Chapter 8

8

Lustina

Past

The monotonous clop of horse hooves marked a long and steady path up the mountainside, as Lustina sat across from Bishop Venable in the carriage. Early morning sunlight rose over the treetops, adding a lovely pink hue to the dawning sky. Silhouettes of thatched rooftops and the expanse of the valley below provided a breathtaking distraction from the silence that clung to the air. The bishop hadn’t said a word to her in the hour since they’d left the monastery. In the almost two years that she’d lived there, she’d never been asked to accompany him on his travels, until that day, and the nature of the trip remained a mystery.

“Your Excellency, I’ve heard the mountain is a very treacherous trek. May I ask why we’ve taken this particular path?”

“It leads to the Van Croix estate. The Earl of Praecepsia.”

“And why do we seek him out?”

“It is they who have called on us. Lady Praecepsia is quite ill, as is her son, Baron Van Croix. We must uphold the presence of The Holy Father so that they might heal and be well.”

“Both mother and son are ill? Is it plague?”

Bishop Venable grumbled, shifting on the carriage bench. “No, foolish child. It is not plague.”

“The son … is he very young?”

“A slight bit older than you. He is home from Cavendale now, due to his mother’s state.”

“Cavendale?”

“The university. Of course, you would not be familiar with it.”

Of course. Her mother had taught her to read and write, and although Lustina often dreamed of studying one day, it would never come to pass. She knew that. Where she came from, girls born into servitude rarely, if ever, left their station. And almost never learned to read, or write, which set her apart in that respect. Tending gardens at the cathedral would’ve likely been her fate, until she married, if such a thing were possible with her branding.

Or until she died.

The boy, on the other hand, had likely enjoyed the privilege of an education from the time he’d finished cathedral school. In which case, Lustina would guess him to be adolescent, perhaps no more than sixteen, or seventeen, as she had already reached her fifteenth year.

“What ails him?”

“His is a different kind of sickness. One that must be consistently exorcised, lest he becomes the very embodiment of evil.”

“Like my mother.”

“Yes. Precisely.”

“Would he burn as well?”

“He would have to. Evil cannot be left to fester, for it grows into the worst kind of beast. One that would destroy all of us, should it remain unaddressed.”

As difficult as it had been watching her mother burn, Lustina couldn’t possibly bear the sight of watching a child suffer the same fate.

“As you are ignorant of our ways,” Bishop Venable kept on. “You will address the elder Van Croix as The Lord Praecepsia.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.” Their titles still baffled Lustina, with all the rules and mannerisms. Why territory was more prestigious than family name was a mystery she didn’t bother to argue.

The carriage climbed the narrow road that wound around the black rock mountain. In the distance, the sea stretched toward the edge of the world, and she could just make out the birds that flew above its surface.

How free they looked in their graceful glides that made her wish she’d had her own set of wings. Her mother had always called her little raven child, after the Celtic stories from her mother’s native Ireland, of Morrighan, the goddess of war, who’d taken the form of the bird before battle. According to the stories, she’d had the ability to predict the outcome of war, a gift Lustina’s mother had always told her she, too, would one day possess.? A messenger, just like the goddess, who would one day reveal the true evils of man. A prophecy she’d vowed never to speak aloud to Bishop Venable, for fear that she would be known as a witch, also. Of course, it wasn’t that Lustina actually believed that she was destined for such prophecies. She just liked the idea of having a greater purpose in the world.

Even if such a world looked upon her as nothing more than a cursed abomination.

Coupled with her long, black hair that once reached past her bottom, her eyes carried flecks of green, gold and red, which her mother had always referred to as stardust, as magical and mystical as the luminous gems that hung in the night sky.

Those outside of the monastery called her a product of devilry, while Bishop Venable thought of her as an inevitable consequence of a damned soul.

The church had cut her locks nearly to her skull when she’d first arrived, believing it carried infestations, but that wasn’t true. She and her mother had always bathed in the river and smelled of sweet jasmine. So different from the harsh, ash soap she was forced to use at the monastery. Her hair had since grown back, long enough to braid, which she often let the pentashes back at the monastery do, as they would frequently remark how her hair had felt like spun silk.

The carriage came to a stop before a heavy iron gate amid a stone wall that appeared like a fortress, and she rubbed her sweating palms on the apron of her dress. A man stood dressed in a black, leather soldier’s brigandine vest, with no shirt underneath, which showed off thick, scarred arms, down to the bracers at his wrists. The man appeared to be older than her, but young for a soldier, perhaps no more than eighteen. Stitched onto the leather was the symbol of the Pentacrux--the militant forces for the church.

At the warm flush of her cheeks, Lustina turned away, having rarely seen so much skin exposed. The contact she’d had with men and boys had been limited to the few travelers willing to trade her mother’s herbs and elixirs for tools or woolen cloth. And the pentroshes back at the monastery wore robes that reached their ankles, even in the warmer months.

She sat back in her seat, stealing the occasional glance through the carriage window.

Introductions were made, and the carriage set into motion, as two other soldiers, also dressed in vests without proper shirts, opened the gates.

“Is it the sight of bare flesh that makes you so flush, girl?” Bishop Venable’s stern eyes studied her, a tendency that often left her feeling scrutinized, even if that wasn’t his intent.

New embarrassment washed over her and Lustina lowered her gaze and shook her head. “No, Your Excellency.”

“You have an innate urge around young boys and men, thanks to your mother. A beast that surely claws inside of you. Learn to keep it under control, or you may never accompany me on these visits again.”

“I promise.”

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a magnificent estate, no less impressive than the castles she imagined in books, with pointed turrets and windows, lush gardens, and curious vines that climbed its walls. A fairytale home, if she’d ever seen one.

Another man approached the carriage and opened the door, waiting just outside for Bishop Venable to exit. Lustina followed after, surprised when the man reached out a hand to help her step down, as willingly as he had the bishop.

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile, and quickly shuffled after her chaperone.

More servants greeted them at the door, assumed as such by the single-color fabrics of their less impressive attire, and their aprons and bonnets. Still, they were fancier than the simple white shift she was forced to wear at the monastery.

Uncertain of how to behave in front of them, Lustina curtsied with a nod and a smile on passing, which earned her a few giggles as she and Bishop Venable made their way to a room beyond the foyer, decorated in lush tapestries and magnificent works of art. Those in the room wore richer and more elaborate dresses, woven with silk and jewels that admittedly left the girl feeling envious.

One of the finer-dressed men, only slightly aged with graying hair and a few wrinkles, stepped forward, offering a bow of respect. “Bishop Venable, how kind of you to come.”

“I am always at your disposal, Lord Praecepsia.”

With a curious quirk of his brow, he turned toward where Lustina remained hidden just behind the bishop. “And who is your traveling companion?”

“This is Lustina. She will assist me in limited capacity with the ceremony.”

A beautiful woman, with golden hair and tired pale blue eyes, moved closer, parting from where she stood beside a young man that Lustina imagined to be young Lord Van Croix, though he looked nothing like her. Guessed to be only seventeen years, at most, the younger man’s brown eyes and red hair didn’t seem to match either the lord’s, or lady’s, features, at all.

“Lustina. Born of the light,” the lady said.

Only Lustina’s mother had ever regarded her name as such. “Yes.” The girl stepped from behind the bishop toward the woman. “That’s right.”

“Careful, My Lady.” The bishop’s firm hand against Lustina’s shoulder kept her from getting close. “For we do not know the boundaries of her condition.”

“Her condition?” Wearing a confused expression, Lady Praecepsia tipped her head and eyed Lustina head to toe. “She looks well to my eyes. May I ask what it is that ails her?”

“She is the bastard child of a witch,” Bishop Venable swiftly answered, setting Lustina’s cheeks aflame with humiliation.

The benevolence in the woman’s eyes darkened, as she regarded the bishop. “One I suspect you disposed of with unflinching haste.”

“Of course. As is my duty.”

Chin tipped high, Lady Praecepsia grumbled something under her breath and rolled her shoulders back in a way that Lustina thought was subtly indignant. Her eyes softened once again when her gaze fell on the girl. “I think you are quite lovely. It is a shame to hear of your mother, though. I knew her once.”

“You did?”

“Yes, many years ago. She brought me herbs while I was with child.” She rested her hands against her belly, and Lustina’s attention shifted toward the redheaded boy behind her. “They helped settle my stomach after a long bout of illness.”

“It is those herbs that may very well have contributed to both yours and the young lord’s condition now.” Bishop Venable withdrew his hand from Lustina’s shoulder, as if she wore the bedeviled herbs in the very fabric of her dress.

A frown knitted Lady Praecepsia’s brows. “I do not believe that to be true, Your Excellency. They were very useful at the time.”

“The devil employs useful methods. It is what makes him a true threat to our virtue.”

The Lord Praecepsia cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can begin the ritual, as Lady Praecepsia has suffered exhaustion most of the morning.”

“Of course. Lustina, go fetch some water from the river.”

“The river, Your Excellency?”

“Do not question me, girl. There is a river that runs through the woods. Now, do as instructed.”

“Drystan.” Lady Praecepsia addressed the young man that Lustina had thought to be the young Lord Van Croix standing next to her. “Perhaps you can show her to the river. And be sure my son returns.” A hint of animosity colored her tone as she spoke to the boy.

“Yes, My Lady.” With a jerk of his head, the boy urged Lustina to follow.

Through the room where they’d congregated and down a corridor, he led her through the belly of the house. They passed a portrait of what Lustina guessed to be Lady Praecepsia holding a swaddled baby, through a kitchen that appeared to be the size of the entire cottage house she’d once shared with her mother, where servants bustled with tasks. And finally, beyond a door, they arrived at the back end of the estate, into an expansive yard with woods just a short distance away.

The boy named Drystan stopped at a shed and fetched a water bucket from inside.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it from him.

“Wait. I should carry it for you.” He reached out his hand to take it back, and Lustina frowned.

“You think me incapable of carrying a bucket?”

“Of course not. It’s just what a gentleman does.”

At that, Lustina smiled shyly and allowed him to take the bucket, while she trailed his steps toward the woods.?“Your home is beautiful. Like a castle.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he nodded. “It is a fine home. Do you live at the monastery?”

“Yes. I do not sleep where the pentash sleep, of course. I’ve a room in the bell tower.”

“The bell tower? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I suppose so,” she said, feeling a sense of bravery in the fact he’d thought it to be so. “Although, I have been fortunate to have good weather.”

“In what capacity do you serve the church?”

“The gardens mostly. I am quite good with herbs and vegetables. My mother--” She hesitated to speak of her, as she’d been admonished the last time. “I was taught how to care for them.”

“It seems very useful to have such knowledge.

The comment brought another smile to her face. “Are you familiar with plants and herbs?”

“No. I know a bit of trapping, though.”

“You enjoy hunting?”

“Yes. At times, I accompany Lord Praecepsia on his excursions.” Strange that he referred to his own father so formally. “My favorite is wild boar. Such exciting and dangerous creatures. Bear, too.”

“My mother and I stuck to rabbits mostly.” Cursed mouth! She’d mistakenly spoken of her mother again.

“Your mother hunted?” The repulsed curl of his lip told Lustina such a thing was frowned upon there.

“Only when we ran low on provisions. Winters could be particularly hard in the forest. Sometimes, we relied on Fergus.”

“Fergus?”

“Our cat. Well, not ours, per se. He’s feral.”

The boy grimaced. “Cats are terrible creatures. The worst kind of evil. I cannot stand them.”

Lustina couldn’t help but chuckle at his ridiculous remark. “You hunt bear and boar, but are afraid of cats?”

“I am not afraid,” he snapped. “I said they were evil. Practically vermin.”

“My apologies, if I insulted you.”

“Apology accepted.” Silence lingered between them for a good stretch, until he asked, “Your village doesn’t have a venator?”

Venators were designated hunters, with whom she and her mother had bartered on rare occasions.

“Yes, but we did not often share the privilege of their catch. We were … on our own mostly.”

“How terrible that must’ve been. The Holy Father showed you a great mercy by allowing you and your mother to stay at the monastery.”

“I stay at the monastery alone. Without my mother.”

“Right. You mentioned that. I’m sorry,” he said, the empathy catching Lustina off guard.

They breached the edge of the woods, where the sound of trickling water could be heard over the crackling of branches beneath their feet. From the bank of the river, the boy knelt down, allowing the stream to catch in the bucket.

“Here, let me. It was my task to fulfill.” She reached for the bucket, but he gently batted her hand.

“Nonsense. I shall fill it for you.”

“No, I insist.” She reached again, and he withdrew his arm so quickly, the bucket fell out of his grasp and into the water, where the stream carried it to the opposite bank.

“Oh, no!” Hands to her mouth, Lustina giggled.

Pushing to his feet, the boy chuckled, also. “Lovely. I suppose we shall have to fill our shoes to carry it back.”

“I am sorry. It is my fault.”

The smile on his face, when he turned toward her, faded to a frown, as if his eyes had caught on something behind her. The look, so dark and fearful, had her turning to find another boy, about the same age as her escort, by her estimates, standing off just a short stretch away.

Inky black hair, like hers, framed icy blue eyes that stirred a chill deep inside her chest. Terrifying, yet handsome, he stared back at the two of them, like a dark cloud off in the distance.

“My Lord,” Drystan said from behind, and confused, Lustina glanced back at him and then again to the dark haired one. “I was just fetching water with the girl.”

Lord.

The young baron, Lustina presumed. All that time, she’d thought it to be Drystan.

“With no bucket. How clever.” The boy’s voice was an ominous sound that carried on the air like curled smoke.

“We lost the bucket by accident.”

The young man stepped closer, and when his gaze turned to Lustina, she could feel her own heart hammering against her ribs. Thankfully, he returned his attention back toward the boy beside her. “I see you have found a proper escort for the woods.”

Drystan lowered his head, brows tight, as if angered by the remark. “She came with Bishop Venable. She is assisting him with your mother.”

“Assisting him,” he spat, words like venom on his tongue. “Then, she is as equally useless.”

“I beg you not to speak about the bishop that way, My Lord. He is a good man and such words have consequences.”

“Yes, I suppose they do.” Amusement colored his expression for only a moment before his cold eyes found Lustina again.

In a panic, she remembered manners that were still somewhat foreign to her and stepped forward to curtsy. “Baron Van Croix, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Beside her, Drystan cleared his throat, but the sound didn’t steer her attention away from the boy who regarded her as one might mud on their shoes, his lip peeled back in disgust.

“It is Lord Van Croix,” he corrected, eyeing her dress. “Seems your righteous and holy upbringing has failed you in proper etiquette. And dress, for that matter.” Scrutinizing eyes raked over her, shrinking her beneath their weight. “The kitchen rags would make finer material.” He sniffed the air and scowled. “And smell better.”

A flare of humiliation left her wishing she could crawl into a hole and never emerge, and she silently chided her own ignorance.

“My Lord, she meant no insult.”

“Do the two of you share the same mind?”

“She is no more than a servant.”

“I do not need your observations. I know exactly what she is.”

“I apologize for my ignorance, My Lord.” Gaze still cast from his, Lustina interrupted their bickering. “I am not yet accustomed to all the rules of nobility. I come from a much simpler way of life.”

“Indeed.”

Frustration got the best of her and Lustina glared back at the exceptionally discourteous boy. “Are you rude to all ladies, or only those deemed beneath you?”

The look on his face was what Lustina would’ve expected had she just slapped him, and in that instant, she could feel the tendrils of remorse burning the back of her neck.

“Again, my apologies, My Lord.”

“I would mind your tongue, girl. Our way of life dictates that such lack of respect is just cause for removing it. And as for the ladies who find themselves beneath me, I can assure you, they tend to think of me as quite charming.”

The warmth Lustina could feel rising into her cheeks undoubtedly left an evidential blush there. Even after so much time living in a monastery, she could recognize a sexual remark when she heard one.

“Is it so charming to speak of your conquests in front of the girl?” Unless Lustina had mistaken his tone, Drystan’s comment seemed to carry the sting of jealousy.

“At least I have conquests of which to speak. Must be difficult around all those stable boys and small animals.”

Jaw clenched, Drystan lurched toward the baron. “I am no sodomite! Such thing is a sin! A despicable and repulsive sin!”

The baron’s expression lit with dark amusement. “Only in the eyes of your beloved church, but do not be afraid. I won’t speak a word of it.”

“Lies! Your words are lies!”

“If they are lies, as you said, then why do you blush, Cousin?”

“Enough! The bishop was right--you speak with a forked tongue! Your mother should’ve disposed of you like a bastard child!”

Malice burned in the young baron’s eyes, his teeth bared like that of a rabid dog. Hands balled to fists, he lurched forward, as if to attack, but stopped short. Instead, he lifted a gem clipped to his shirt and held it up, twisting it in front of Drystan and Lustina.

Drystan gasped and dropped to his knees. “Forgive me, My Lord. Forgive my blasphemous words.”

The moment the words were spoken, bits of dust fell from the baron’s clasped palm that held the gem.

Lustina’s eyes widened at the sight. She’d never seen someone crush a gem with their bare palm that way.

“Tothyll will take pleasure in meting out your punishment.”

Head bowed, Drystan’s shoulders sagged as he rose to his feet. “My Lord, your mother asked me to fetch you. Perhaps you should not keep her waiting.”

The dark-haired boy regarded him with a smirk and strode off back from where he’d come.

Once he’d left their view, Lustina turned to Drystan. “Who is Tothyll?”

“He will be the one to carry out my punishment for the crushed heirloom.”

“But you did not crush it. He did.”

“Yes, I know”

“You are his whipping boy.” She snapped her gaze toward the now empty path, where the young baron had been only moments before. Lustina had heard of whipping boys, knew their role, but in her mind, they’d always been assigned to unruly young nobles--children essentially. Not adolescents, who were, by all accounts, considered fully grown. “He requires one at his age?”

“His father fears him and puts far too much stock in what little friendship we have.”

“So, his punishments are carried out on you because Lord Praecepsia fears his retaliation?”

“Yes. It is wrong for me to say this aloud, but if you will be accompanying the bishop, I feel I must warn you.” Drystan stepped closer, and after a quick glance back toward where the baron had stood moments ago, he lowered his voice. “Stay as far as you can from the young baron. He’s capable of things that no good and God-fearing man his age can do.”

“You fear him also, then?”

“Everyone ought to. There is an evil buried deep inside of him. One that I fear could be quite dangerous, if not for the efforts of Bishop Venable.”

Evil. She’d heard the word thrown around so many times, Lustina couldn’t entirely say what she knew to be true evil. And she’d found anything involving the bishop to be all the more questionable. “What exactly are the efforts of Bishop Venable?”

“It is hard to say. I have never personally witnessed the rituals. I only know the baron seems much more subdued afterward. It has always been that way, from the time he was young.”

“I will be sure to keep my distance from him, then.”

“Good. I will fetch the water bucket, so you can get back.”

“You will be punished when you return?”

“Yes.” Drystan sighed as he plopped down at the edge of the bank and removed his shoe. “The heirloom he destroyed belonged to Lord Praecepsia’s great-uncle.”