Chapter 1554: Protectors of the March?
Order had only just begun to restore itself to the Great Hall when Owain took the throne. At the tables of noblen, those who had hidden under tables had returned to their seats, many of them doing their best to restore so semblance of propriety to their finery while a few did their best to conceal fresh wine stains. Others had rearranged themselves, placing the barons at the far end of the table with their knights occupying the seats closest to the aisle in order to offer a buffer against Ashlynn’s forces.
No one knew what to expect next, but Owain’s words landed on them like a bucket of frigid water drawn from the River Luath, reminding them all of how dangerous the recent raids had been. By now, everyone had heard about the losses the Dunns and the Hanrahans suffered before the Hanrahans went missing entirely...
Who would be next? And after what Lady Ashlynn had just done, would anyone who stood with her be able to call on the Inquisition for help facing the threat?
"Wes," Baroness Sorcha said, clutching her husband’s arm and gazing nervously up at his face. The expression he wore was firm and resolute, not unlike the expression a younger Wes Iriso had worn when he promised to find a way to fund her struggling village.
He’d ridden off to tournant after tournant, risking serious injuries every ti he did, bringing back the gold sovereigns they desperately needed to transform her ho, and he looked just as determined then as he did now. But one glance at the Inquisitors and their Acolytes, laid out like fresh caught fish on the docks, was enough to remind her that this was a very different kind of stand her husband was taking.
"There are still nests of demons in the hills," she reminded him. "Can we... Can we still face them without the Inquisition’s help? Without their Holy Flas to keep the demons at bay during the winter, our people... My father..."
"I know," Wes said, taking her hand in his and giving her a gentle squeeze. "But Sorcha, this is bigger than that. I don’t know what’s going to happen," he admitted. "But I trust Erling, and I trust Baron Loghlan far more than I trust Lord Owain. If I’m wrong, then I’ll bear the bla," he said, turning his gaze back towards the dais. "I just hope I’m not..."
At the Dunn table, most of the attendees wore solemn expressions as they held their tongues and stewed in silence. They knew the truth of those raids. The Eldritch were Lady Ashlynn’s allies. They wouldn’t need the Inquisition to protect them because Lady Ashlynn had already secured peace with the enemies they’d fought for generations.
But they couldn’t say that. No matter how much so of them, like Lady Es, wanted to jump to her feet and shout that they had nothing to fear, they couldn’t move. To admit that Sir Ollie was a witch or that Lady Ashlynn was a Great Witch would only turn the tide of the people against them.
"Clever," Loghlan muttered under his breath as he watched Owain claim the throne that would have been his in a matter of minutes if Lady Ashlynn hadn’t arrived. "And maybe even effective..."
"Should we stand with her?" Mairwen asked, looking nervously at Ashlynn. "I an, should we go to her?"
"We already stand with her," Loghlan said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s soft, rounded shoulders and pulling her close. "But unless she calls for us, we should stay out of her way and watch for the right mont... I’m certain she’s prepared for this," he said, hoping that it was true.
From the center of the Great Hall, Ashlynn watched Owain posturing on the throne and shook her head. A chair didn’t give a person power, and sitting on it did nothing to change the fundantal equations of their conflict.
She still had more n ready for battle than he did, and Ignatious’s demonstration should have proven that she had more powerful sorcery at her disposal as well. The instant she spoke the words and turned back to violence, Owain’s forces would lose, even with the n from Leufroy joining him. But there he sat, on an abomination of a throne carved from the trunk of an Ancient Oak, acting like it sohow balanced the scales between them.
"These n weren’t protecting anyone this winter," Ashlynn said, pitching her voice to carry to every corner of the Great Hall. "They didn’t protect the Dunn’s Hamlets this winter; they were holed up in their abbey in Maeril. They didn’t protect the Hanrahan’s caravans this winter, they were busy torturing my sister!"
"Abbot Recared didn’t send his Inquisitors and Acolytes to every village and town across the march to keep the people safe this winter," Ashlynn continued, her voice dripping with scorn. "He brought them here, to bow and scrape and put on a show of strength for the master holding his leash."
"If these are the n the march is relying on to keep the people safe, then the march is as good as dood," Ashlynn concluded. "Moreover, they’ve attacked their Marchioness and endangered everyone here tonight with their recklessness. I will not forgive their cris."
"Abbot Recared brought his n here to prepare for our counterattack against the demons," Owain claid, refusing to back down. "While you’ve been hiding under a rock, they’ve been preparing for war. You have no right to chastise them," he said, glaring at Ashlynn from his throne.
"I can still be generous and rciful," Owain said, as though he were offering a great concession. "Surrender yourself to the Inquisition. Confess to your cris, witch, and accept the punishnt for them. Do this, and I may yet be able to spare your n and find forgiveness for the traitors among the barons who stood with you," he said, turning his gaze on Loghlan, Wes, and Erling.
"Otherwise," Owain added in a voice that dripped with nace. "I’m afraid that the eastern gate will be adorned with several heads by sunrise."
"Forgive , Lord Owain," High Priest Aubin said as he stepped forward. "But there is no proof that Lady Ashlynn is guilty of witchcraft beyond your claim to have seen a mark on her body. For this," he said in a voice that felt strained, as though the words themselves caused him great pain. "For this, she has suffered an unimaginably cruel fate."
Both of the Blackwell sisters had suffered greatly, Aubin realized. Yet both of them were standing here, as though the Holy Lord of Light himself had guided them to this mont. Seeing that Lady Ashlynn was alive, it was no wonder that the miracle that Confessor Eleanor had given her life to bestow on Lady Jocelynn clung to her still. It was like the hand of the Holy Lord of Light sheltering her until she could return to her sister’s side.
"Lady Ashlynn’s attack on the Inquisition cannot be considered wicked, or proof of any heresy," Aubin added as he looked out over the assembled lords and ladies of the court. "She and her n were attacked. To fight back is to struggle for survival and the struggle for survival is rarely wicked. Even the condemned may struggle so long as they struggle to atone," he said.
"So you’re going to forgive her for attacking the Church?" Owain said, raising a brow at the High Priest. "This is an act of rebellion, and you intend to bless it?"
"Nothing so dramatic, Lord Owain," Aubin said, subtly rebuking the young lord by refusing to address him as ’Your Grace’ even though he sat upon the throne of the Marquis. "But I propose that the Inquisition should handle this matter themselves," he said, turning to face the youthful High Inquisitor with the Holy Fla Blade.
"And since we are blessed with the presence of a High Inquisitor," Aubin said, bowing deeply to the man whose miracle had protected the entire Great Hall from the Inquisition’s flas. "I see no reason why he can’t sit in judgent over the n of his own order..."
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