Aisa’s hand went automatically to her knife, and she was beset by such a conflicting mixture of feelings that at first she could not separate them. There was relief, relief because she had grown several inches since the spring, and Da no longer seemed quite so tall. There was hatred, a long-burning fire that had only sharpened with distance and time, searing through her head and gut. And last and most urgent, she felt a need to find her younger sisters, Glee and Morryn, to find them and protect them from everything in the world, starting with Da.
The Mace had clearly recognized Da as well, for a muscle had begun to twitch in his jaw. He leaned down and asked in a low voice, “Do you wish to leave, hellcat?”
“No, sir,” Aisa replied, wishing her resolve was as firm as her voice. Da no longer loomed over her, perhaps, but he looked the same as ever. He laid stones for a living, and his top half seemed twice the size of his bottom. As he approached the throne, Aisa drew her knife, clenching it in a fist that was suddenly wet with perspiration.
The Mace beckoned Kibb and murmured, “Make sure Andalie doesn’t come in here.”
Da was not alone, Aisa saw now; he had emerged from the crowd with a priest beside him. The priest wore the white robes of the Arvath, but the hood was pulled low over his brow and Aisa could not see his face. After a glance in her direction—a single, sharp look that Aisa could not read—Da ignored her, focusing all of his attention on the Mace.
“You again, Borwen?” the Mace asked in a tired voice. “What’s on the menu today?”
Da looked as though he meant to speak, but then the priest moved forward and pushed his hood back. Aisa heard the low hiss of the Mace’s breath, and she drew her knife automatically as Elston jumped forward. The rest of the Guard quickly moved to surround the foot of the dais, and Aisa went with them, jumping up two risers to tuck herself behind Cae and Kibb.
“Your Holiness,” the Mace said slowly. “What an honor to have you here. The last time was thrilling.”
The Holy Father himself! Aisa tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. She had thought that the Holy Father would be old, but he was much younger even than Father Tyler, his hair still nearly black, his face traced with only the lightest of lines. The Mace said that the Holy Father never went anywhere unguarded, but Aisa didn’t see any guards in the crowd around him. Still, she took her cue from the men around her, who had ranged themselves in a defensive posture around the Mace.
“I come to demand justice from the Queen’s government,” the Holy Father announced in a deep, carrying voice, and now Aisa noticed his eyes: blank, almost reptilian, betraying no emotion. “Our brother parishioner, Borwen, came to us with a grievance some weeks ago. The Queen has denied him his parental rights.”
“Has she now?” The Mace leaned back in his armchair. “And why would she do that?”
“For gain. She wished to keep Borwen’s wife as her servant.”
The Mace pinned Borwen with a long stare. “This is your tale of the week? It’s a foolish one. Andalie is no one’s servant.”
“I am confident in the truth of Borwen’s tale,” the Holy Father replied. “Borwen has been a good member of Father Dean’s parish for some years, and—”
“You didn’t come here to plead a case for this nonce. What do you want?”
The Holy Father hesitated, but only for a moment. “I also come to personally demand the return of the Apostate.”
“As I have told you perhaps ten times now, we don’t have him.”
“I believe otherwise.”
“Well, this wouldn’t be the first time you believed something without evidence, would it?” The Mace’s tone was mocking, but a large vein had begun to pulse in his forehead. “We don’t have Father Tyler, and I will not discuss the subject further.”
The Holy Father smiled blandly. “Then what of Borwen’s case?”
“Borwen is a pedophile. Do you really wish to tie the Arvath to his cause?”
“That is slanderous,” the Holy Father replied calmly, though Aisa noted that his smile had momentarily slipped. Perhaps they had believed that the Mace would not raise the subject in a public audience. Aisa didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he had.
“Borwen lives the life of a good Christian. Each morning he attends dawn services. At night he donates his time to—”
“Borwen has no choice but to be a good Christian,” the Mace growled. “Because he knows that for the past six months, I have had a New London constable on him like glue. I understand his neighbors are greatly relieved.”
This took Aisa by surprise. She wouldn’t have thought the Mace would take an interest in anything that didn’t directly affect the Queen. She wondered if Maman knew. Da was certainly no good parishioner; their family had attended church only a few times a year.
“Borwen has repented sincerely for all of his past acts,” the Holy Father replied. “He has reformed, and now he wants only to be with his wife and children.”
“Reformed,” the Mace sneered. “Tell whatever story you like, Borwen. Sooner or later, we both know that the sickness inside you will have its way, and when we catch you in the act, I will put you away for good.”
“My children belong to me!” Da bellowed. “You have no right to keep them from me!”