Chapter 13 #2
She is deliberate in her answer, though still teasing. “Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy being bottled up in a rabbit warren a thousand years old, the whole of which is watched over by an imprisoned, sleeping demon suspended from the ceiling like a chandelier?”
“How do you know it’s sleeping?” I’m impressed. She’s very young and it was well hidden. It took me almost to the bottom of the stairs to realize it was up there dreaming whatever dreams fiends find.
“I’m a Vagabond Paladin, Poisoned Saint. Wherever demons sleep, their nightmares are full of me.” It is her turn to look chagrined when she says, “I would have liked to cast it out.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t you have that ability? Is that not your specialty?”
She snorts. “Could you heal an entire army at once?”
I consider.
“But there are nine of us down here. Surely, together …”
My words trail off and she smirks again.
“How much do you think your friend Hefertus knows about the casting out of demons? Or the puffed-up Majester?”
“Hefertus could probably order the world to rid itself of the creature and it would be gone,” I say easily.
“And with it, whatever is left of his mind.”
I incline my head. She’s right, of course.
There’s a ghost of a smile and a dare in her eyes when she speaks again. “I hope you’re planning to get off your knees because I have something to show you.”
I hesitate, gust a tiny, rueful scoff — directed at myself, of course — and this time my smile is bashful. “I’m afraid I can’t get up yet.”
“Until I forgive you?” Her eyes twinkle. “Consider it done.”
“It’s not that.” Although forgiveness … I didn’t expect it, and it’s sweet as overripe raspberries.
“Until I promise to keep your secret?” Her tone is wry, almost mocking. “If impregnating a young woman amounts to murder, then likely we should see more men dangling from hempen ropes.”
“It bothers me that you trivialize my sorrow.” I’m sad to lose our teasing, but on this, I must be firm.
Has she had much dealing with men like me? Or with anyone who was not possessed or desperately looking for help with someone who was? She followed a knight around begging for scraps from her childhood. I should not expect her to see the world as most do.
“It bothers me that you are so prideful that you’re still on your knees,” she shoots back. “Fine. I will keep your secret. I’ll do better, if you like. We can search for this cup together.”
“Together?” I am wary. This is … better than I hoped for.
I think. It’s certainly more than I expected.
It’s forgiveness and a ghost of second chances — to protect rather than harm, to help rather than hurt.
I’ll take it. I’ll do what I failed to do before and keep those dancing eyes from glassing over with the varnish of death.
“Together,” she confirms, offering me a hand and pulling me to my feet.
“Your word on that?” I can’t help myself. I always have to press for certainty. It’s as much a part of how I’m constructed as my sinews and bones.
“Do you want some kind of oath, Adalbrand?”
I like how she says my name with one eyebrow lifted.
I like how she seems utterly unaffected by me.
Usually. I draw women like flies to a half-eaten pie and I must remind them often that I am sworn to the God — a fact, I have noted, that only seems to make them more ardent in their declarations of what they would do if only they could.
I don’t begrudge them that. It’s nice to be considered desirable, even if they do rather try my vows.
I answer carefully. “An oath would be appreciated.”
She laughs and it startles me. She blows like the sea wind, hot and mellow, then cold and sharp, with barely a hint of the change before it rushes over you.
The dog whines on the other side of the door a second time and she stares at me, biting her lower lip on one side as she looks me up and down. I don’t think I’ve felt so judged since I was a new squire under uniform inspection.
“Will you help me cast out the demon if we are given the chance?” she asks, as if this is the sticking point — as if every paladin here wouldn’t lend her aid with that.
“Of course.”
I go ahead and look right back. She’s given me license now that she’s doing it to me.
The wear and tatters on her clothing only serve to highlight the flawlessness of her black hair.
That scar above her eyebrow and the other on her chin do the same for the perfect swoop of her cheekbones.
She is contradictions. Doubtful but certain, marred but incomparable.
And I must school my heart to stop cataloging them all.
“Fine, then we will make an oath.” She leans a hip against the desk, arms crossed over her chest. My gaze snags on the posture.
She looks amused by me and for the first time since I arrived in this place, I feel a glimmer of light.
Humor, in my opinion, is the buoyancy the heart needs to go on. “Tell me what you want to swear.”
From the other side of the door, the dog barks.
“Are you going to let him in?” I ask, smiling with her as if we are sharing a joke instead of forging something more akin to a peace treaty or maybe — just maybe — a friendship.
“Not until we’re done this.”
Well, I don’t want to be bitten again, so that’s fine with me. I’ve never met a paladin before who let a dog trail them. Perhaps there are certain rules or proprieties. Maybe I’m meant to overlook the mild mauling.
“I’ll swear to work hand in hand with you until the cup is found and returned to the church,” I offer. “That I will guard your back and join counsel with you in this and in all else. And that, if we have the chance, we will cast out that demon.”
“A dangerous oath,” she says and her eyes are still dancing, still teasing, still drawing me in.
They don’t look quite so much like Marigold’s anymore. Marigold’s never had that edge. The edge that tells me she might be cleverer than me, brighter and faster and stronger. I find it only draws me in worse, trapping me like a fly in a spider’s web.
“What if we never find the cup?”
“Would you like to add conditions for if we fail?” I offer.
“I never factor in failure,” she says, and her grin grows and then freezes, as if she realizes she’s admitted something that makes her look bad. She rallies, but her new smile is a bit weaker. “Let’s have a little confidence. Let’s assume we will find the Cup and return it.”
And I know better than to make an oath like that. I really do. If there’s no Cup of Tears here, this will bind us together for life. And then what will we do? Serve side by side like a tortoise and a wolf yoked together? I don’t even know which of us would be tortoise and which the wolf.
She smiles and shows her teeth.
Fine. She’s clearly the wolf.
I wrench my gauntlet off and offer my palm, and when she takes it in her warm one, I have to swallow. Her clasp is firm and certain.
“May it be and ever be,” she vows to me, and I return her vow with my own.
“My sword is yours and my honor until we succeed.”
When I let go of her hand, she leans over the sphere and points. “I think you’re going to be glad that you teamed up with me, Poisoned Saint. I might have found something interesting here.”