The Vampire & Her Witch

Among the knights who had gone to stand in support of Lady Ashlynn, Sir Brennus Thorne stood very still as he watched his children walk down the central aisle of the Great Hall, and the relief that washed through him was so fierce that his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

They were alive. They were whole, and they were walking on their own two feet. Most importantly, from where he stood, he couldn’t see any blood or bandages or injuries beyond the general dishevelment of two young people who had been through more in the last few hours than most squires experienced in their first year of service to a knight outside of a war.

But they were different from the way they’d been yesterday when he watched them climb aboard Lady Ashlynn’s ship in Maeril to help her infiltrate the city.

Brennus had drilled his son on alertness for years, and he’d taught him that a knight must always be ready to defend his family. A week ago, his son had repeated back his lessons mechanically while swearing that he knew what his duty was. Now, he had actually put those lessons to practice. His head scanned the great hall for threats and even if he was a bit awkward, he kept his sword hand free and ready to move even as he escorted Samira down the central aisle.

His daughter was a different story. She looked shaken by what she’d been through, but there was a determination on her pale face that Brennus had never seen before. She faltered slightly when her eyes found Sir Ollie, standing at the opposite end of the hall and supporting Lady Jocelynn, but she composed herself quickly and continued supporting Samira down the aisle.

Brennus’ heart swelled with pride at the sight of them, even as it cracked with grief for the part of them that he would never get back. He’d known this day was coming. With a Holy War on the horizon, it was impossible for either of his children to remain naive and ignorant of the world’s harsher truths for long.

Still, he’d hoped to have at least a year or more to enjoy their innocent smiles before they confronted the grim reality of bloody conflict.

Near the far wall, where Ollie stood with Jocelynn sheltered against his chest, the younger Blackwell sister had gone rigid.

She had been watching the doors with the numb, dissociated calm of a woman who had experienced too many shocks in too short a time and whose mind had begun to simply absorb each new impossibility without processing it.

The simple fact that Ashlynn was alive and had come to rescue her was already enough to turn her world upside down, inverting night and day and leaving her feeling adrift at sea. Then, a High Inquisitor had split the sky with Holy Flame, and the Inquisitors of Percivus’s abbey lay beaten on the floor.

The barons of the Lothian Court were voting on whether they supported Ashlynn’s demand for Justice or Owain’s desperate attempt to cling to power even in the face of evidence of his crimes. Now, Master Isabell had returned with another Inquisitor and Owain’s Steward, Hugo.... It was all too much, and none of it felt entirely real.

But Samira was real.

Samira, who had braided Jocelynn’s hair in the mornings at the Summer Villa. Samira, who had sat with her on the balcony overlooking the rolling hills outside the Villa’s walls while Jocelynn used some of Ashlynn’s favorite books to teach her to read...

Samira, who could never replace her sister, but had somehow managed to fill up a portion of the void that Ashlynn’s death had left in her life. She’d become more than just an imposter masquerading as her sister to conceal Owain’s crime. Jocelynn thought she’d been lost when the Summer Villa fell, and she’d mourned her alongside Ashlynn even though she couldn’t tell anyone about her.

And now Samira was here, safe and sound, glowing with an inner light that seemed at odds with the determined set of her jaw as she looked at the Lothian Lord who had nearly destroyed her life.

”Samira,” Jocelynn breathed, and the name came out cracked and raw, stripped of everything except the desperate relief of seeing someone she cared for safe from harm.

”Lady Ashlynn learned about Samira long ago when she spied on the Summer Villa,” Ollie said, placing a hand at the small of Jocelynn’s back to support her as she struggled against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. ”That’s part of why we had to capture the Villa. To rescue Samira.”

”How?” Jocelynn asked, looking up at Ollie and asking the same question she’d been asking ever since the doors to the Great Hall crashed open. ”How did my sister do all of this?”

”The Summer Villa wasn’t well defended,” Ollie explained. ”And Lady Ashlynn’s soldiers are, um, are very strong,” he said carefully. ”While they breached the gate, Virve and I slipped in through a side gate so that I could rescue Samira.”

”She’s been safe in my village ever since we brought her home,” Ollie said. ”She and the baby are both well. I know that she’s your friend,” he added, and there was a gentleness in his voice that made Jocelynn’s eyes burn. ”We’ve taken good care of her. I promise.”

”Baby?” Jocelynn asked, blinking away the tears to stare at Ollie in shock. ”She, she... You mean... She’s really, really? And the father...”

”The father doesn’t matter anymore,” Ollie said firmly. ”What matters is that Samira has a good home with friends who watch over her and a place to raise her child when the time comes,” he said. ”And a place where you can visit her,” he added. ”I’m sure that if you went to see her, she’d be very happy.”

One of the anchors dragging Jocelynn’s heart toward the bottom of a dark and terrible sea slipped free, and the relief that rose in its place was warm and bright and almost unbearable.

The woman who had lost everything, who had nothing left to live for besides her vengeance, was slowly getting back the things she’d lost one by one, and for a moment, she felt as if a pair of warm arms had wrapped around her, suffusing her body with a soft golden warmth before fading away, but not before she heard the faintest echoes of Eleanor’s voice in her ears.

”There is still love in this world for you, Jocelynn,” Eleanor’s voice echoed in her ear. ”You must struggle to be worthy of it... and to accept it when it comes...”