Chapter 11

11

Lustina

Lustina gathered the last of the soiled rags lying about the floor in Lady Praecepsia’s room, and stuffed them into the wicker basket. Of course, she hadn’t been permitted inside the room during the ceremony to see what they’d been used for. Such a thing was considered sacred, and Bishop Venable wouldn’t have allowed her presence. Instead, she’d listened from the other side of the door where she’d been instructed to sit and wait, and all she’d heard were the hushed voices of prayer, and the sniffles of Lady Praecepsia, who’d seemed to be brought to tears.

“Does he treat you well?” The Lady’s weakened voice spoke to her from where she lay on the bed, eyes half-mast and skin covered in a fresh sheen of sweat. “The bishop?”

“As well as can be expected, My Lady.”

“I imagined you’d say that.” A sound of amusement lightened her tone. “You never speak ill of him, do you?”

“I would never, no.”

A tired smile stretched her face. Even weak and ill, she had an unearthly beauty about her. “I can tell you are a kind girl. I have an … intuition about people. I thought the same of your mother.”

Lustina glanced back at the door that remained closed, beyond which Bishop Venable spoke quietly with Lord Praecepsia.

“You liked my mother?”

“I was in terrible pain when she came to me. And afterward, I felt no pain, at all. Her ability to heal was remarkable.”

“It was.” The girl smiled, daring herself to step closer to the bed. “Once, when I was young, I suffered a terrible fever. There were horrible nightmares, and my whole body ached all the way to my bones. She stayed by my side the entire night. Every time I woke, she was there to offer something to drink and a cool cloth to my brow.” Smiling, she recalled the memories fondly. Could still feel her mother’s soothing hands on her skin. “I woke to sunlight and the chirping of birds the next morning, and my fever had subsided. She always made me feel better like that.”

“Your mother didn’t deserve such a cruel fate.”

The smile on her face faded, and she lowered her gaze. “Bishop Venable said she carried an evil inside of her.”

“Strong women will always bear the dangerous burden of a weaker man’s pride.”

Although she was young, Lustina was wise enough to understand the Lady’s somewhat cryptic words and nodded. “I hope you are well soon, My Lady.”

“I stopped hoping a long time ago. These days, I long only for peace.”

“Then, if that is what you most desire, I hope you find that, also.”

“Someday. For now, I fight for the sake of my son.”

“He’s also ill?”

“Oh, no. He is healthier than most.” She sighed, and a hoarse, wet cough sent her jerking forward. “Never suffered so much as a fever, that one. I only worry about his fate. He’s angry. Cannot say that I blame him, but … I worry over what that anger may turn into.”

“He is angry over your condition, My Lady?”

“I suppose, in part, yes.”

“May I ask … what ails you?” The bishop had given her vague explanation, but she wanted to hear it from her.

“My time here is almost finished.” She stared off toward the end of the bed, quiet for a moment. “My demise will leave my son at the mercy of his father. And what misery that would bring.” She must’ve been delirious on something to confess such a thing to, essentially, a stranger.

“You don’t trust his father?”

“No. Perhaps I do not. I only hope that I have instilled enough love and goodness in Jericho.” A blink broke her of the staring spell, and she trailed her tearful gaze back to Lustina. “Now, if you would be so kind as to have one of my attendants fetch my son?”

“Of course.”

When Lustina exited the bedroom, Bishop Venable was no longer standing in the corridor with the elder Van Croix. In their place, the young baron sat on the floor against the wall, his head cradled in the palms of his hands.

“My Lord, your mother asked for you.”

“You ought not to have been allowed inside her room. She is very ill.”

“I kept my distance. And I was only tasked to gather the rags.”

“Keep them. Perhaps you will make another dress out of them.” His snorted chuckle echoed down the hallway, the sound of it nearly bringing Lustina to tears. “You’ve no sense of humor, girl.”

“And you have no sense, at all.”

“Careful.” His tone crackled like a snarl.

“It astonishes me that something so cruel could possibly come from someone so kind.”

“You do not know me, and you surely do not know my mother.” Still keeping his head bowed, he pulled his knees up, rubbing his hands together. “You still think it was wrong of me. What I did in the woods, the last time you were here.”

“Yes.”

“Precisely. Your world is divided by what is good and evil. Black and white. There is no room for gray.”

“Such assumptions prove that you do not know me, either, My Lord.”

“I do not need to know you. I do not want to know you.”

At the curling of his hand into a fist, what Lustina had gathered to be a reaction of anger from their first encounter in the woods, she nodded. “Then, I shall keep my distance from you, as well. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I shall just gather the rags and let your mother know you will be on your way in.”

“What was she saying about your mother?”

Lustina flinched, wondering how much of the conversation he had overheard. “Only that she knew her.”

“How?”

“When she was pregnant with you, I presume. My mother brought her herbs, to help her feel better.”

“And where is your mother now?”

Her brow flickered with the pain that still stabbed her heart. “Dead, My Lord.”

“How did she die?”

“She was … burned. For witchcraft.”

“And do you think that she deserved to die?”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that, My Lord.”

“Why? Afraid your good conscience will hear you?”

“Because I …. I have been punished for speaking of my mother.”

His teeth slid across his lips, as he shifted his jaw. “Punished by whom?”

“Bishop Venable.”

“He is not here now. So, tell me, Lustina. Do you believe your mother deserved to be burned alive?”

After a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure the bishop did not stand there, she cleared her throat. “No.”

“What do you believe?”

Lustina couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, unable to form a word with all the emotion that’d risen to the back of her throat.

“Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“Please, My Lord. I mean no disrespect.”

“Tell me what you believe. Tell me now. I demand it.” As he pushed to his feet, she was reminded of his height, and the shadow he cast on the wall gave him an ominous aura.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she shook her head again. “I cannot.”

“You believe she was wrongfully accused. You believe she died for nothing. That she was murdered by a man who claims to be holy and just. Sound about right?”

More tears fell, and Lustina tipped her head back in a failed effort to control the anger and frustration burning inside of her. “I’ll ask you not to speak for me. My Lord.”

“It is the truth. Your truth. One you fail to acknowledge. Why?” With slow steps, he stalked toward her, his nearing proximity casting a chill down her spine.

“He felt … she was evil.”

“Was she, Lustina?” He clasped his hands behind his back and prowled before her like a wild animal pacing. One who couldn’t be trusted not to attack. “Had you ever seen an evil side to your mother?”

Never. Her mother had never raised a hand to her. Had never abandoned her. Never spoke ill of anyone, for as long as Lustina could remember.

“Tell me what you believe.”

“I … I believe …”

“Say it.”

“I believe … she was innocent.”

“Yes. And tell me how you feel about Bishop Venable?”

She wanted to. God, she wanted to say the wicked words that burned the back of her throat with a fierce vexation. Instead, she shook her head.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you refuse to say aloud. What you think every night before you go to sleep. Tell me the words you say in dreams, when no one can hear you.”

“I hate him.” She spoke low and uncertain, anticipating the moment when the wicked, old man would come flying out of the shadows to punish her.

“Again. Louder.”

“I hate him!”

“Louder, Lustina.” The baron’s hot breath hit her neck, and she shivered with the tension that radiated from him. “Think of your mother this time. Think of her calling out to you in pain.”

The rage inside her churned and simmered, all of the anger, the pain, the fear rising up into her throat, clawing for a voice.

“Say it.”

“I hate him! I hate him! I want to see him burn!” The moment the words tumbled past her lips, she slapped both hands to her mouth.

The baron circled her, a dark smile lifting the corner of his lip, and trembling, Lustina looked away. What had she said? The heavens would surely curse her for saying such awful things aloud. About a holy man, no less.

The baron leaned in, his lips only just brushing her ear when he whispered, “Don’t worry, Lustina. Your secret is safe with me.”