“That is heresy,” Alain whispered, glancing around, but they remained alone in the chapel. Sorrow sat panting by the door, and no man dared enter because of him.
“It is not heresy,” she finished, her pale face taking color as she took heart from whatever memory she had of Agius’ preaching. “You must acknowledge it. You heard him. You must know it is the truth.”
“I—” It made him deeply uncomfortable to have a princess who wore the gold torque marking her royal kinship kneeling in front of him—and speaking of heresy, in a biscop’s palace. “You must rise, Princess.” He tried to tug her to her feet, but she was either stronger than she looked or holding fast to her purpose. Her hands were warm on his, warming his, and he looked into her face and did not understand what he saw there.
“I pray King Henry will put me in the church,” she said, staring up at Alain.
Or marry her to me. The thought popped unbidden into Alain’s mind. He was so stricken by it that he let go of her hands and sat down on the nearest bench. Ai, blessed Lord and Lady. He was a lord, now, heir to the count of Lavas. He could think about marriage.
“Then, when I am made deacon, I will preach,” she said in a fierce whisper. “I will preach the Holy Word Agius taught me, though the skopos calls it heresy. If they condemn me for it, then I will be a martyr, as he was, and ascend to the Chamber of Light where the saints and the martyrs live in the blazing light of Our Lady’s gaze and Her Son’s sweet glory.”
Alain almost laughed, not at her but at the strange path that had brought him here to this chapel on this night.
Serve me, the Lady of Battles had said, and she had given to him a blood-red rose as her token, as the sign of her favor. He had served, as well as he was able. He had ridden to war. He had broken the compulsion laid by sorcery on Lavastine, and he had killed the guivre, though only because of Agius’ sacrifice. He had tried always to do what was right, though sometimes he had failed. He had not saved Lackling, but he had saved the Eika prince, although perhaps the life of the savage had not been worth the life of the poor simple boy. But it was not his place to judge the worth of their souls.
And Alain knew that although he had been raised from freeholder’s son to count’s heir, a huge leap in the world of men, such fortune could only have come about because of the presence of divine favor.
“Come, Tallia,” he said, bold enough to use her name and hoping he would not be judged proud and insolent for doing so. “It is not fitting that you kneel. Sit beside me, I pray you.” He gave her his hand and helped her up and, after a hesitation, she deigned to sit beside him on the bench.