Page 142 of Outcast’s Vow

Even Baptiste, with his chess skills, can’t decipher where the pieces will fall.

Father adjusts his cufflinks. He takes in a breath, surveying the scene in front of him. His eyes finally find mine.

There’s something there. Something I haven’t seen in a long time.

Something I thought was gone.

And then, when it seems like I can’t take the unbearable waiting anymore, Father finally speaks.

“His life is to be spared.”

The words echo through the room like the ringing of church bells.

Gasping, I immediately turn to Baptiste, still being held back by all those Castaways men. As the judgment lands, he closes his eyes for a long moment.

And then he looks at me. Those forest green portals burn deep. My breath catches.

He’s not going to die. He’s not going to die. He’s not going to die.

But Leopold is enraged. Even more than he was before.

“What is this madness...”

But Father cuts him off.

“Mr. Tremblay has shown real Castaways virtues. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Willingness to fight for something higher than himself. The same virtues that are sorely missing in dark times like these. His execution would be a waste. Mercy is not reinstatement, though. He will be spared, but he won’t be readmitted into the Order.”

Relief floods every part of me.

Cromwell steps forward, a smile curled on the edges of his lips. I sense this is more a victory for him over Leopold than sparing Baptiste’s life, but I’ll take it, regardless.

“I concur with the Supreme Elder’s judgment,” Cromwell declares to the room.

And, in turn, the rest of the Elders gathered do the same. They all concur. Leopold is outnumbered. Outvoted.

He can’t do a damn thing. He’s not the Supreme Elder, no matter how much he wishes.

“What about you, Mr. Anguish?” Father asks Leopold. “Will you spare this man’s life?”

There’s a hesitation in the man, but Leopold can’t move against Father. Not yet. He’s been outmaneuvered this time. His ambitions will have to wait another day.

“I concur with your wise judgment, Supreme Elder.”

It’s barely more than a mumble, and it’s said through gritted teeth, but it’s enough.

Father nods, and the men release Baptiste.

And the first thing my husband does is run to me. He grabs me in a solid, all-encompassing, tight hug. A hug that feels like he never wants to let go. The force of his relief and love is so unrestrained that it’s practically a collision.

And I welcome him with every fiber of my being.

“Let’s leave now,” he whispers into my ear. “Before these motherfuckers change their minds.”

“I concur,” I whisper back, unable to restrain a little giggle.

I let go of him and I turn to my father. He glares back at me. I’m unable to read his expression.

“I’m leaving with my husband,” I say, my voice and my heart steady.