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Description
Tears welled in Lady Dagny's eyes, backed by a spark of fire. She didn't speak, and in the silence, only the jongleur's song could be heard.

"Get up," Lady Dagny said edgily.

Christabelle obeyed.

"The Church's God preaches forgiveness regardless of the manner of offense." Sir Guy's wife glanced back at her guests and lowered her voice. "But the old gods would hold with nothing less than justice."

The golden-haired woman slapped Christabelle across the face hard enough to leave an angry mark.

The violent sound and motion spurred all the guests to their feet. Ill at ease, they stared at the scene. Welby stood among them, without the slightest hint of recognition in his face.

"If your father were alive, I'd have him publicly thrashed!" Lady Dagny's fire flared and quieted. "But his death, that is the old gods' own punishment, and I shall not argue with their judgment."

The guests seemed more alarmed by her mention of the old gods than by the fight.

Lady Dagny turned upon them bitterly. "This is not God's land, this is the old gods' land. The old gods punish my doubt in them with death. Death of my three sons. Death of my husband! Death!"

One of the guests, an old woman, hastened to shush Lady Dagny. "Come away, dear. Sit. You, young man, finish the song!"

The jongleur cleared his throat and continued, and no one thought to close the door. "Then a knave with heart of coal, the duke's last breath stole.

"Which, in truth, is just as well, before men to him could tell,

"They found son Piers buried deep, sent by battle to eternal sleep.

"Under and an old towering tree, carved with words for all to see."

Christabelle's breathing lurched to a halt. Many villeins bore the common name of Piers, but few died in battle, and fewer still died in battle and were buried beneath trees with carven epitaphs. Piers—her father—a duke's son! So his presumptuous theories on his origins had somehow been true, yet he would never know.

Had—she paused at the brink of either a revelation or a wild coincidence—had the power-hungry Inquisitor somehow known? It would explain his efforts to kill her too. Not that it mattered. Women couldn't inherit the positions of their fathers. Perhaps the Inquisitor had thought she might play the role of Piers's son just for that purpose.

"Come." Gideon touched her shoulder. "Let us leave."

Christabelle, still on one knee, looked up at him. If he had heard the song, it brought no revelation to his ears. But then, he hadn't known her father's name, or that she'd buried him during the battle.

She thought briefly about telling him, but she shrugged it away. Her father had gotten his wish, and no doubt he had been reburied with full honors. She, on the other hand, had seen what power could do to both the people who possessed it and to the people around them. She wanted nothing to do with it.

She stood, touching her stinging cheek. "My business here is finished. What shall we do now?"

He glanced to the south. "Return home?"

Christabelle dropped her eyes, sharply aware of the void left by her mother and father. Perhaps Gideon had lost his father, but he still had a mother and sisters waiting for him in Gaveston. "I don't have a home."

He smiled and caught her hand, tugging her towards the waiting horses. "As long as I'm alive, you do."

Description
Tears welled in Lady Dagny's eyes, backed by a spark of fire. She didn't speak, and in the silence, only the jongleur's song could be heard.

"Get up," Lady Dagny said edgily.

Christabelle obeyed.

"The Church's God preaches forgiveness regardless of the manner of offense." Sir Guy's wife glanced back at her guests and lowered her voice. "But the old gods would hold with nothing less than justice."

The golden-haired woman slapped Christabelle across the face hard enough to leave an angry mark.

The violent sound and motion spurred all the guests to their feet. Ill at ease, they stared at the scene. Welby stood among them, without the slightest hint of recognition in his face.

"If your father were alive, I'd have him publicly thrashed!" Lady Dagny's fire flared and quieted. "But his death, that is the old gods' own punishment, and I shall not argue with their judgment."

The guests seemed more alarmed by her mention of the old gods than by the fight.

Lady Dagny turned upon them bitterly. "This is not God's land, this is the old gods' land. The old gods punish my doubt in them with death. Death of my three sons. Death of my husband! Death!"

One of the guests, an old woman, hastened to shush Lady Dagny. "Come away, dear. Sit. You, young man, finish the song!"

The jongleur cleared his throat and continued, and no one thought to close the door. "Then a knave with heart of coal, the duke's last breath stole.

"Which, in truth, is just as well, before men to him could tell,

"They found son Piers buried deep, sent by battle to eternal sleep.

"Under and an old towering tree, carved with words for all to see."

Christabelle's breathing lurched to a halt. Many villeins bore the common name of Piers, but few died in battle, and fewer still died in battle and were buried beneath trees with carven epitaphs. Piers—her father—a duke's son! So his presumptuous theories on his origins had somehow been true, yet he would never know.

Had—she paused at the brink of either a revelation or a wild coincidence—had the power-hungry Inquisitor somehow known? It would explain his efforts to kill her too. Not that it mattered. Women couldn't inherit the positions of their fathers. Perhaps the Inquisitor had thought she might play the role of Piers's son just for that purpose.

"Come." Gideon touched her shoulder. "Let us leave."

Christabelle, still on one knee, looked up at him. If he had heard the song, it brought no revelation to his ears. But then, he hadn't known her father's name, or that she'd buried him during the battle.

She thought briefly about telling him, but she shrugged it away. Her father had gotten his wish, and no doubt he had been reburied with full honors. She, on the other hand, had seen what power could do to both the people who possessed it and to the people around them. She wanted nothing to do with it.

She stood, touching her stinging cheek. "My business here is finished. What shall we do now?"

He glanced to the south. "Return home?"

Christabelle dropped her eyes, sharply aware of the void left by her mother and father. Perhaps Gideon had lost his father, but he still had a mother and sisters waiting for him in Gaveston. "I don't have a home."

He smiled and caught her hand, tugging her towards the waiting horses. "As long as I'm alive, you do."