The audience gasped.
“And you!” The Mace turned to Borwen. “I wasn’t sure what you were doing here either, but now I see you plain. You thought that you would have a better shot at your ridiculous argument with a man on the throne. If you ever try to come near your wife and children again, I will—”
“What? Kill me?” Borwen shouted. “What threat is that? I am already dead, my children lost to me, and hounded wherever I go! Why not just kill me now?”
“I will not kill you,” the Mace said quietly, his dark eyes cold. “I will take you into custody and allow your wife to decide your fate.”
Da turned white.
The Mace descended the steps, focusing his attention on the Holy Father. “You will not blackmail me with threats, nor will you distract me from the Queen’s agenda. Don’t send any more of this nonsense to my door. The next priest to set foot in here may not fare so well. And you, Borwen . . . you never want to be in my sight again.”
Aisa felt as though her heart would burst. Maman and Wen had always defended her from Da when they could, but it was different to have someone outside their family do so. If it had been permissible to hug the Mace, she would have done, for she loved him suddenly, with the sort of fierce love she had never felt for anyone but her mother.
“Come, Brother Borwen,” the Holy Father commanded. “It’s just as I have always said: the Glynn crown drowns in its own pride. God knows of this injustice, but we will take your case to the public courts also, and expose this place for what it is.”
“You may try,” the Mace replied evenly. “But beware, Your Holiness. Borwen’s children are hardly his only accusers.”
“No one has accused him of anything, Lord Regent.”
“I accuse him.”
The words were out of Aisa’s mouth before she could stop them. The eyes of the crowd were on her, and she wished, more than anything, that she could take it back.
“Did you say something, child?” the Holy Father asked. His voice was honey-sweet, but his eyes glared. Strangely, this forced Aisa to speak again. She thought that each word would be worse than the last, but once started she found, relieved, that the opposite was true: the first words had been the hardest to say, and everything afterward came easier, as though a dam had broken inside her throat.
“I was three or four years when you started.” She fought hard to meet Da’s eyes, but could only focus on his chin. “You went after Morryn at the same age. We finally had to hide under the floor to get away from you.” Aisa heard her own voice rising in distress, but now it was like running down a hill, arms spinning like pinwheels. She couldn’t stop. “Always pushing, Da, that’s you, and you wouldn’t leave us alone, that’s what I remember best—”
“Lies!” the Holy Father snapped.
“It’s not!” she screamed. “It’s true, and you just don’t want to hear it!”
“Hellcat,” the Mace said gently, and she stopped, drawing a thick, angry breath.
“You’re not in trouble, child. But I want you to go, now. Coryn, take her to her mother.”
Coryn tugged gently at her arm, and after a moment, Aisa went with him. She snuck a last look back and found an ocean of eyes still upon her. Da remained beside the Holy Father, his face red with anger.
“Are you all right?” Coryn asked her in a low voice.
Aisa didn’t know how to answer. She felt sick. Behind her, she heard the Mace tell the two men to get out.
“Aisa?” Coryn asked.
“I embarrassed the Captain.”
“No, you didn’t,” he replied, and she was grateful to hear his businesslike tone. “You did a useful thing. The Arvath won’t dare put your father in front of a public judge now. Too many people were here.”
Everyone will know. The thought seemed to scald Aisa.
“The Caden won’t care,” Coryn remarked casually, and Aisa halted.
“Why do you say that?”
“I saw your face, girl. I know we’re going to lose you one day. But grey cloak or red, do yourself a favor: don’t let your past govern your future.”
“Is it that easy?”
“No. Even the Captain struggles with it, every day.”
A killer of children, Aisa remembered. Maman was there suddenly, her arms open, and everything inside Aisa seemed to mercifully collapse. She had been ready to kill Da, ready for years, but now she was amazed to find that she had done something even more difficult: she had spoken aloud.
Tyler did not believe in hell. He had decided, long ago, that if God wanted to punish them, there was infinite opportunity right here; hell would be superfluous.