent years drilling into her.

Even now, even when she felt hollowed out and brittle, the mask came easily. Perhaps too easily.

Charlotte entered first, her soft features creased with concern, and she crossed the aisle toward Jocelynn with short, quick steps and a posture that suggested she was desperate to offer the comfort of a warm hug to the grief-stricken young lady standing amidst the pews. .

”I’m so sorry, Jocelynn,” Charlotte said, reaching for her hands and then stopping just short when she saw how tightly Jocelynn was holding herself. She settled for squeezing Jocelynn’s arm instead, the same spot where Aubin and Peigi had both touched her this morning, as if there were some invisible mark there that told people where comfort should be applied.

”I know how close the two of you were,” Charlotte said gently. ”I, I’ll miss her too,” she said simply.

There was nothing calculated in Charlotte’s voice. No hidden angle, no political subtext. Just the simple, uncomplicated sympathy of a woman who saw someone hurting and wanted to help. It was, in its own way, more disarming than anything Peigi had said in the carriage, because Charlotte’s kindness wasn’t accompanied by wishes that she’d find happiness having Owain’s children. It simply was.

”Thank you, Charlotte,” Jocelynn managed. ”It means a great deal that you came. To me, and to Ashlynn, too,” she said softly.

Charlotte gave her a small, sad smile and squeezed her arm once more before stepping aside.

Adala approached next, moving with precise, measured steps, her silver-chained braids catching the candlelight as she dipped into a polished curtsy.

”My deepest condolences, Lady Jocelynn,” Adala said. Her slight accent, sharp and clipped from her years in the Kingdom of Iron, gave her words a formal edge, but her dark eyes held a warmth that seemed at odds with the careful construction of everything else about her.

”I pray that the Holy Lord of Light guides Lady Ashlynn safely to the Heavenly Shores,” Adala added, though something about her tone and the slight shift of her gaze left Jocelynn wondering if she meant it as a genuine blessing for Ashlynn or as a reflexive performance in the presence of men like High Priest Aubin.

”Thank you, Lady Adala,” Jocelynn replied, matching her formality. She noticed that Adala’s gaze lingered on her face a moment longer than courtesy required, as if she were reading something written beneath the surface, before the smaller woman offered a pleasant smile and withdrew.

Then Ragna stood before her. Up close, Jocelynn could see the depth of the lines etched into the woman’s narrow face and the way her auburn hair had thinned at the temples where worry had worn it away.

”Lady Ragna,” Jocelynn said in a carefully neutral tone. ”I understand I have you to thank for organizing this.”

”You have us all to thank,” Ragna said, deflecting the credit with a slight shake of her head. ”No one should have to face a morning like this alone.”

There was more she clearly wanted to say, Jocelynn could see it in the slight tension around her mouth and the way her eyes moved briefly to the wooden chest on the pew, but Ragna was too disciplined to press further in a moment like this. Whatever she’d come to discuss, it could wait until the wine was poured.

Sorcha hung back, not wanting to intrude further into what was intended to be a private moment, but she caught Jocelynn’s eye and gave her a small nod that carried more warmth than words would have. Jocelynn returned it, and for a moment, Sorcha saw a flicker of relief pass across the young lady’s eyes as she was spared from yet another overly formal greeting.

Then Aubin was there, gently shepherding the four women toward the side door of the chapel with the practiced ease of a kind old uncle who wouldn’t tolerate any dawdling despite how frail and infirm he might occasionally seem.

”This way, my ladies,” he said, his tone warm but brooking no argument. ”I’ll have tea prepared and a brazier to keep the chill at bay. Lady Jocelynn will send for you when she’s ready.”

One by one, the women filed through the side door, though Charlotte paused in the doorway, glancing back at Jocelynn with a look that suggested she was reluctant to leave Jocelynn alone when she was clearly in so much pain. Adala put a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder, gently prompting her to come along, and then she was gone, the side door closing behind her with a soft thud that echoed in the sudden quiet.

Aubin returned to Jocelynn’s side. The chapel was empty now save for the two of them, and the silence settled around them like a soft blanket, finally offering the peace that Jocelynn had come here to find.

”You’ve been up all night,” Jocelynn said quietly, noticing once again the slight droop of his shoulders and the shadows beneath his kind eyes.

”These old bones don’t require as much sleep as they once did,” Aubin said, echoing Peigi’s words from the carriage ride with a gentle smile that suggested the lie was one he’d been telling for years. ”Besides, I wanted everything to be ready for you.”

He guided her gently toward the front pew, where a woven reed basket sat waiting. Jocelynn lifted the cloth covering and found a small loaf of bread, along with a wedge of hard cheese, a small cloth pouch of walnuts, and a handful of dried fruit that smelled of apples and cherries.

”Just like you asked for,” he said, gently reaching to take her hands in his. The difference between their hands was stark. Where hers were small, soft, and youthful, Aubin’s larger hands were stiff, worn rough by time and spotted with age, but his touch was tender nonetheless as he looked into her seafoam eyes.

”I know things have been hard for you, Jocelynn,” he said, dropping the formalities now that they were alone. ”You’ve carried this burden for such a long time for one so young. I’ll see to everyone else. When the rest of your household arrives, I’ll have them wait in the cloister until you’re ready. Take this time for what you need, before the days ahead become too difficult to care for yourself.

”Thank you, Your Worship,” she said. ”For all of this.”

Aubin placed his weathered hand on her shoulder, just for a moment. His touch was light, the weight of it barely there, but it carried the steady presence of a man who had spent his life anchoring others through their worst moments.

”Take all the time you need, my child,” he said. ”The morning is yours, and yours alone. When you’re ready for the others, you need only open the side door. I’ll be there if you need me.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle pat, then turned and walked slowly toward the door at the far end of the chapel, his white and golden robes catching the faint glow of the candles as he went. The door opened and closed behind him, and then, at last, the Chapel of the Rising Sun was still.

Jocelynn sat down in the front pew. The wood was smooth and cool beneath her, polished by the prayers of countless worshippers who had come to this place seeking new beginnings. The great eastern window rose before her, its golden sun still muted behind the overcast sky, the rolling hills and amber light waiting for a dawn that might never fully arrive.

Jocelynn set the chest she’d been clinging to down on the pew beside her before she picked up the reed basket and carried it to the altar, setting it on the heavy stone slab as she began moving items one by one.

”I brought breakfast,” Jocelynn whispered to the empty chapel, her voice small and rough in the stillness of the chapel. ”Just like at home,” she said as she broke the bread in half, setting one half on the altar and placing the other one back in the basket before dividing the cheese in half as well. The walnuts and dried fruit followed next until everything in the basket had been divided precisely in two.

For a moment, Jocelynn’s fingers twitched, hovering near the dried cherries she’d set out for Ashlynn. They were her favorite, and even though Ashlynn teased her for ’poaching’ a few, she always let Jocelynn take extra. It felt wrong, though, to take back anything she’d placed on the altar as an offering for the dead, but...

”Just one,” she said, as she retrieved a single dried cherry from the altar and popped it into her mouth. ”One last time...”