“I feel so badly for him.”

“Don’t,” Hrulinar said, pacing again. “He’s hiding a lot more than he’s saying. He’s in shock. His first love betrayed him, lied to him, preyed on him. He’s working through that.”

Alira shook her head in dismay at the spirit.

“That’s not untrue but that’s unkind,” she said. “He’s allowed to be upset.”

Therin returned after a while, knocking politely before entering.

“I brought us some things. I put them,” he swallowed and put his hands on his hips nervously. “I took them to my room. It’s a little larger, more…” he glanced around quickly before shrugging. “Comfortable.”

“That sounds great,” Alira said and she realised, as much as she had fought it, she was where she didn’t want to be: soothing this broken man-boy instead of chasing after the stones she needed. Hrulinar caught the gist of her feelings and soothed her, having rejoined her shortly after the monk reappeared.

Don’t worry, pet. One night here and then we’re on the road. One stone down, two to go. And I have a plan.

Therin’s room was definitely more comfortable.

A huge bed took up almost an entire wall. The giant four poster bed was draped in expensive looking maroon damask and was flanked by two dark, heavy side tables. Oil lamps sat on either table. An enormous red and gold rug, intricately patterned in delicate arabesque curlicues, took up nearly half the room. The floor closest to the door was slickly varnished reddish wood, glowing warmly in the light of the enormous hearth opposite the door.

In front of the door, a large square table sat, two places neatly set with small plates and glasses. A basket of various fruits and a second basket of bread sat near a bottle of wine and a jug of water in the middle. An enormous arrangement of bright white lilies sat in a crystal vase in one of the places, clearly having been moved to accommodate the generous spread. A brass chandelier hung above the small dining table, throwing light across the eating space.

As she turned to look at the details of the gorgeous room, she saw Therin standing awkwardly in the doorway still. His face was apologetic, embarrassed even.

“I’m on official business,” he said and plucked the front of his plain but very well made tunic. “I’m in novitiate clothing, finally. It’s church money, not my own.” He threw her another embarrassed look and she raised her eyebrows, shaking her head.

“No, this is lovely. I’m happy the High Lord has sent you on your mission.” He looked even more embarrassed by this gentle congratulations and he cleared his throat and held out a chair for her. After she had sat and poured herself a glass of water, he joined her, taking a large round orange fruit and beginning to peel it.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she sipped the water. He didn’t answer her but continued to peel the fruit, halving it and placing one half on her plate. He showed her to peel a wedge of the fruit apart, the membrane keeping the segments separate naturally. He ate an entire wedge in a single bite, meeting her gaze as he chewed.

“No, but this is part of it,” he said as he shrugged.

“Part of what?” She asked as she copied him and ate a slice. It was bright, juicy, almost tart. She smiled in surprised thanks.

“Becoming a paladin. Spiritual trauma happens. If I want to become a spurred paladin, I need to face my past and heal myself.”

“Is that a requirement?” She wiped her sticky hands on her pants as Hrulinar appeared in the place that wasn’t occupied by the giant vase of lilies.

“Charming,” he drawled as he eyed her using her clothes instead of the cloth napkin in front of her. She glared at him and looked back at the monk.

“Healing oneself. Confronting your past and any…indiscretions you might have made is a large part of it.” He ate a second and then a third segment while she watched him.

“And what indiscretion do you think you’ve committed, exactly?” She finally asked, her tone piqued. He leaned back in his chair, his mouth full, chewing slowly. He swallowed thickly and glanced at the spirit beside them before answering.

“It’s on record what I did.”

“And what did you do?”

“That’s between me and Devan,” he said evasively, and his tone skewed a little angry but Alira tilted her head, still watching him.

“And Mara.”

His head snapped up and he glared at Hrulinar who held up his hands in surrender.

“She’s intuitive,” said the spirit. “She figured it out on her own. But,” and the spirit dropped the placating tone and leaned in, a frown of annoyed disbelief on his face. “Did you really think she wouldn’t have known who you were talking about?”

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“I had hoped…”

“Hoped she was stupid,” Hrulinar said before Alira jumped in, cutting him off.

“It’s your business, you’re right. But now she’s our business, too.” She picked up another slice of fruit and chewed thoughtfully as the monk watched her.

“It would be nice to know how she became Inquisitor if Devan knew that she was being bedded by his son.” Hrulinar’s tone was clipped and sharp, accusatory.

Therin’s clenched fist on the table had Alira shooting a silencing look at the princeling.

“I didn’t…” the monk growled, his teeth clenched. “I took the penance but I never admitted to it.”

“Penance?” Alira asked but Therin scrubbed his face with his hands, making the same groaning, frustrated noise he had made before. He dropped his hands into his lap and sighed heavily, his head back, eyes on the ceiling. He dropped his head in resignation and stared at the empty plate in front of him. Alira put her last segment in her mouth and picked up an apple and a short silver knife that was beside her plate.

“I had to swear to celibacy when I joined the monastery.” He flicked a look at Alira before dropping his eyes and watching her cut the apple. “And I had to confess to anything I had done prior to joining. Absolution, it’s called.”

Alira chose to let him talk at his pace, not interrupting him. She carefully sliced the apple into half, then quarters and then eighths as he talked.

“I wasn’t the prize she was after. It was Devan’s influence she wanted. Mara and Noran had cooked up a great story to feed to Devan and her own father. I was the villain. I seduced her, ruined her for any reputable marriage, according to them. Devan never believed me when I said I didn’t and her father demanded Devan pay for her ruin. It was his wayward bastard of a son that had done it, after all.”

Alira cored the apple slowly as he talked and felt her stomach dropping with his words.

“The price was her private education as a monk. Not a nun, not a priestess, not a female role. She wanted to be a monk. When Devan finally said yes, she was given an expedited education and within two years she was a paladin. For reference, I’ve been a monk for six years.”

She set four slices of perfectly cut apple on his plate and began to eat one of her own, letting him talk.

“I hadn’t even joined the monastery when she was knighted, spurred, the works. First ever woman to be a paladin. And that wasn’t enough.” He licked his lips and poured himself some water.

Alira watched him, her eyes catching the slight tremor to his hands, the quick intake of breath as he tried to slow his racing heart.

“Somehow she was voted Inquisitor mere months after winning her spurs. I don’t know how. But it didn’t end there either.”

Now his hands visibly shook as he set his glass down and looked at Alira. She gave him a gentle, encouraging nod.

“She lied,” he said and she was surprised that his voice was neither breaking nor hollow. He said it like he was trying to make himself believe it, as though his own heart needed to hear the truth out loud.

“She held onto the lie that I…did that. And she said that part of my absolution would be to either take penance or be the first to be interrogated by the new Inquisitor.”

The silence was thick as he stopped speaking. Suddenly she remembered seeing his scarred back. The lashes that it would have taken to create such wide, deep grooves that scared so heavily would have been powerful. Alira, her stomach dropped so low she couldn’t eat, pushed her plate aside.

“You said that was a broken oath,” she whispered and he held her eyes as he nodded.

“That’s what she deemed it. And as an elite member of the church, she had the right to decide that what I had done, what Devan believed I had done, was tantamount to a broken oath. He agreed and let me choose: self-flagellation or letting High Inquisitor Mara dole out my punishment.”

He swallowed hard and his jaw clenched. She didn’t see the pain on his face, merely his anger, his rage at the injustice of his punishment for a crime he never committed.

“No wonder you don’t want to claim him as your father. What a horrible thing to make your child do.”

“And Noran, the scheming snake, said he had seen it happen. So with a live witness, two counting herself, I had no choice.” He grabbed the bottle of wine, uncorking it with an angry jerk and poured himself a full glass. He had downed half the glass before she spoke.

“Is that why you and Noran fell out?”

“That’s not enough?” He asked sharply.

“I just thought–” she stopped and shook her head. “Nevermind.” He finished his glass of wine and poured another. He tossed that glass back and poured a third.

“Any other questions before I get drunk?” He had been fortified by the wine, angry now instead of shaken and hurt.

“No,” she said simply and uncurled from the chair, standing. “But I have another gift for you.”

“I don’t want anymore gifts from witches,” he said darkly and she blinked, feeling stung.

“Then return it to Devan, where it belongs,” she said and left the room.

Hrulinar had taken Alira’s empty wine glass and was looking through the cut crystal at the chandelier above them. The light cast dancing rainbows across his greenish face. He blinked his emerald eyes and Therin noted his thoughtful expression.

“You let them ruin you because you couldn’t see a way out,” the spirit said absently. “Alira is in a similar position. Worse, actually.” He lowered the glass and looked at Therin over the rim of it. “I killed her.”

“She seems–”

“No, she’ll die. When I die, she dies.” He took a drink from the glass, now full of a ghostly red liquid.

“There’s a way to separate you. I know there is,” Therin said quietly. “Devan–”

Hrulinar set the glass down and grabbed Therin’s hand before he could move it away.

“Devan knows nothing,” he hissed, holding the monk’s hand tightly. “He’s going to kill me, and if you think otherwise, you deserve those scars. If I die, she dies. Remember that, Lordling.”

Hrulinar released the monk’s hand and backhanded the crystal glass, still full of the image of wine, letting it smash to the floor.

“Oops,” he said as he shimmered and stood. He put an arm around the monk’s shoulders in a gesture of brotherly affection then leaned down and tapped his chest.

“So if you plan to follow that letter you have in your pocket, which states you must turn in the Witch Called Alira to his High Lord, I suggest you think of some other way to win your daddy’s approval.”