It's been a night since we spoke, but Erica stands next to me now with the same eerie peace about her that she did then. It's frigid, by all accounts; in the square outside St. Denebriel's, we're standing in front of the entire town. I can see her father, looking proudly on as his daughter stands for all to see, clothed in the white of one of the faith's most beloved. Oh, she's thankful for the lie, but I doubt she feels any peace from it. "He has no idea," I whisper to her, and she offers me a thankful smile. "See?" I reward that beautiful glance with more kind words, "you're on the outside. I told you."
She doesn't know that I asked for them to consider her for release. She hasn't the first idea that they take my word under scrutiny. All she knows is that she can see her father, and for once, no one is violating her. I place a gentle hand on her shoulder and she closes her eyes. The smile on her face is sad.
"You don't seem happy," my lips have set in a firm frown, now.
"It was a kind gesture, Tobias," she says. Ahhhh. She knows more than I thought. "You shouldn't have said anything. They're going to punish you, now."
Punish me? What the hell does she mean by that? I glance back toward the clergy, all smiling with morbid satisfaction. Everyone has a secret, and I'm on the outside. Still, I turn back to Erica and speak quietly. "Erica," I whisper urgently, "tell me what's going on."
"Tobias," she whispers, "it's not your fault."
"Erica, please. Tell me-"
"You can't stop it," she says. The sorrow in her voice has become a well of emptiness. It sickens me. One of their most faithful children, who fought against their wicked ways and retained her sanity, now sounded so hollow. "Please," she tells me, "tell me something."
"Anything." It's a more honest "anything" than ever I've given a woman. I find myself on the cusp of rage, teetering there with carefully maintained stoicism. She's still beautiful to me, her gentle eyes and soft lips have never shown me contempt. They never will.
"Did you love me?"
"I..." my teeth clench my bottom lip, because this is far from the circumstance I wanted. This conversation should have been a happy one. All I see in her, louder than the pious words that bark above the wind, is pained sadness. "I do," I answer honestly. "I really do."
Her eyes close slowly and her smile shatters my gods damned heart. "Oh," she whispers, "I'm so happy."
"Brother Tobias," comes the sobering voice that rips my haunted gaze from Erica. "The condemned stands before us convicted of the murder of your brother, Artorius." I knew that. I've known that. Why do you throw that in my face now, you old bastard? "I know, in your grief and rage, you still find it in your heart to forgive the wicked," his words are like venom. I hate them more now than ever before. It's because I know where this is going, now. "But Erica desires no repentance. Her dark ways are set in an incorrigible conviction, one that with time could endanger the Church itself."
You're a liar. That's what I want to scream. I want so badly to throw this in his face, and to save Erica. Her eyes meet mine again, and her lips form unspoken words. I can see them, though. I know what she's trying to say. 'It's not your fault.'
But it is, Erica. It is my fault. As the Archon comes down from his lofty place atop the stairs of the Cathedral, he offers me two long knives. They look nothing like Calm or Cold, but their hearts radiate with the same familiar treachery. Newly forged blades with the same spells. And the silver steel that entombs the magic is known to me. "Mithril," I mutter quietly.
"Your gift," he says, "to honor your acceptance into our brotherhood."
"I offer my thanks," I tell him dryly.
"Thank us with action, Brother Stalt," he commands me grimly. Oh, gods, no. "Slake your blades with the humours of the wicked."
I stare at both weapons and let out a ragged breath. I see the satisfaction in his face. He longs to see me do this. He knows this is the greatest test of my devotion he has ever given me. With shaking hands, I touch both blades by the hilt and close my eyes. I don't even want them back.
"I would have done it again," Erica whispered in futility, so as not to draw the ire of the crowd. The Archon whispered back, but I could not hear his words. They came in a language I did not know. The blackness of his eyes in that instant drew an angry expulsion of air from me.
With both blades in hand, as the Archon stepped away from us, I turned toward Erica and embraced her with one arm. She wrapped both around me and gasped. The words whispered in my ear will haunt me forever. "I love you, Tobias Stalt."
As she fell to the dirt and painted the cobbles, both my blades trembled as they dripped with the blood of an innocent woman. I turned my gaze not toward the approval of the clergy, but to see the look on her father's face.
He was cheering like all the rest.
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