It’s fine to cry. An honest emotion.
Not here. Not now.
I was the only woman here. And this was the second time one of them thought that gave them license to attack me. I didn’t dare show weakness now.
Saints and Angels, but my throat hurt.
Brindle made a doggy huff, pacing back and forth in front of my wavering blade. I drew in a breath, narrowed my eyes, and forced my blade to steadiness.
“Try that again now that I have my sword,” I croaked out, sounding more frog than paladin. “Try again now, High Saint.”
Sir Kodelai stepped through the door into the chaos of lifted voices. On either side of him, the Inquisitor and the Penitent were staring at me and the High Saint as if the pair of us were possessed.
“It’s her fault,” the High Saint was saying, pointing at me, face flushed in the firelight. “She could have prevented it if she’d done her job.”
In front of me, Brindle’s growl went on and on.
“We’re all upset,” the Majester said. “But we should take refuge in prayer, not in attacking one another. This is madness. This can only end in more needless death.”
In lower tones, I heard the Inquisitor explaining to the Engineers what had happened below. His sword hand was restored. He kept flexing it like he couldn’t believe the blessing of it. The same relief was in the posture of the Majester and Sir Owalan, like they could breathe again after being squeezed too hard.
I don’t think they’re going to fight us.
I took in a long, painful breath and let my guard ease.
Sir Kodelai cleared his throat. He looked majestic, even now in the middle of chaos — perhaps even more so in the middle of chaos, for he was the firm rock within the waves.
“I am the Hand of Justice,” he said coolly. “Appointed by the God. There will be no vigilante justice here, so restrain yourself, Aspect of the Holy God.”
The High Saint ducked his head, his words cutting off abruptly.
“Good,” the Hand said. “Sheathe your sword, Vagabond.”
With a frown, I obeyed. I wasn’t prepared to fight them all, anyway. Especially now that the Inquisitor had his sword hand back. He’d been deadly with his off-hand down below. I wouldn’t like to fight him now. He’d been holding back when we sparred last night.
“You are not children,” Sir Kodelai went on, running a hand over his oiled beard. “You are paladins. A child of the God was killed in this place and together we will find justice. I will spend the night in private prayer on this matter. I will beseech the God on our behalf, praying in front of the door through the night. Until this matter is settled, no one shall go in and out the door or leave this camp. Are we agreed?”
It was while he was still speaking that Sir Adalbrand stepped through and almost collided with the Hand of Justice. He was breathing hard but the look of utter relief he wore made me swallow hard.
Relief softened all those hard lines of his face for a moment, and seeing him here filled me with an instant sense of solace. Here was someone who wasn’t going to kill me out of hand. That was all it was. Comradery. Safety. There was nothing else there, just reprieve. It was a reasonable thing to feel.
If you say so.
He ran a hand over his jaw and then his eyes caught mine and narrowed, as if searching for something. His gaze cleared for a moment, but it still ranged over my drawn sword, defensive posture, and the dog pacing back and forth before me.
“But surely we already know what happened,” the High Saint said bitterly. “There was a demon in there, and the girl did not cast him out.” He pointed at me, finger quivering in the firelight. In all the chaos, the sun had finally sunk the rest of the way, leaving us in darkness. “The Seer died and the girl is responsible. The blood of the Aspect of the All-Knowing God is on her hands and hers alone.”
“The girl?” Adalbrand asked, and his voice snapped like a whip, making Sir Kodelai startle. I wouldn’t have expected the big man to be capable of it. “We are all holy knights of the God. And while the Vagabonds choose to wander and fight demons, they’re no more bound to it than you’re bound to debate theology and heresy in every keep and hold. If you wanted the demon cast out, you could have done it yourself.”
“There was no way to remove the monster,” the High Saint said, looking more worried about Adalbrand’s words than for my sword. That was humbling. “I did pray it would go. I’m not the one the God grants strange requests.”
This time his petulance encompassed both me and Hefertus.
Hefertus laughed and drew his belt knife to pick at a tooth with the edge of the blade. It was dramatic. I adored it. I should have thought of that. He flicked the end of the knife and leveled a long look at the High Saint.
“I thought it was fine where it was, Sir Joran. My good sense told me it wasn’t going anywhere.”
The High Saint laughed at that, a touch hysterically.
