The city Thomas had been so eager to see merely a fortnight ago now seemed darker, its architectural flair muted. Cobblestones looked duller, markets thinner, even the seagulls cried with less vigor.

  They parked their steeds at the same stables as their last visit, Grainne would not accept anywhere other than the best stables, the best water, and the finest straw, even now, with the stakes as dire as they were, Ava made time for her loyal friend.

  Ava, Thomas, and the two children made their way to a modest inn. Lodging here would cost them; the Silver Sword barracks were too risky now.

  “How much for a week’s stay?” Ava asked. The innkeeper grunted, roused from his sleep by their knock.

  “Thirty Dirhams,” he mumbled.

  Ava winced at both the steep price and her injuries from Iss but produced a small pouch of silver coins.

  “We’ll need two rooms.” She said, “And I’ll pick them out myself.”

  The inn smelled of woodsmoke and herbs. Inside, the rooms were small but serviceable; a straw-stuffed mattress on a low wooden frame, rough-hewn beams overhead, and a single shuttered window letting in a pale sliver of light. A battered chest in the corner held whatever meager belongings travelers carried.

  Ava led the way upstairs, Thomas at the back, the children between them. None spoke, their eyes haunted, silent. He didn’t even know their names.

  The children quickly chose a room, the boy grabbing the girl’s hand and locking the door behind them.

  Ava looked down at the floorboards. “I don’t know what they’ve seen… I hope not Ayyadieh. No child should have to witness that.”

  Thomas’s gaze followed hers. “These kids… they seem broken.”

  She gave a small, tight nod. “Come, let’s settle in for now.”

  …

  He watched as she removed her armor slowly, wincing at each layer taken off.

  “Thomas,” she beckoned him, face contorted in pain, “Can you lend me a hand? The breastplate is especially tricky.”

  He obliged, his hands moving carefully across her torso. Even with her skin hidden beneath armor, he could not resist the thoughts stirring in his mind. Ava held her breath as he pulled the breastplate off, a slight cry escaping her lips. Beneath it, her typical orange tunic was torn to bits, slashed and punctured everywhere. As she removed that as well to change into more comfortable clothes, Thomas saw it fully. His chest tightened.

  He had never seen her torso like this before. After the massacre of Ayyadieh, he had changed her clothes, yet then he had looked away, preserving her dignity. Now her body was on full display.

  Every inch bore the marks of survival; cuts, bruises, and scars crisscrossed her skin. Pieces of flesh near her obliques were mangled, and scar tissue hung over fresh wounds, forming a disturbing maze of mutilation.

  Ava seemed to notice his silence, “Do my scars disgust you, Thomas?”

  He stayed silent under her the weight of her question.

  “Each one of these has a story,” she said, pointing to a long slash under her rib.

  “A na?ve young nun.” She highlighted a hole-shaped scar on her abdomen.

  “An idealistic Crusader.” She traced over an arrowhead puncture in her shoulder.

  “An impure Christian…” She examined her knees, scraped, bruised, damaged.

  Thomas could not open his mouth, the damage her body had sustained, it was abhorrent, years of fighting had destroyed her body beyond repair, in places where the body was still healing, new scars had taken their place. How did she move with such pain?

  “Deputy…” Thomas began, “I don’t understand, you fight like a demon, not even Malcolm is on your level…”

  She paused, then began, “Malcolm told me something, I suspect he told you the same…”

  She looked off into the distance, “On his first mission he had with the Third Company…”

  “He said, ‘Never think you’re special, never think you’re above anyone, because you aren’t God’”.

  As if on reflex, Thomas’ eyes widened, he had said that to him before, during simpler days, if you could call Fiana simple. He still remembered the taste of his first ale, bitter and strong.

  “These scars are the price I pay, and the price I will continue to pay…”

  …

  Ava decided she’d waited long enough. It was now or never.

  She slipped Thomas’ small knife from his pack into her belt, along with her own—the same one that had saved her in Fiana Village. She gathered their provisions, checking each bundle with care. For now, everything else could wait; there was work to be done.

  At the children’s door, she paused. The knives were hidden behind her back, her warmest smile in place. They had seen horrors no child should ever know; she would be their small light in the darkness.

  The little girl opened the door slowly and stepped into the center of the room. Her eyes were sunken, her rags torn, smelling faintly of sweat and mildew. Ava’s stomach tightened. She would buy them proper clothes in the city center later.

  “Hi… can I come in?”

  The girl froze, a statue carved from fear. Ava gestured again, slow and patient. Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she stepped aside.

  In the corner, a boy huddled with knees raised to his chest, arms wrapped tight. Dark hair clung to his hollow cheeks, dried blood and mud crusting his skin. His wrists bore cruel marks of bondage. Ava stifled a sharp breath. She could hardly imagine what they had endured.

  “Boy… do you have a name?”

  Silence. She tried again, repeating her gesture and her own name: “Ava! I’m Ava!”

  The girl nudged him. Words passed between them Ava didn’t understand. Then the moment came:

  “A… Ari,” whispered the girl.

  “Khalid,” the boy followed.

  A fleeting sigh of relief escaped Ava. They could speak. They had names. She closed the distance and handed them the rations she and Thomas had brought.

  Ari’s eyes lit up, and she devoured the food in a heartbeat. Khalid’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, motionless, vacant. The children exchanged a brief dialogue; Ari shrugged and kept eating, but Ava knew she had to act.

  “Khalid. Ari. Come,” she said.

  They hesitated. Brief words—slow, simple—might reach them. Ari turned to face her, and Khalid’s hands dropped an inch.

  “Only to protect yourselves.” Ava extended both hands. Small, discreet knives lay in them. Khalid shot up, grabbing his with sudden intensity, eyes burning. Ari studied hers, tentative, curious.

  “I’m going to get you more food now.” Ava added, breaking up her words for clarity. But the children were already caught in their own world.

  …

  Khalid stared at the blade the knight, no, Ava had given him. It sat in his hand with such comfort and ease; it always had, even when Father would slap shamshirs out of his hand when he was younger. Something alluring drew him to weapons whenever he saw them. Something deep.

  “I’ll eat all your food if you don’t get up—” Ari choked on her own food, hastily wolfing it down. They hadn’t seen so much food in weeks, at least. Far before their enslavement, food insecurity in Acre was commonplace; the last well-made meal Khaild remembered eating was Samira’s tharid.

  Khalid’s throat bubbled as the sight of Ava leaving the room made him sick. Here he was, being helped by a Nasara, those that carried the will of the Shaytan; here Ari was, eating their meals and sleeping in their rooms. His brother Jaleel would never; he would find a way to survive without their help.

  His sight drifted to the knife she gave him as Ari continued to delight in the food. He thought over his options. He could wait until she slept or turned her back, then kill her and escape, but he didn’t know the language; he wouldn’t make it past the gate without suspicion, not to mention the lack of money or inability to ride a horse…

  “Khalid, that was your name, right? Your knife isn’t going anywhere, but this food is.”

  Khalid sheathed the knife in a fit of rage. He was stranded, at the mercy of his oppressors. Even if he killed Ava, her ally—the one with brown hair—would surely stop the two of them. They would be enslaved again or killed. For now, he had to stay alive and wait for an opportunity. Only then could he try to reunite with his brother, if he was even alive…

  He couldn’t throw away the chance he’d been given, he had to stay alive, he didn’t have the right to die.

  …

  Ava wished she could visit the city square under happier circumstances.

  The city of Tyre was not as vibrant as her last visit, rain hammered onto the streets like a hammer striking an anvil. Yet merchants ran their bazaars in a blur of motion, exotic spices traded hands, silk and wool were stitched in front of buyers, and thick wheels of creamy cheese sat proudly on display. Yet none of it eased the sense of impending calamity tightening in Ava’s chest.

  She wore a green tunic and black trousers, her face hidden beneath a dark grey hood. She did not want to be recognized in Tyre. Not until she knew what the political situation in Acre truly was. If she was overreacting, all the better.

  She did not know the merchant’s name, but she knew where to find him. He would not miss the opportunity. Even if she was two weeks early, he would be there.

  And Abel would be too.

  Ava searched the city square until she saw the beard she remembered, neatly groomed beneath a man in well-adorned garments. A line of customers stretched before his stall. That did not matter. She joined the queue and waited.

  “How can I help you today?” the merchant exclaimed when she reached him. “My wares include sage, chamomile, even yarrow.”

  Ava cut him off, gripping his sleeve and drawing him close beneath her hood.

  “Remember me?” She produced the Silver Sword sigil. “Abel. And your payment. Meet me at the northern part of town. Do not be late.”

  The merchant sucked in a sharp breath. A few nearby shoppers turned, but he forced a smile.

  “Please. Business as usual,” he called. “This is one of my esteemed patrons.”

  Then he leaned in, his voice low and tight.

  “You aren’t going to like what you’re about to hear.”

  …

  Ava stood perched on the barrack walls. It struck her as strange that only a short while ago the merchant had stood in this very spot. Now he was the one running late.

  Her meeting with Malcolm had overrun. Her thoughts drifted back to his gaze, full of loathing and despair, as though every time he looked at himself he saw Satan. She thought of the Shatranj* set she had given him and hoped it had helped, hoped something, anything, could ease his suffering.

  Then her mind wandered again, this time to Khalid, and the way he had stared at her knife. He had looked as though he were witnessing a miracle when she drew it from its scabbard. The memory sent a chill through her. In this land, innocence was rare. For a child to take up arms so young was a quiet tragedy.

  “Hey, Miss Knight. Is anyone home?”

  The merchant waved a hand in front of her face, poking at her, trying to provoke a reaction.

  Ava blinked back into the present. “Oh. I didn’t notice you.”

  The merchant sighed, then adjusted his garments, “Well, glad to know that’s how you think of your business associates,” he reached outward, and Ava paid her dues.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The man’s face darkened, “About Abel…”

  Ava’s breath hitched. “Yes. What about him?”

  The merchant looked away. His face had gone pale.

  “He did not make it,” he said quietly. “He died a week after you left.”

  Ava’s fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.

  “The wounds… they turned,” the man continued. “His skin blackened. He burned with fever. Toward the end he begged daily…”

  He swallowed. “We could not help him.”

  Tears mixed with rain welled in the young knight's eyes, “Did he find anything out about his family?”

  The merchant sighed, “He asked that, ‘if Ava the Knight returns, to give her this’”

  He pulled a wooden ball from his pockets, a handball. A common game played by children.

  “I—”

  Ava looked at the sky.

  “Abel, I’m so sorry… may your soul rest in peace…”

  …

  Thomas sat in a small chair, propped against the inn’s window, night had fallen.

  His fingers traced the crossbow’s reload mechanism obsessively. The lever clicked softly, the string drawing back under its own weight. The motion was practiced, almost ritual—hands speaking a prayer his mouth could not. The weapon answered him with a muted creak as the catch locked into place.

  His mind was elsewhere, back in the slave pens at Iss—the stench of death, the hollowed faces, the hopelessness.

  The door creaked. Ava stood in the doorway, head bowed, tears streaking her face. Her cape was soaked, but Thomas knew it wasn’t the rain that shook her.

  “Deputy, are you—”

  She dropped a bag of food and items on the side table: bread, water, fruit, cheese. Thomas blinked; Ava rarely carried cheese for anyone but herself.

  A few miscellaneous items were present too, mainly replacement knives, and other military equipment.

  “Give the food to the children. Khalid… the boy, and Ari… the girl. I—I need a moment,” she said, voice breaking.

  Thomas nodded. Ava moved to the bed, arms covering her eyes, still as a statue. The weight of everything pressed on him—this was no longer just her life in the balance.

  “Deputy…” His voice faltered, then strengthened. “We need to talk.”

  She said nothing. He leaned forward, urgency cutting through his hesitation. “Deputy. What do we do now… about the lost Bible?”

  Ava’s arm trembled as Thomas pulled it from her eyes, revealing a stream of tears, her eyes were bloodshot and dry, her nose puffy and her cheeks red.

  “Ava, you once told me, in this same city, on the port, that you care, and that you understand me.”

  Thomas took his hand from hers and to her shoulders, and propped her upright in her bed.

  “So now I’m asking you to understand me, my life, Khalid’s and Ari’s, all of our lives rest in your hands, so, I ask again, what do we do now?”

  The Deputy took a deep breath, then another, and looked to the right, her face fixated on the doorknob.

  “…”

  She paused, still gathering her thoughts, her emotions.

  “Best case, none of the knights that survived our assault on Iss notice it, and we would be free to return to the Order,” Ava curled her hair around her finger, “Even so, Louis is a brilliant mind, he may hear some rumors of an attack on Iss, he would suspect me, but it would not be fatal, he would not have enough evidence to pin the blame on me.”

  Her gaze darkened as she turned to face Thomas, “Worst case, the Bible ends up in his hands, and we our fates will be left up to his wrath…”

  Thomas felt a knot in his stomach as she continued, “Me and Louis, we have a complex history, I can’t predict exactly what he’d do with that knowledge, but we would be severely punished, in that scenario, we’d be lucky to just be permanently expelled from the Order.”

  Her gaze darkened once more, “If not, we would become fugitives, hunted by our own comrades…”

  Thomas sighed, placing the crossbow next to the table, “I think that, for now we should wait here,” he turned to face Ava, her face still puffy and red, “If we aren’t prosecuted, and we stray too far from Acre, that could raise questions as to what we were up to.”

  The young knight’s gaze turned to the sky, “God willing, we will see this through…”

  …

  Five days had passed. They had arrived in Tyre on Tuesday. Now, on Sunday morning, Ava could finally finish the last of her business in the city.

  She woke at the first hint of dawn and began to dress, pulling on the all-black uniform of the abbey that had raised her, the one Lady Grainne had sewn for her by hand.

  A sharp breath escaped her as the fabric brushed her knees. They still burned from Acre. Thomas had saved her then. He had saved her again last night, when she might have drowned in her own despair.

  Abel’s face forced its way into her mind. His knees shattered like glass, his legs twisted the wrong way, his mouth frozen in agony.

  Ava lifted her hand to make the sign of the cross, then stopped. He was probably watching her from heaven, judging her. Why had she not let Malcolm kill him? All she had done was stretch his suffering. He had not even found his parents in the end.

  She reached into her pack and took out the small wooden ball, rolling it gently between her fingers. Her thoughts drifted back to Canterbury, to the street children she had grown up with, and how a simple toy like this had once been enough to make them forget their hunger for a little while.

  Melancholically, she pushed the thoughts aside. Today she was finally headed to the Cathedral of Our Lady, to seek an audience with Bishop Alexei. Ava had heard of his wisdom in passing.

  Thomas lay sleeping peacefully, his light brown hair shifting with each breath. She smiled softly, just like Philip’s.

  Ava turned to leave but checked the locks on the children’s doors first. Locked.

  She sighed. Trust was a difficult thing to build, that, she knew. But the look on that boy Khalid’s face, she had no idea what could have caused such loathing. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

  Silently, Ava muttered a small prayer for him, her heart weighed heavy as she prayed all the way to the cathedral.

  …

  “May the Congregation* be seated, let us begin.”

  The Congregation sat, hands clasped tightly, Ava shrouded herself in her wimple and veil as organs and flutes played in the cathedral.

  Ava sat quietly in the pew, the silence of the congregation washing over her like a gentle tide. Sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, spilling color across the polished flagstones and illuminating the faces of the faithful—wrinkled, young, joyful, anxious—all bowed in devotion.

  The scent of incense rose in slow spirals, mingling with the faint tang of candle wax and the cool stone beneath her hands. The choir’s voices floated from the loft, a harmonious wave that seemed to rise and fall with the vaulted ceiling, filling every corner with a presence that was at once comforting and suffocating.

  Ava’s eyes traced the intricate carvings on the pillars; saints frozen mid-gesture, angels poised in stone flight, and she felt the weight of centuries pressing down, the history of the cathedral alive in the quiet devotion around her.

  Despite the human warmth, the grandeur of the building reminded her that she was small, a single, fragile presence in a place that had witnessed countless acts of faith, despair, and mercy.

  The Cathedral Choir sung a beautiful melody, enriched in Latin words, their symphony blended perfectly with the hums of the priests, yet Ava did not see Bishop Alexei yet, instead, a priest dressed in humble attire appeared, she assumed it was one of his apprentices.

  “Let us listen, with open hearts, to the Word of God.”

  The Cathedral fell into deafening silence, the Liturgy* of the Word had begun.

  “A reading from the Book of Isaiah…”

  …

  Mass had ended. Ava remained kneeling on the stone floor, her hands clasped, eyes closed, while the rest of the congregation filtered out of the cathedral. Laughter and quiet cheer drifted through the nave, the voices of the elderly, the sick, and the very young. She wanted to share in their warmth, yet that joy felt reserved for the holy, for those truly saved by Christ. Ava knew she was still far from earning the right to laugh so freely.

  Though her eyes stayed shut in prayer, her ears caught movement. The same voice that had led the congregation through the Mass now approached her, the young chaplain. He could not have been much older than Reynard. His footsteps curved toward her through the open space until he finally spoke.

  “Dame, the Mass has ended. Can I help you? You seem devoted to the Lord.”

  Ava finished her prayer and slowly made the sign of the cross. “Chaplain, that was a beautiful Mass you offered,” she said quietly. “You have a gift for delivering the word of God. I am truly grateful to have prayed here today.”

  She opened her eyes, rose in one smooth motion, and bowed before him. “My name is Aveline of Canterbury,” she said, a faint shudder passing through her as she spoke her full name. “I am a Knight of the Silver Sword.” She drew her sigil from her pack. “I have come seeking a confessional with Bishop Alexei the Shepherd.”

  The chaplain scratched his head in embarrassment as he said, “Thank you, Dame Aveline, but Bishop Alexei is currently busy with baptism* rites, he will be a few hours, why don’t you come back to the Cathedral in the afternoon—”

  Ava shook her head, “No, that’s quite alright,” she smiled as she gazed upon the Cross, an ornate tapestry on top the altar, “I will use this time to pray more, thank you, I will stay here until he is ready.”

  …

  Ava prayed. It had been hours now, her eyes closed so long that whenever light crept in, it burned. She recited every prayer Grainne had ever taught her, from the simplest devotions to the deeper, more intimate ones. Her Latin had eroded over four years of crusading, yet she could still speak the prayers by heart.

  “Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem.” (I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life.)

  Footsteps grew louder behind her as she whispered the words. Ava sighed. The chaplain had watched over her since the Mass ended, even offering her food, but she had no wish to be disturbed. If it was not Bishop Alexei, she was not interested.

  Just before she felt a hand near her shoulder, she spoke without turning.

  “Chaplain, I appreciate your concern—”

  “Chaplain?” a different voice asked gently. “You must be mistaken, young Dame. I am no chaplain.”

  Ava turned, and what she saw caught her off guard.

  Humble. That was the first word that came to her. She had known many ministers and churchmen in Canterbury, and more still in Bayeux, but none of them dressed with such quiet simplicity.

  He wore plain white robes and a simple white bishop’s hat. His shoes were dark, worn leather. A warm smile rested on his face, one that seemed never quite to fade. He was of average height, yet even bent with age, he still stood taller than Ava.

  “Bishop Alexei…” she stammered, heat rising to her cheeks. “Forgive my rudeness, Bishop. I am Aveline of—”

  “Canterbury?” he finished for her with a soft smile. “Yes, the chaplain told me. Canterbury…” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It has been a lifetime since I last heard of that place.”

  He extended his hand. “Come. Let us go somewhere more private. More sacred.”

  Ava blinked, then bowed hurriedly.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Bishop Alexei helped Ava to her feet, her knees wobbled as they throbbed, she had put them under constant pressure, not just today, but whenever she prayed heavily, she would likely need ointment for it later.

  They moved through the cathedral’s winding stairs and narrow side passages, leaving the bright nave behind for cooler, quieter halls where only candlelight and the echo of their steps remained. The stone walls were bare and worn smooth by centuries of prayer, the air thick with old incense and wax. Alexei led her past shuttered chapels and small alcoves for private devotion until he stopped before a simple wooden door set into the stone, marked only by a small iron cross. He rested his hand on the latch. And Ava recognized it immediately.

  It was a confessional room.

  “Well, Dame Aveline, seems we have much to discuss,” Alexei entered his side of the booth and sat, Ava mirrored him, “As do we all, for we are all ripe with sin in the eyes of the Holy Spirit.”

  Ava nodded meekly, she rested her hands within her lap, “Bishop, I am a sinner without equal, I fear we will be here for a while…”

  Alexei smiled, his eyes narrowing, “We shall see Aveline, the worst sinners do not call themselves as such.”

  …

  Ava’s eyes fidgeted around the plain white room, then returned to Alexei’s calm, gentle face. Yet beneath those wise eyes, it felt as though he were staring straight into her soul, as if she were a newborn set before him. His breathing was steady, never faltering, while Ava felt as though she had marched from Tyre to Jaffa.

  “Bishop, I have much to confess…” She began. “I have committed sin after sin, and carried myself as if I walk in the light of the Lord…”

  Ava’s voice broke. “I have taken the lives of many, many soldiers, many fathers will never see their children again due to my actions, I have taken the lives of my fellow Christians, to save two Muslim—”

  Alexei raised an eyebrow; Ava corrected herself. “Saracen children…”

  Alexei signaled her to continue with a slight wave of his hand, and her voice quietened. “This is only the first of my sins. Six years ago, I committed an affront against God… and His holy union…”

  “I—” Ava felt tears welling, but this was not the time or place. “I committed fornication* with a fellow Knight in my Order, numerous times, I prayed each time for the strength to overcome this lust, and each time I gave into temptation…”

  Ava clutched her shoulders. “I am a dirty, filthy woman… I do not deserve to wear the cross into battle…”

  “I—I try to repent, every day, to follow in Jesus’ example, but I fall short no matter what I do, a young boy, he begged to die, and I forced him to live, yet he died all the same, all I did was extend his suffering, was I wrong to withhold him the mercy of death?”

  Alexei watched her spiral, her eyes a sea of tears, her body shivering violently, blood staining where her knees touched the floor.

  “Child, about your fornication, may I ask more? To know the severity of the offense?”

  Ava’s face contorted even more. Flashes of Philip entered her mind—his smile, his tanned skin, wavy black hair. She nodded, but only slightly.

  “He, he was a good man, we trained together, ate meals together, laughed together, we shared many views in the academy, we respected each other, but our respect grew into something sinister…”

  “It was my fault, whenever we saw each other, on the Seraphinan Fields*, I would look away, my heart would skip, one day, he led me to his chambers to show me a memento he had of his mother…”

  Ava etched her own nails into her skin. “I was a whore, I couldn’t control the spirit of Jezebel* within me, and we…”

  Alexei stroked his chin. “Aveline, please, say as much as you feel comfortable,"

  “Bishop… after God punished us for our unholy union, I tried everything to forget about it, about him, but I could not, even now, he haunts my dreams, and the sin we committed still plagues my thoughts…”

  She bowed her head. “I know it was wrong, so why did it feel so right back then?”

  Alexei took a deep breath and began, “Child, I cannot begin to imagine the weight you have carried, this boy, whoever he was, has clearly touched your heart—”

  “Bishop, I have not yet disclosed the worst of my sins…”

  Alexei stopped himself. “Child, continue, you are safe with me and the Lord.”

  Ava trembled; she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “After my unholy union, my punishment by the Order… was not of the pious kind…”

  “The second in charge of the Order, the Marshal, he…”

  Ava sank her head into her hands. “He proceeded to mock my punishment, proceeded to call me a harlot, that I should work in a whorehouse… and he tested whether I was up to the task…”

  “He gave me private lessons… I would dance for him as his—,” she shuddered, “As he derived pleasure from my body…”

  Alexei’s face made the slightest wince, and Ava continued, “It must have been God punishing me, since I wanted to commit fornication, this was the type I deserved…”

  “I deserved it, deep down, the Marshal is the only person who knows me for the disgusting sinner I am, a worthless, dirty whor—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Alexei’s voice snapped through. “Aveline, if every person who had sinned in the eyes of the Lord was evil, and did not have a place in the Kingdom of Heaven, then every human after Jesus would be in Hell.”

  He continued, “Your guilt, your conviction to do good, and walk in the light of the Lord, that alone is enough to save you. Humans can be saved by Faith alone, as it is God who gives us salvation, not our own works.”

  Alexei adjusted his cloth. “Consider me, I am the Bishop of this Cathedral, most would consider me a saved man, a holy man, yet I sin in the eyes of God too.”

  “And your fornication? Do you know how many men fall into lust each day? Do not amplify your sin because of the gender God gave you, despite what the secular world will tell you.”

  His eyes softened. “My child, you have suffered a lot. The weight of your beliefs weighs on you, does it not?”

  Ava nodded, more tears streaming. “Bishop, I just—” Her voice cracked, an ugly, visceral cry escaping. “I don’t know how to go on, I want to be a good Christian, to protect others, but… it’s just so hard.”

  Alexei patted her back as she cried into his shoulder. “I know, child, you have carried such weight. I have seen this weight before. They call it the Sickness of the Soul; its afflictions can be dire…”

  “But Aveline, remember this,” he pushed her away, and looked straight in her eyes. “What happened to you, when your Marshal… enjoyed your company… it was not your fault. The Lord did not punish you for that either. That punishment was human, corrupt. Never forget—you did not deserve that. I’m sorry.”

  Alexei continued, “Regarding this boy, the one you committed fornication with, when you speak about him, I do not see the spirit of Jezebel in you. I see something purer, something more precious. I do not believe lust was the cause of your fornication… I believe it was love.”

  Ava shook her head. “Love is the product of marriage, we were not wed, and my impatience was fueled with a desire to experience the flesh—”

  “Aveline, matters of the flesh are human. We are imperfect. You cannot carry yourself to the same standard as the Lord Jesus Christ; you can only hope to live up to a fraction of his holiness.”

  He embraced her again. “Child, I cannot bear false witness to you, you have murdered, and that is grievous.”

  Ava nodded, tears flowing faster. Alexei continued, “Yet the Lord can see your heart, and so can I. You carry these lives with you, on your shoulders. You remember each face, don’t you?”

  She could not even nod or speak. More cries erupted. “Fiana!” Ava leaned toward hysteria. “He had a daughter, I killed him in cold blood, the other, I rammed his eye in with my shield, he screamed and begged for the pain to stop…”

  “I cannot absolve you of these sins, for this, you must repent, yes. But I fear the road you walk is stained in blood. When you have finished the path of the Crusader, visit me again. We will pray for those whose lives you have taken.”

  He paused. “But, if you can, refrain from killing. All life is sacred, I think you would agree.”

  She nodded meekly.

  “Good. You said you hail from Canterbury, am I correct?”

  Ava shook her head. “Yes.”

  Alexei smiled, a proper, deep smile now. “Would that make you one of Mother Grainne’s disciples?”

  She raised her head, face covered in bewilderment. “You knew Lady Grainne?”

  He chuckled. “I did. She was a truly devout Christian, and a talented theologian. When she visited, even the deacons would struggle in spiritual debate with her. How does Mother Grainne fare these days?”

  Ava’s head sank again. “She is of poor health. I pray she makes a recovery…”

  Alexei’s smile weakened. “Ah, that is a shame. Let us pray the Lord guides her toward good health…”

  “Amen,” they said in unison.

  Ava cleared her throat. “Bishop, I do not know how to thank you. This weight in my heart—it has been heavy…”

  Alexei smiled, eyes gleaming. “Of course, my child, dear Aveline. If you ever find your Sickness of the Soul worsening, do not hesitate to find me. I will inform my priests and deacons of your name.”

  She smiled again. “Thank you so much…”

  “Farewell, Aveline…”