The Vampire & Her Witch

Every eye in the Great Hall followed Ignatious as he stood from his seat at the Blackwell table and strode slowly toward the dais. There was a quiet dignity in the way that he moved, without haste or agitation, as if those things were beneath the mighty High Inquisitor.

When he arrived before Ashlynn, he stunned the crowd by kneeling once again. Only this time, he held the scabbard of his Holy Flame Blade in his hands, presenting the hilt of the weapon toward the Marchioness!

”Your Dominion,” Ignatious said smoothly. ”I have only one request. Can you show a measure of mercy to those who were led astray? Tonight has seen so much death already, and the night isn’t over yet. Can you spare the ones who are little more than children, following the direction of their elders?”

”Even children have to make amends for their mistakes,” Ashlynn said, frowning at the kneeling vampire. ”You’ve heard what Percivus trained his acolytes to do, what they did to my sister,” she said in a voice that nearly cracked under the strain of holding herself back. ”Why should I grant them any mercy?”

”Because there are still stars in their skies,” Ignatious said cryptically, as though that explained everything. ”Because dead men cannot make amends for their crimes. Because one day, they may be of use to you. Take your pick,” Ignatious said. ”But I beg you, consider that the only man among the Inquisitors who truly needs to die tonight is the Abbot who led them so far into darkness that they lost their way.”

”The Court has spoken, Ignatious,” Ashlynn said softly. ”The entire march demands justice. The victims deserve it. I cannot pardon them after what they’ve done.”

”Then don’t,” Ignatious said, as though it were a simple thing. ”Give them over to me. I will see to it that they atone for what they’ve done.”

”It’s too dangerous,” Ashlynn said, shaking her head at him. ”There are too many of them. If they pool their strength again, if they know the rites of old...”

When the Vale of Mists fell to Cellach Lothian and the Inquisition, it had been because the Inquisition summoned a second sun, burning high in the sky at midnight, weakening not only Nyrielle, but her grandsire, Torbin, and all of his progeny. Even then, Torbin had killed seven templars before they dragged him down, but the combination of oppressive sorcery and blessed blades proved too much for the forces of the Vale of Mists.

If Ignatious wanted to bring these Inquisitors back to the Vale in order to give them a chance to mend their ways... it would place the entire Vale at risk, and Ashlynn couldn’t allow it.

”Please, Ashlynn,” Ignatious said, raising his head to meet her emerald gaze directly. ”They aren’t that different from me before I found my way out of the darkness. My hands are stained with just as much blood, if not more. If a man as cruel and hateful as I was can find the light again, then these men can as well.”

This time, when Ignatious spoke, a deep well of sorrow and remorse poured into his voice.

Everyone in the Great Hall had seen his Holy Flames when he cleaved through the ball of fire conjured by Abbot Recared’s miracle. Those who had fought beside the Inquisition before had marveled at how calm and gentle the High Inquisitor’s flames were compared to the intense fury of Recared’s failed miracle.

That difference had been enough to plant a seed of curiosity in many minds, but too much had happened to dwell on what it might mean for a High Inquisitor to be so different from his brethren. Now, for the first time, they were getting a glimpse at the truth of the man beneath the robes, and his words raised even more questions than they answered.

”It took you eighty years, Ignatious,” Ashlynn said, speaking softly enough that the lords and ladies at the High Table weren’t certain they’d heard her correctly. ”Eighty years of agony, torture, and darkness before you found your way back to the light, and even then...”

”Even then, without you and Lady Heila, I would have remained a hollow shell, struggling at the edge of the void and yearning for the death I deserved,” Ignatious said. There was more to it than that, of course. Without Mistress Nyrielle to rescue him from High Lord Hamdi, he never would have experienced anything that came afterward. But he couldn’t mention her here, not in front of so many witnesses who wouldn’t understand.

Besides, the only person who mattered already knew how much Ignatious owed to Lady Nyrielle, and she didn’t need him to mention her lover’s name to remind her.

”I received a second chance,” Ignatious said earnestly. ”I’m trying to make the best of it,” he said with a fragile smile. ”Let me do for them what you and Heila have done for me. Please,” he repeated.

”Lady Ashlynn,” Loghlan said, stepping forward while the rest of the Lothian Court tried to understand what was happening before them. ”I don’t know if these men deserve the mercy High Inquisitor Ignatious is offering,” he said as he walked over to stand beside Ignatious before dropping to a knee in front of her. ”But if my grandfather’s friend believes that he can help them, perhaps he can help my vasal’s brother, Cian, as well.”

Bringing Cian into this was dangerous, as was drawing attention to Lady Cerys. But right now, Sir Cynwrig was standing guard over Sir Ollie’s family elsewhere in the manor while Cerys struggled against years of indoctrination by the Church to accept that she owed her life to a witch.

Cian had earned whatever punishment came his way when he raised his hand and Holy Flames against his own sister, but Loghlan couldn’t leave it at that. Not if he wanted to look in the mirror in the morning and tell the man he saw there that he’d done the best he could for his vassals. Cerys was working hard to make amends for what she had done. If he could pay that back by attempting to find a way for her brother to redeem himself, then he owed it to Cynwrig and Cerys to at least make the attempt.

There were other reasons as well. If he were honest, there was a part of him that didn’t want to force Lady Ashlynn to stain her hands with so much slaughter tonight when she already carried the burden for everything that was happening.

But more than that... More than anything else, he wanted to lend his support to the oldest friend his family had ever known. Even if he hadn’t had any of the other reasons, that would have been enough.

”Whether or not these men can be redeemed is more than I can say,” Loghlan said formally, bowing his head low. ”But I’m willing to pledge whatever help I can offer to his cause.”

For several heartbeats, Ashlynn said nothing. Her hand itched to draw the Holy Flame Blade from its sheath to engulf the Inquisitors in their own Holy Flames, but she couldn’t make herself move. Not when Ignatious looked at her like that, and even less now that Loghlan Dunn had joined him.

This was what she’d hoped for... A vampire of the Vale and a baron of the march joined together in common cause. But why? Why did they have to pick this cause and this moment?

She wanted to deny them... After holding herself back all night, she wanted to give in to the darkest desires in her heart and put an end to the misery and suffering the Inquisition had proven itself all too capable of unleashing. Yet she couldn’t. Not when it would mean throwing away a chance at something greater.

”One year,” Ashlynn said. ”One year is all I can give you, and even that may be too much. But if these men cannot understand the depths of their own wickedness the way you understand your own past in that amount of time, Ignatious,” Ashlynn warned sternly. ”Then it will be you who has to swing the sword.”

”Of course, Your Dominion,” he said formally, extending the hilt of his Holy Flame Blade toward her. ”It’s enough that they have a chance to struggle toward redemption. The rest is up to them.”

”Good that you understand,” Ashlynn said. ”Abbot Recared, however,” she said as she reached out toward the hilt of the Holy Flame Blade. ”He dies tonight.”