Updated 8/25/24

ACT I - Four Years Pass

[For what is your life? It is even a vapor, that appears for a little time, and then vanishes away.]

Chapter 7

Owakar

Owakar bit his lip. From his vantage point at the Lion and Tiger Inn, the sun was at the prescribed location above the horizon for their appointment. He frowned, looking from his empty cup to the full one that waited for his friend. Alocrin had called this meeting and he was late, again.

Alocrin had many centuries of experience as a watcher. He’d been Owakar’s teacher the last four years, spoon-feeding him, ever since J’shua Ha Mashiach made him an apprentice. Now he considered Alocrin his friend as well as his mentor. Does he have new instructions for me?

Just as he was reaching for the other cup to drink it before it got too warm, Alocrin came through the door, his red cloak flapping about, brown hair tousled by the wind.

“Where have you been?” Owakar said sour-faced, arms crossed.

Alocrin’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Owakar, I’ve had a difficult thing to do. I came as soon as I could get away.” His eyes pleaded.

Owakar’s expression softened. “I know, you must have much more difficult tasks than I, a mere beginner at this management stuff.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what J’shua’s got you up to?”

Owakar got the server’s attention and pointed to himself and Alocrin. “We’ll have the Rowdy Root Soup, please.” He tossed her a coin, which she snatched out of the air, disappearing through the kitchen door.

Alocrin shook his head. “No, sorry O, don’t ask.” He’d started calling him O after Owakar called him Al in frustration one day. They both laughed and the nicknames stuck. “You got a haircut. Looks good.”

“Thanks, I think you would like my barber, Cranik. His shop is on the east end of the Sea. He’s a miracle worker.”

Alocrin scratched the back of his head. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Owakar began reporting his activities since their last meeting. “And, I’ve been studying some old records for ideas. Jonathan Otual has evaded Earl Melazera’s soldiers who pursue him every time he enters the domain of the Earl of Lorness. I have given him words of wisdom or knowledge at times to avoid encounters. But sometimes, he must flee from them. Melazera seems to have eyes and ears everywhere.” Owakar paused. “I want to help him more. Can I?”

“Of course,” Alocrin answered, “You are helping him. You help him every time you do your duty. Remember, all things work together… Have you tried putting a stumbling block before the ones that chase him?”

[Let their table be made a snare, and a trap, and a stumbling block, and a recompence unto them:]

“Oh, right.” Owakar chuckled. “That might actually be fun.”

Alocrin smiled. “The Writings are not just for them. We are the children of the God of Truth as well; we can learn from things written to others.”

Owakar paused again as the bouncing, red-headed girl plunked down two steaming bowls and left. The sweet and savory aroma made him forget what he was about to say. Rosemary, thyme, cumin, yams, and nutmeg, an interesting combination.

Alocrin exhaled a loud breath as he picked up the spoon. “Something good, I am sure. What of the remarkable Rebekah?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is she still masquerading as a man?” He slurped the savory stew.

“Oh, yes. She spies out evil ones to keep watch on and recruits others into Licht Gegen.”

“And what of the daughter?” Alocrin stopped, his dripping spoon hovering between the bowl and his lips. “Still missing?”

“Yes. But I think not missing—hidden.”

Alocrin looked surprised. “Hidden?”

“Yes, hidden. J’shua has secluded her from everyone. All the luach tells me is that she is safe and well.”

“Hmm. You may be right. That is exciting. You are in the middle of a great thing.”

“Perhaps, but I feel I’m in over my head. Sometimes I am frozen, unsure of what to do. What not to do.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter which you choose. Either choice will move things along. Trust Him, Owakar. You are good. Act with love. You’ll see. It will work out.” Alocrin took a few more bites, studying the odd shaped lumps of different colored root vegetables. “The God of Truth’s ways are like this stew. We see a few lumps, but have no idea all the ingredients he has brought together in the pot.”

Owakar pondered that.

Alocrin peered at him, noisily eating the soup. “And what of Otual’s son?”

Owakar’s face brightened, happy to talk about the boy. “According to the prayers of Daikon Baxter, David is done training and…” He held his breath for dramatic effect, then raised his brows and clapped. “…he’ll become a Knight of J’shua tomorrow.”

Alocrin looked up. “Wonderful. I had heard the group in the Shining Mountains is, so far, untainted.” He took a bite of another lump. “Mmm, that one’s sweet.” He sighed. “It seems inevitable that all organizations fall to selfishness, in the end. Some groups hold to their good intentions for a year. Others for decades. But the Knights have remained faithful for one hundred and fifty years.”

“That is what I read in my research, as well,” Owakar said.

“It is good that you are diligent to…” Sound of a scuffle and Owakar’s astonished expression, caused Alocrin to turn.

A man stumbled in and fell to the floor, bleeding.

Owakar heard the prayers of a dozen followers of J’shua, sharing a knowing look with Alocrin. Spiritual prayers, a quiet music floating amid an angel’s thoughts, enough to notice, but not distract.

Daryl, the innkeeper, whistled and several men rushed from to the injured one.

Two carried him into the kitchen and a third wiped up the mess on the floor.

Alocrin tossed his head toward the men. “Go ahead, Owakar, you can respond to this one.”

Owakar grinned and entered the kitchen, hiding behind a stack of barrels. As soon as all eyes sought the wounded man lying on the table, Owakar dissipated into the daylight and spoke to each of them.

Daryl ripped the shirt to reveal a knife wound, seeping blood. The man’s pants were soaked with it. “Bosch, follow the blood trail and obscure it as best you can.” Applying pressure, he prayed with his understanding, while the others prayed in the spirit, all their hands placed on his pale flesh.

Owakar felt the holy energy and placed his hands on Daryl to encourage him and joined in their prayers. After a few moments he perceived the healing had begun. It felt like a hundred hummingbirds knitting the broken parts together, wings beating little breaths into a dying flame.

Daryl continued, “Lord J’shua, heal our brother. Your father promised to help us in our time of need. You came that we would know the God of Truth and by your stripes we are healed. Thank you, Father, for your loving kindness…”

Once he knew the man would live, Owakar passed through the door, materialized while out of sight, and returned to Alocrin still sitting at their table.

“Do you hear it, O? People all over the world are praying in the spirit for this soul.”

Owakar cocked his head. “Yes, like tinkling bells, J’shua wakes them and they pray before going back to sleep, never knowing what they pray for. It will support his continued healing.”

[Likewise, the Spirit also helps our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.]

“I am impressed by Daryl and his people. It always felt good coming here, but now I see, there is holy work happening here.”

Alocrin’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, we should come here more often.”

Daryl approached the table with a bow. “I am so sorry we have neglected you. Is there any way I can serve you?”

Alocrin answered, “We have no need. We are content. How is your friend?”

“He will recover. It is a great blessing. Thank you for asking.”

Owakar put a hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder. “We will pray for him.” As he removed his hand, Daryl shook it. “Thank you, sir. Thank you. I hope you will return.”

“We will, Daryl. We love your cooking. Best food in Freislicht.”

That brought a huge grin to the innkeeper’s face, who bowed again and retreated to the kitchen.

As they stepped onto the road and began walking, Owakar slapped Alocrin on the back. “It doesn’t get better than that.”

“No, no better than that, O.” Alocrin put his hand on Owakar’s shoulder, his sad eyes narrowed. “But J’shua sent word. He wanted me to tell you away from people. The earl attended another sacrifice, a child sacrifice.”

Owakar, gasped, covering his face with his hands. “No, no, no.” He lifted his head. “I must attend the family, I didn’t hear their prayers, Al.”

“It’s not your fault. The child was an orphan, picked up off the street by one of the earl’s soldiers. You can’t save them all. The child sleeps awaiting the gathering. We will impede the Warrior as much as we can.”

“It seems hopeless, an impossible task. Most humans have no idea this evil is happening.”

Alocrin gave his shoulder a squeeze. “The Warrior is proclaiming it another victory. The earl becomes more and more depraved, more under the Warrior’s control. We cannot disobey God’s commands. The God of Truth told mankind to govern this world. As long as they allow such abominations, they will only get worse. But we can help the ones that ask.”

“And our God is just. There will be a reckoning.” The luach chimed.

[And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;]

Owakar squared his shoulders, jaw set, determined to make a difference. They walked into the woods and disappeared.

David

David shifted on the cold rock, observing his three first-years running laps over Easy Slope. Rubbing his hands together, hugging himself. I should have run with them like usual. They aren’t cold. But he needed to see if they could govern themselves, staying in a close knot, helping each other. When they disappeared behind the rock formations, he closed his eyes, praying, “J’shua, help me find Sarah. Keep her safe. Give her joy. Father, Most Holy, God of Truth, the glory is all yours. Help me stand against the wiles of the Serpent.”

As he opened his eyes, the boys ran out into his line of sight again. They were first-years, just like he’d been five years earlier.

Now aged seventeen, David was almost a Knight of J’shua. After only one day more, he’d be responsible to rely on his wits and the small still voice that guided each of them. For a decade, he would wander, teach, pray, and continue learning. After which, it would be time for him to found his own circle.

But he was getting ahead of himself. There was work to be done in the here and now. Just as he still had a sister to find. Sarah would be fourteen…

“Stop!” he called out. “Philip, remember your footwork.” He walked over to the lad, who had frozen in place. “Look down. Your feet are parallel to each other. If you have to dodge, your opponent could push you off balance. Keep an angle between them. Not as great as the corner of a doorframe, but halfway to it. That way, you can push off in any direction.”

The boy nodded, while his companions suppressed their grins. It was not the first time he’d had to remind the youngster. How could it be? The three youths had been his primary focus for almost a year.

He had first put them through their paces on the Easy Slope, pointing out its crevasses and slippery ledges. Next, he’d taught them how to read the Writings, which were written in an uncommon hand when first translated hundreds of years ago.

He was proud of them. They would become second-years tomorrow and he would graduate. Then he could search for Sarah.

Again, his mind threatened to wander, vacillating between imagining her happy and playing with children in some village, or sleeping in peace, awaiting J’shua Ha Mashiach’s call. He refused to think of any other alternatives.

“Again,” he called to his charges.

The three boys rolled their eyes and groaned, but began again.

“Step, parry, thrust. Step, parry, thrust,”

Was I this annoying at their age? Probably so.

“Philip, take a bigger step. It does no good if you don’t gain ground.”

After a time, David stood. “That’s enough. Ten laps from here to Lone Soldier, the Kiss, and back. Go.”

They took off up Easy Slope. On the seventh lap, as they came from behind the last rock formation, Philip was in the lead, his loose, dark hair bouncing as he ran in long strides. Atik, who always wore a green scarf around his long neck, came next only two paces behind. Barden, running like a mountain goat was last, an arm length away, his short legs taking two steps for each of Philip’s. They were good boys and he’d grown close to them.

Philip was a talker, always first to start a conversation. Atik, the questioner, dug out every bit of information, and Barden was the thoughtful one, if he spoke, he always pointed out what everyone wanted to know.

He shifted on the rock again as he thought about his father’s last letter. It was three weeks old and vague, as usual. His father was very careful about sending letters, using several couriers.

Dear son,

God bless you in the name of J’shua Ha Mashiach. By God’s grace and his son’s sacrifice, I am whole. He has given me a plenteous bounty and warm nights of sleep. I have seen vultures, but no biting insects. I am surrounded by goodness and walk the path he sets before me.

I am proud of you and long to walk north with you soon. The clans greet you. Many towns and villages will welcome you. Stand in the Writings, as I know you will.

In the light of J’shua,

Father

Focusing on the words and phrases, he decoded his father’s message. I am whole—he was healthy and unharmed. Plenteous bounty and warm nights of sleep—he hasn’t gone hungry and has shelter. Vultures but no biting insects—bounty hunters or soldiers have tracked him, but—he’s evaded them. The ‘clans’ represent Mestelina, ‘greet you’ means he’s already been there, and ‘towns and villages’ mean Tarinland, while ‘welcome’ means he’s going there. Walk north with you means he’s going to Esthlanis after that.

He might be below me in the forest right now, on his way east from Mestelina. He sighed. He missed both his parents. At least he had seen his mother regularly. But they couldn’t talk much.

His mother still dressed as a man. Tommas Bekh came to the mountain every few moons, bringing supplies to the Knights’ School and sometimes new students. She had not ferreted out what happened to Sarah, although she bore it with grace, remaining focused on her work, most of the time.

She’d reminded him again that he would be out in the world soon and must use wisdom when he chose a wife. He chuckled. He didn’t think that would happen anytime soon. He had much more important things to plan—his first mission as a Knight of J’shua and which of his fellows would accompany him.

His boys came out from behind Lone Soldier on their final lap. They no longer laughed, but they still kept a good pace and they’d stayed together as they were taught.

They will do well. They won’t falter.

As the sun struck Lone Soldier, casting a long shadow that pointed toward Tarinland, they ran up huffing.

“Are you excited about graduation tomorrow?” Philip asked, as he hunched over, catching his breath.

David smiled as the other two collapsed to the moss-covered ledge. “Yes. I am looking forward to traveling as my father does. I grew up on stories of his exploits. He was the first to trade with the Mestels, when there were no roads in the west.”

“So, he’s still free?” Atik said as he readjusted his sword on his belt.

David frowned. “Who told you he was being sought?”

“Everyone knows that. We get the gossip from a third year that works in the kitchen. Whenever someone visits, he listens.”

“Hmph. You may be better informed than me. Last I heard he was still free. Though he’s had some close calls. I pray every day that J’shua does not send him to stand before those who hunt him.”

No one said anything for a moment, then, Barden—the quiet one—said, “Do you know where you’ll be sent?”

David beamed, stood, brushing off his breeches. “Mestelina. I’m going to stop a war.”

All three boys froze, eyes wide like an owl’s, their eyebrows arching. Barden covered his mouth.

After a brief, stunned silence, Philip finally found his voice, his words tumbling out in awe. “Stop a war? You? Are you serious? That’s... that’s incredible!” His eyes sparkled with a mix of disbelief and admiration.

Barden, still covering his mouth, lowered his hand slowly and whispered, “Mestelina… That’s where all the stories say real fighting happens. Are you really going to be in the middle of it?”

Atik, who was always the most cautious, looked at David with a mix of concern and excitement. “But... that’s dangerous, David.” His voice wavered. “What if something happens to you?”

David laughed.

Chapter 8

Parynna Caswell

It was three moons since the last wedding guest departed. Parynna sat at the small, curtainless window in her bedchamber, her gaze fixed on the cold, gray stone wall outside. She rarely left the room. The awful smells of manure, cooking meat, and ales sent waves of nausea crashing over her. All she accepted as nourishment was thin porridge and chamomile tea. The servants told her this stage of pregnancy would pass, but didn’t believe it would ever stop. The world beyond the glass felt as distant as the life she had once imagined for herself.

A nameless servant approached, holding out a leaf of paper, folded and sealed with a blob of blood-red wax. Parynna took it without a word, her fingers brushing the wax absentmindedly as she remained oblivious to the servants around her.

She’d received many letters from her sisters and cousins, congratulating her, and gushing about how they envied her. They didn’t understand. Each letter had only deepened her sense of isolation, a reminder of the life she had left behind for a reality that felt more like a prison than a home. As she broke the seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes fell on the familiar, flowery signature at the bottom—Syrena. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, the weight of her numbness pressing on her chest.

She glanced at the mirror, hating the reflection that stared back at her. Muddy brown hair framed a round, flat face with dull gray eyes. She was plain, painfully so. As her sisters married one by one, she had feared she’d be left behind, destined to become an old maid. Locke daughters were as numerous as pigeons, and she had nearly lost hope of ever finding a match. Then Uncle Gregory, the Duke of Lexandria, arranged her marriage to Drake Caswell, the youngest son of an earl. It had seemed like a dream come true, a chance to rise above her older sisters in the social order.

Drake Caswell had been a good prospect. The Caswell family was well respected. They were, by anyone other than a Locke’s standard, rich.  Although thirty-six, seventeen years older than her, he was still handsome. He was well-educated. He had beautiful manners. He was kind.

And he was the son of an earl.

She’d been elated when she’d learned that. Even as the youngest of five sons, he would inherit a lesser title, perhaps becoming a viscount. The best her sisters—Veryca and Beryssa—had done was to marry barons, which would make her higher on the social pecking order.

Thinking back, she remembered looking forward to the excitement and glamour her sisters carried on about after they were wed.

The oldest, Syrena, had married a lesser Melazera. When not in Lorness, where she had a lavish apartment in the castle, she lived in an extravagant mansion on the shores of the Sea of Glass.

Veryca and Beryssa floated between High Keep and Farr Castle as part of the royal entourage.

She’d dreamed of being a lady ruling over her own noble court.

Then came the wedding, which was wondrous.

But after it…?

Life in Caswell was uneventful, very uneventful. There were no banquets, no festivals, no tournaments, and no more visitors. With none of her friends nearby and nothing to do, she was so desperately homesick. Her new home was so far from everywhere that it took a moon to get a letter back.

Worse, her dreams of a title—any title—had been dashed by the wives of Drake’s elder brothers. They had explained that, having become a Knight of J’shua, Drake had relinquished any claims he had. A detail he had conveniently omitted before the wedding.

She had withdrawn into herself, lost in a cycle of disappointment, resentment, and nausea.

Drake had tried to cheer her, but she had rebuffed him, finding fault in everything he did. Even so, he didn’t seem to notice, he just spent all his time with circle members and organizing improvements in the town. Once when she lashed out, asking why he dressed like a commoner, not as the son of an earl, he’d laughed it off and tried to pull her close, but she pushed him away. He shrugged and let her go. She slept alone for weeks.

What is wrong with me?

She stared at the letter from her oldest sister, her mind a haze of confusion. Syrena always explained things to her. She’d know what to do. She had waited moons for this reply, hoping for some clever advice to guide her. But the letter was brief, almost shockingly so considering that the letter Parynna had sent was many pages.

Syrena’s letter contained none of the clever ideas she had expected, just a short note. Her oldest sister wrote…

Dear Sister,

I love you dearly.

Now that you are among us, the married Locke women, we will include you in our rants about our husbands when we meet next. None of our husbands are perfect, but some can be cruel, vindictive, and merciless. From the long list of your complaints, I surmise that Drake is none of those. He has not struck you, belittled you, or abused you in any way. From everything I’ve heard, people describe him as industrious, patient, and kind.

He’s only a man, Parynna. He can’t make you happy. You have to do that for yourself.

Don’t make me come down there.

Your oldest sister,

Syrena

The words echoed in her mind, unraveling the knot of despair that had kept her bound. She read the letter again, her heart beginning to stir. Syrena’s words weren’t long or poetic, but they held a truth that Parynna had been too blind to see. Her unhappiness wasn’t Drake’s fault. He was only a man, doing his best in a role he hadn’t chosen any more than she had. The power to change her life, to find meaning, lay within her.

As the realization settled in, Parynna felt a surprising clarity. She had been childish, sulking in her disappointment rather than taking responsibility for her own happiness. It was time to stop wallowing. Drake was the daikon of his circle, a leader among his people, and she was his wife. She had a role to play, a purpose to fulfill. If her life was to be meaningful, it was up to her to make it so.

With renewed determination, Parynna folded the letter and set it aside. The reflection in the mirror seemed less harsh now, the plainness less important. She had a life to live, and it was time to begin.

***

On the first half-moon of spring, Parynna was giddy with excitement, but she didn’t spoil the surprise. As they always did on the sabbath, she and Drake arrived early to the meeting house nestled within the low outer walls of Caswell Castle. They walked arm in arm through fruit trees that lined the path. She glowed with satisfaction, as her husband gasped with admiration when they entered the chamber, now lit with bright candles all around.

For the last three moons she had slaved over her plans for the renovation. Before she had taken charge, the meeting place was a dull room marked only by rows of rough pine benches. When she asked Drake if she could decorate the meeting hall, he agreed with a glowing expression of delight and gave her a large budget. She’d let her imagination soar.

After careful negotiations, the Weavers’ Guild had created luxurious tapestries for the walls, featuring stories from the Writings. The largest, and Drake’s favorite, depicted J’shua sharing his last meal, tearing bread, and offering it to his disciples. J’shua’s face radiated light, from pure gold threads woven in for that effect.

At the front was a simple table covered with a pressed white linen cloth. On it, a bookstand made of mahogany, carved with intricate floral patterns, held the Complete Writings of J’shua. Two large chandeliers, designed by her and donated by the local Glassmakers’ Guild, illuminated the simple space. With the help of several ladies of the circle, her new friends, Parynna orchestrated the final transformation during the week in time for the sabbath.

Parynna looked up with delight at the one small window, unreachable without scaffolding, that now glowed with a rainbow of stained glass.

She watched Drake close his eyes and inhale a deep breath. The fragrance of lilacs and roses emanated from vases at the ends of the smooth oak benches.

He pulled her close. “Parynna, this is lovely. I’m sure this pleases J’shua as much as it pleases me. I should have thought to let you do this long ago.”

Drake had told her it had been his calling to become a Knight of J’shua. Part scholar, part cleric, and—in his case—a very small part warrior. The last being a skill only required if the Faith was in peril. He now led the circle of Caswell and its surrounding areas.

As people arrived for the service, they gasped and gazed all about, chattering much about the wondrous change that had been wrought. Many smiled at her and gave her a respectful nod of appreciation.

Drake greeted each man as a brother and gave them his personal blessing. On the other side of the foyer, she winked at him as she hugged each of the women as they entered. She was determined to please her husband.

I will be the perfect exemplar of a virtuous woman.

When she finished greeting the last of the women, Parynna sat in a row beside the dais. Her long brown hair flowed over a pressed tunic and simple shift. Drake glowed with pride as their eyes met.

He started the service with the prayer of Mashiach, the people’s voices echoing in the lofty hall as they recited it with him. Then he gave the message he’d prepared. “He is like a man that built a house and dug deep, laying the foundation on a rock. When the flood arose, the water beat vehemently upon that house, but could not shake it.”

Drake smiled upon his favorites in the front row, and she could see them smile back. He gazed out over the congregation. “But he that hears and does not act, is like a man who built his house with no foundation, on shifting sand. When the storms raged, it fell into ruin.”

She heard some fidget in their seats under his astute gaze. After his teaching, he asked for prayers and signaled those he thought should speak. Three members stood and did their parts.

She prayed for all the members of their circle.

They adore him. My husband is the perfect daikon of the Faith.

At the correct time, Drake beckoned and the children ran to him as he sat on the steps of the dais. Smiling over their heads, he gathered them close. Then he pointed to puppeteers unveiling a wooden stage. A storm of flutes and drumming set the scene.

“Long ago, a stranger washed up on the shores of the Sea of Glass,” Drake narrated as the marionette of a bedraggled man tottered into view and collapsed.

The tittering children all wiggled into place, knowing the story that was coming.

“A child found him. Others came running.” More colorful puppets appeared on stage to enact the story of the First Knight and how the kingdom came to accept the words of J’shua and his Father.

“Many balked at the knight’s teachings.”

Then Drake’s voice boomed, “But Olde King Weisheit summoned him…”

Trumpets sounded.

“…and the king believed the beautiful words the Knight conveyed from the God of Truth. King Weisheit confessed J’shua was his lord and that the God of Truth had raised him from the dead.”

Another crescendo of instruments blared.

Drake continued. “So great did that monarch’s faith become that he gifted the First Knight land in the shadow of Shining Mountain and established a school to train Knights of J’shua. Later, King Weisheit prophesied: when darkness comes, and the people falter, they shall be renewed in the Word of J’shua by a knight.”

With joyous music, the puppets bowed and the curtain closed for the last time.

The children clapped. They always enjoyed hearing the story of the First Knight.

She enjoyed it as well. It was the first thing she had paid attention to, once she began attending the meetings. There were circles in Lexandria, but she had never visited one as it was not popular amongst her friends.

At a nod from Drake, they ran back to their parents.

At the end of the service, he extended a hand to Parynna, indicating she should join him on the dais.

As she walked up the steps to stand beside him, Drake said, “As many of you know, three ladies from our newly formed Orphans and Widows Charity are going to Farr Castle. They’ll bring back aid and a plan to help the least fortunate members of this circle and the town.”

Parynna hoped to make up for all the moons she’d wasted.

***

That afternoon, Parynna and two ladies of the circle boarded a carriage and enjoyed the scenery of the countryside on the road to Farr. They were accompanied by servants in a wagon full of provisions. She’d planned stops along the way, so they could take rest and refreshment during the five-day journey. A young orphan boy, who would be placed with a family in Farr, rode above with the coachman and his son. She’d sent servants to fetch one from the market. He was fed, bathed, and dressed in plain homespun as per Lady Melazera’s instructions.

“The Countess of Lorness has begun a child placement effort to deal with the orphan problem throughout Freislicht. She has found homes for many children. The boy will be raised by worthy parents and then trained in a skill or craft. He’ll be a token of our resolve to better the lives of the poor. We shall extend her virtuous efforts to as many as we can find. In the future, we’ll place many more unfortunate children. We’ll see that they find apprenticeships and have godly, productive lives. We have a duty to help them.”

The ladies traveling with her murmured words of support.

One of them leaned forward, saying, “You seem to have passed your morning sickness.”

Parynna nodded and forced a smile. While thrilled to be carrying their first child, she feared how things would change. Her relationship with Drake had only just now improved in recent moons. She berated herself for all the time she’d pouted like a spoiled child. They had been working well together, and a babe could change that. Her sisters all looked weary and low spirited when they visited after their children came.

There were also expectations amongst the circle’s women folk. She’d heard them talk about remaining in the back of the room with their infants.

Will Drake treat me differently?

***

Arriving in Farr, their carriages approached the castle.

Inside the gate was a large white tent, black banners fluttered from the top of each pole. A long line of people inched into it. The letter she’d received from Lady Melazera said to go to the back of the tent, to bypass the queue.

There, she and her ladies, and the orphan boy, found a majestic elderly man wearing all black, his silk tunic decorated with gold edging on his collar and cuffs. The man showed her a toothy grin, accepted her letter, and gestured to the opening he held with the other hand.

Murmurs from the people on the other side of the partition filtered through the rough canvas. The confined space was warm and she felt at ease when the man motioned for her to sit in the chair before the table. Her ladies and the boy remained standing.

Then the man sat. “Tell me your name, boy.”

“Timmus, milord,” he said in a whisper, staring at his feet.

The man in black wrote this down. “Do you have a surname?”

The small boy peeked up at him. “What is a surname, milord?”

After many more questions, the man seemed convinced he was an orphan, and not a castoff from a large brood. He thanked Parynna for bringing the boy and indicated they could leave.

As they walked back to the carriages, Parynna glanced back to see the man walking the boy into the castle’s inner gate. She had done a good deed today.

Just before she stepped into the carriage, a page, wearing a tunic bearing the green and gold Melazera dragon, handed her a folded paper.

“Oh, my,” she exclaimed, beaming as she read it. “Caileagh Melazera, the Countess of Lorness, wishes to meet with me. I am sure it will be brief, wait in the coach. I’ll be back soon.”

Before they could respond, the page was moving. “Follow me, my lady.”

The servant brought her to an intimate parlor, where the already seated countess motioned for Parynna to sit.

“I wanted to thank you personally,” Caileagh began, “for showing an interest in my endeavors to improve the conditions of the poor and fatherless in our land.”

“It is my pleasure, my lady. I can bring you more if you would like.”

“That would be delightful. May I call you Parynna?”

“Certainly, my lady.”

“Please call me Caileagh. For we shall be working together now, yes?”

A thrill washed over, Parynna.

Caileagh wishes to work with me?

Caileagh spoke of her hopes for the new program, ending with, “Do you think you could bring me four, next moon?”

“Oh, yes, my—” She caught herself, not wanting to be corrected, “Caileagh. I could bring many more. Whatever you ask, I will do. I am happy to help you …and learn from you.”

The smile on Caileagh’s face blossomed into something exquisite. It was as if she could see into Parynna’s soul. “That is utterly delightful! But how remiss of me. I have asked nothing about you, only spoken of what we might achieve together.”

The words caused Parynna to stop breathing.

She wants to know about… me?

“Tell me something of yourself or, perhaps, of Caswell. I have heard it whispered that, thanks to you, the circle house there is no longer a drab hut, but a thing of beauty that is a credit to J’shua.”

“My husband, Drake, is devout but does not understand that appearances matter. It is all well and good for the common people to gird themselves on the inside, and not on the outside. But that ignores the realities of society. The use of a finer cloth, having clothes cut by a talented tailor, these might seem like small things, but they separate the worthy from the everyday. It gives people something to strive for. Drake’s father and brothers know this. But my husband takes the words from his book literally.”

“I understand,’ Caileagh agreed, laying her hand on Parynna’s.

She is touching my hand.

Leaning in closer, Parynna whispered, “I wish I knew better how to help my husband. Caswell is so far from Lexandria, where I was born, that my relatives do not visit. Nor is there even a proper track to it. Unlike you, I am not a countess and shall never be. My husband has four older brothers.”

“Now, now. Does not your husband’s god say that things occur in mysterious ways? That you are unlikely to be the next Countess of Caswell does not mean you shall not be.”

Countess of… what I would not give to make such a future come true.

Caileagh’s smile lightened the bleakness of Parynna’s existence. Just for a moment, the possibility of becoming Countess seemed real, within reach. And Parynna wanted that with all her heart.

Then, reality washed over her like an upturned bucket of water on an ice-cold day.

What am I thinking? It can never be. Should any of Drake’s older brothers have sons, they too would be ahead of him in line of succession.

“I do not see how that could come about. I feel like an imposter, as out of place as a country bumpkin.”

“We cannot have that,” Caileagh replied, squeezing Parynna’s hand. “Perhaps there is something I can do. When are you returning home?”

“I was about to leave when your servant found me.”

“That will never do. To come all this way, then return the same day? No, I insist on you remaining for at least another day, preferably two. I shall have a messenger sent, stating that I require more time with you to discuss the education of orphans.”

Parynna’s heart fluttered.

She… wants me to stay.

“I… of course, I am at your service.”

“Then, go tell those travelling with you that you’ll be my guests for the next few days. Servants will look after your companions, but you must have dinner with me. We need to make plans. Do you have something suitable to… what am I saying? Due to your husband’s narrow view of the world, of course not. That is no problem. I shall have something suitable delivered to your rooms. Along with maids to assist you in dressing as a noblewoman should.”

Parynna nodded. She could not speak.

…as a noblewoman… should.

A short while later, Parynna returned to the carriage, almost floating above the ground. The messenger followed to show them the way to their rooms.

Caileagh was the most important woman in the land.

And I am her partner.

“There has been a change. The Countess of Lorness has asked me to stay, so we can make plans for our future joint ventures. Unpack everything. Go where directed. Do as you are told. We must make a good impression if we are to make Caswell shine like a light on a hill.”