The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1409: The Memorial’s Guests Arrive (Part Two)
The captains she’d helped Owain to recruit followed behind Captain Devlin, and the range of the expressions the men wore told Jocelynn everything she needed to know about the men who had been willing to sell their ships for a chance to earn fame, glory, and knighthood on the frontier.
Captains Caradog and Macsen moved with the slow, almost shuffling steps of men whose winter cloaks were sodden with guilt and shame. Both had been willing to do anything Owain asked in order to win his favor, and from the way their eyes shifted nervously to Captain Devlin, it was clear that the older captain had given them the sort of tongue-lashing that would make a sailor’s mother blush for forgetting where their loyalties lay.
The dark-skinned Captain Ivor seemed to want nothing to do with either of his peers as he gazed at Jocelynn with barely concealed adoration, and only Devlin’s steadying presence in front of him seemed to hold him back from rushing forward to make his own pledge of loyalty and service.
"I think your sister would be proud of you," Devlin said when he drew close enough to Jocelynn to speak quietly. "You took on so much for her," he said, nodding around the room. "And despite the storm, you’re still afloat. Let her see that today, and it’s enough," he said softly, giving her a respectful half-bow before leading his fellows to the second row of pews without waiting for a reply.
He’d meant well by them, but Devlin’s words were like a knife, twisting in Jocelynn’s heart. She’d tried to take on Ashlynn’s burdens... She’d tried to take Ashlynn’s place. She’d failed utterly at the former and never should have done the latter... There was nothing that she’d done for Ashlynn to be proud of.
But Devlin had meant well, she reminded herself as she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill forth again. He couldn’t know that his words had reopened a self-inflicted wound that was still raw and tender, so she did her best to smile in his direction before turning to welcome the last set of guests.
Last of all came the household staff. Mary and Anne entered first, their faces solemn and their hands clasped in front of them. Behind them came the other maidservants, guardsmen and household staff, moving in the hushed, careful manner of people who knew they didn’t quite belong here.
Perhaps, if they’d been in Blackwell, they would have been invited to stand in the back of the grand cathedral for a funeral like Lady Ashlynn’s, but more likely, they would have stood with hundreds of other commoners, lining the streets between Backwell Manor and the Temple. Now, in Lothian March, they settled awkwardly into the middle rows, filling the gap between the fighting men at the front and the noblewomen who had chosen the back.
When the last of them had taken their seats, Jocelynn looked out across the chapel. There were forty-odd faces looking back at her from the pews. Some were familiar, and others were less so, but all of them had been touched by the solemnity of the morning, and in their eyes, she saw not only her own grief reflected, but a strength that she struggled to imagine possessing herself.
These were her people. Blackwell’s people. Men and women who had crossed the breadth of the kingdom to follow her to a place that was nothing like home, and who had stayed even when staying became dangerous.
Any of them could have asked to return home after learning that the Inquisition had moved against her, and she wouldn’t have blamed them. Rather, she would have given them silver for their journey and wished them well if they could leave before even worse things came to pass. But not only had they chosen to stay, but they’d also come together in ways she never imagined they would, as though the most common of wagon drivers or chambermaids had transformed into members of the Black Tide’s crew.
The thought of the people gathered here setting sail on Phylip Blackwell’s legendary ship put a faint smile on her lips as her gaze traveled to the last row, where the four noblewomen sat in a line, deliberately separated from the rest of the gathering by several rows of empty pews.
"Lady Ragna, Baroness Sorcha, Lady Charlotte, Lady Adala," Jocelynn said, her voice carrying clearly through the chapel. "Please, come forward. There are still places waiting, and there’s plenty of food for everyone to share a few bites."
She gestured to the servings of bread, cheese, nuts, and dried fruit arranged along the pews closer to the front, where she’d laid out portions for more people than her household alone. She’d done it without thinking when she set the food out, as if some part of her had already accepted that the four women belonged here even before the rest of her had caught up.
"You came here this morning to share a meal in my sister’s memory," she added, offering them a fragile but genuine smile. "I won’t have you doing it from the back of the room."
For a moment, no one moved, though several of the household staff in the middle pews looked like they wanted nothing more than to turn to watch the noblewomen’s response. Lady Charlotte rose first, breaking free of Lady Adala’s reassuring grasp on her hand to rush forward, though she looked somewhat sheepish when she realized that she still couldn’t fling her arms around Jocelynn the way she wanted to, no matter how clear it was that the other woman needed a hug.
Lady Adala followed after her with a slight shake of her head, though she quickened her steps to appear at Charlotte’s elbow, guiding the young woman to take her seat next to the chambermaids rather than the guardsmen in the last row of seats, as if she still couldn’t quite trust strange men around the normally bubbly young lady from Otker.
Lady Ragna and Baroness Sorcha were more restrained when they joined the two younger ladies, but they both looked grateful to receive Jocelynn’s invitation, and if either of them was offended by the simple ’breakfast’ waiting in their seats, they gave no sign of it.
It was a small thing. A few women moving a few rows closer to the front of a chapel. But something shifted in the room when they did. There was a subtle loosening of the tension that had held the air tight since the doors opened. The Blackwell household had come to mourn their lady’s sister. The noblewomen of the Lothian Court had come to support their future marchioness. And now, for the space of a morning at least, they would do both together.
Jocelynn turned back to face the gathering. She owed them more than she could ever repay, and the least she could give them this morning was the truth about the sister they had come to mourn.
