She found no echo of the priest’s passion here in this vaulted cavern of glass and marble, just an old man’s empty dogma. It can’t all be a lie, she thought, fighting a rising sense of desperation. Even Uncle Sentes feels the Father’s love. There must be truth here somewhere.
The Reader’s last words were lost to Reva as she indulged in memories of time spent with Alornis, finding she badly wanted to see her draw again. Finally he fell silent and walked from the podium as the congregation rose from their seats, heads bowed. The bishops, who had remained standing throughout, though some were almost as old as the Reader, retrieved their books from the lecterns and followed in solemn silence. The bell pealed once more and the cathedral began to empty. A few of the nobles and merchants attempted to linger at the balcony steps to beg a word with the Fief Lord but were shooed away by the guards.
“Right,” Uncle Sentes said when the last of the congregants had filed out, standing and offering Reva his hand. “Let’s see what the old bastard has to say for himself.”
“Your niece, my lord?” The Reader’s voice was carefully modulated, just enough surprise mixed in with the serenity. They had been conveyed to his private chambers by a coldly servile priest who couldn’t disguise his disdain for Veliss, or a suspicious sneer at Reva. She resolved to punch him on the way out.
“Indeed, Holy Reader,” Uncle Sentes replied. “My niece, soon to be acknowledged as such. It would be an honour if you would witness the warrant, as well as serving to still any silly doubts amongst the people. I’ve had the document prepared.”
Lady Veliss placed the scroll she held on the Reader’s desk, unfurling it and securing the edge with an inkpot. “Where I’ve marked, if you please, Holy Reader.”
The Reader barely glanced at the document, apparently finding it difficult not to look at Reva, his expression not so fearful now. Some lust in him after all, she thought. “How old are you child?” he asked.
She couldn’t say where the certainty came from, but she had no doubt he already knew her age, probably to the day. “Eighteen years this summer, Holy Reader,” she replied.
“Eighteen years.” The old man shook his head. “At my age the years speed by so. It seems no more than a week since your father came to me, seeking guidance. He wanted so badly to marry your mother, and, though it grieves me to say so in your uncle’s hearing, I counselled him to do so, in defiance of his father. ‘The joining of hearts is to be rejoiced at.’”
“‘And only a sinful man will sunder those joined in love,’” Reva concluded. The Second Book, The Book of Blessings.
The Reader smiled and sighed in pleasure. “I see the Father’s love burns bright in you, child.” He picked up a quill, dipping it in the inkpot to add his signature to the document formalising her acknowledgment as Lady Reva Mustor, Niece to Fief Lord Sentes Mustor of Cumbrael. Veliss reclaimed the scroll and moved back to the Fief Lord’s side, blowing gently on the wet ink.
“I do so hate to trouble you further, Holy Reader,” the Fief Lord said. “But I have grave news to impart.”
The old man gave a placid nod. “The Realm Guard marches towards our borders once more. Grim tidings indeed. We can only trust the Father’s benevolence will save us from further ravishment.”
“The Realm Guard will spend a month or so wandering around woods and hills seeking the fanatics who attacked the Lord of the South Tower. Having found nothing, they will go home. A necessary demonstration for the Asraelin populace. I have the King’s Word on it.” Her uncle’s red eyes for once were clear and bright with scrutiny as he read the Reader’s expression. “No, the news I must impart is far graver. You see my niece is not only accomplished in her knowledge of the Ten Books, she also wields a sword with great skill, even more skill than my late brother in fact.”
“Really?” The Reader gazed at Reva in wonder. “The Father is generous with his blessings, it seems.”
“Doubly generous,” Uncle Sentes said. “For he contrived to place her in my manor the very night three assassins came to kill me. But for her I wouldn’t be standing here.”
The Reader’s shock was genuine, she could see it, the start that made his aged jowls wobble, the slight frown of consternation; the face of a man suffering an unpleasant surprise. “The Father be thanked you are not hurt, my lord,” he gasped. “The assassins, do they live?”
“Sadly, no. One was slain by my wonderful niece, a second by my guards.” He paused, his gaze still fixed on the Reader’s face. “But one escaped. A man my niece insists is a priest in your church.”
The Reader’s alarm was also genuine, but not so surprised as before. He knows, Reva thought. He knows who the priest is. She found her fists clenching as the old man made a show of sorrowful reflection.
“Sadly the priestly calling does not make us immune from misguided notions,” he said. “Your brother’s words, heretical though they were, found many willing adherents, including some amongst the priesthood. I shall, of course, exhaust every resource available to the church to bring this rogue to justice. If you could furnish a description . . .”
Veliss produced a second smaller scroll and placed it on his desk. “Ah, efficient as ever, my lady,” the Reader said. “It shall be copied and distributed to every chapel within days. The fugitive will find no refuge in the church, I assure you.”
Reva took a step towards him, fists aching now, finding her uncle’s hand on her arm, gentle but firm.
“Your consideration is appreciated, Holy Reader,” he said. “I believe we have troubled you enough for one day.”
“Feel free to trouble me on all days, my lord.” He smiled at Reva. “Especially if the company you bring is so delightful as today.”
Her uncle tugged her arm and started for the door, but Reva didn’t move just yet. “‘Deceit,’” she said to the Reader, “‘is the hardest sin to divine, for many a lie is spoken in kindness, and many a truth in cruelty.’”
He kept it from his face, but his eyes gleamed with it, just for a second: anger. “Quite so, my dear. Quite so.”
“Reva,” Uncle Sentes said from the door.
Reva bowed to the Reader and followed her uncle from the room. The sneering priest stood in the hallway, regarding her with unmistakable contempt.
“Pardon me,” Reva said, pausing. He was a tall man and she was obliged to look up at him, though not tall enough to be out of reach. “Your nose appears to be bleeding.”
He frowned, fingers coming up to touch his nose, coming away clean. “I don’t . . .”
His head snapped back from the force of the blow, nose breaking, though not with enough force to kill him. He stumbled backwards to collide with the wall, sinking to the floor, blood streaming down his face.
“My mistake,” Reva said, moving on. “Now it’s bleeding.”
“That was unbecoming,” Uncle Sentes reproached when they had returned to the manse, going to the library where a fresh bottle of wine was already waiting. Lady Veliss, however, seemed to be smothering a laugh.
Reva slumped into a chair, unbuttoning her hateful collar and scratching furiously. “That old man is a liar,” she stated.
“Evidently,” he replied, removing the cork and sniffing the bottle’s contents. “Umblin Valley, five years old. Very nice.”
“So that’s it?” Reva asked. “He lies to your face and you do nothing?”
The Fief Lord merely smiled and poured the wine.
“We imparted a warning,” Veliss said, glancing up from her desk, the one Reva had paused at during her mission to retrieve the sword. Veliss was still engaged in study of the same book, the one about money and wine-making, her desk stacked high with copious notes. “The great hypocrite will be on the defensive now.”
“Where I would like to keep him for good,” Uncle Sentes added. “Something your vaunted grandfather never quite managed.”
“He knows,” Reva said. “The priest, where he is. I can tell.”
“Hungry for vengeance, love?” Veliss asked. “Did he treat you so badly?”
Filthy, Fatherless sinner . . . Reva got up from the chair, moving to the door. “I’m going to change.”
“It would help if we knew more about him,” Veliss said, making her pause. “About how you were raised. Where exactly was it? A castle, a cave in the mountains?”
“A barn,” she replied in a mutter before leaving the room.
She went to her room, undressing with an urgency that left several rips in the dress, tossing it into a corner. She changed into her preferred garb of riding trews and loose-fitting blouse, provided at her insistence despite Veliss’s objections. I’ll find him myself, she decided as she laced up her boots. Sneak into the cathedral tonight and make the old man spill his secrets . . .
There was a knock on the door, soft but insistent. She opened it to find her uncle there, his expression kind but insistent. “A barn?” he said.
She sighed, moving back and sitting on the bed. He came in, closing the door and sitting next to her. She was surprised to see he had no bottle with him. They sat in silence for a moment, Reva trying to form words that might make some sense to him. “It was big,” she said eventually. “The barn. No animals, no ploughs, just me and him, and a lot of straw. My first clear memory is of climbing up and down the beams. If I fell, he’d beat me.”
