The air in the confessional was thick, smelling of a rancid mix of old wood, mothballs, and the world's most boring sins. Ari rested his head against the wooden lattice, feeling the crisscross pattern press into his cheek. On the other side, the trembling voice of Elspeth, the baker's wife, had been buzzing for ten minutes straight.
"And... and I told Mrs. Gable that her cake tasted like wet cardboard, Father," Elspeth confessed, her voice a whisper laden with monumental guilt. "Right to her face! I have sinned by way of slander! The Light has abandoned me completely!"
Ari suppressed a yawn. The heat inside the box was suffocating, and the collar of his priest's tunic itched like the cheap wool it was. He adopted his most solemn and weary tone, the one he used for these cases. "Terrible, Sister Elspeth. A grave sin, no doubt."
Grave? he thought to himself as his eyes slid shut for a moment. What's grave is the church wine, which tastes like vinegar. What's grave is having to endure this litany when Nyla is waiting for me at 'The Silk Rose.' He could picture her perfectly: her dark hair falling over her shoulders, that mischievous smile, and, with any luck, the red silk corset he'd bought for her last week. He'd promised her cold plum wine. The good stuff, not the swill from the sacristy.
"Pray ten chants to the Pure Flame, and the Light will once again embrace your repentance," he said aloud, offering the standard penance.
Five would have been more than enough, he corrected in his mind. But if I say ten, she'll feel her guilt was truly significant and leave happier. And I'll get to leave sooner, which is what really matters.
"Ten chants?" she whimpered. "Thank you, Father. You are so... pious."
"The Light guides us all, Sister. Now, go in peace."
He heard the creak of the old woman's arthritic knees as she stood and the soft groan of the door as it closed. Silence. A blessed, glorious silence. Ari allowed himself a deep, guttural sigh, a sound entirely unbecoming of a clergyman. He stretched within the confines of the wooden box, and his neck let out a loud 'crack' that felt like heaven.
"Right," he muttered to himself, his real voice stripped of all false piety. "On to important business."
He stepped out of the confessional, relief washing through him. The main nave of the church was nearly dark, lit only by the faint glow of votive candles that flickered like tired souls. The air out here was cooler, smelling of incense and wax. He walked straight past the altar without a single glance and headed for the back door that led to the alley—the fastest route to freedom and plum wine. He was already loosening the collar of his tunic, anticipating the feel of the evening air on his skin.
He was a single step from freedom, his hand on the heavy iron bolt, when the main church doors burst open with a bang that echoed through the empty nave.
A young acolyte, Leo, a skinny kid with more freckles than years, stormed into the temple, pale as a candle and out of breath. His eyes, wide and terrified, searched desperately in the gloom.
"Father Ari! Father Ari, thank the Light I found you!"
Ari froze, his hand still on the bolt. He felt a pang of pure, violent irritation. The universe had a lousy sense of humor. He forced himself to turn slowly, reassembling the mask of the patient priest.
"Calm down, son. Breathe," he said, his tone falsely reassuring. "What's the matter? Some new village drama that can't wait until morning?"
"No, Father!" the boy gasped, bending at the waist to catch his breath. "It's them! They're here!"
"Them?" Ari repeated, arching an eyebrow. He didn't like the sound of that. "Be a little more specific, Leo. The tax collectors? Because if so, tell them I've taken a vow of poverty and they can take it up with the Flame."
"No, no! Worse!" the acolyte exclaimed, finally lifting his head, panic etched on his face. "The Templars! The Templars of the Silver Flame! They're in the town square! A whole company! And the captain... the captain wants to see the village leader... and the priest!"
Ari went cold. The words resonated in the church's silence like a death sentence for his plans. Templars. His mind spat the word out with disdain. Fantastic. Goodbye, Nyla. Goodbye, red corset. Goodbye, cold plum wine. Goodbye to a pleasant evening. Hello to a bunch of peacocks in gleaming armor, stiff postures, and sticks the size of fence posts shoved up their... well, everywhere.
"Shit," he whispered, completely forgetting his role.
Leo blinked. "Father?"
Ari cleared his throat and straightened his tunic, the mask of piety snapping back into place. "I said, 'Blessed be the Light for sending us its protectors.' Lead the way, son. Let's not keep our distinguished guests waiting."
Stepping out into the square, the evening sun hit him with the force of a slap. He squinted, annoyed. The air, which moments before had promised freedom, now felt thick with the crowd's tension. Nearly the entire village was there, gathered in a respectful but fearful semicircle, whispering amongst themselves like dry leaves skittering in the wind.
And then he saw them.
In the center of the square, a group of figures stood with martial stillness. Their polished silver plate armor shone so brightly it hurt to look at, reflecting the orange light of the setting sun. They were like living metal statues. Their immaculate white tabards bore the emblem of a silver flame, embroidered with a thread that seemed to capture the light. Their standards, held by grim-faced squires, flapped with a silent arrogance that turned Ari's stomach. They were the personification of authority, power, and, above all, a ruined evening.
"There they are, Father," Leo whispered, pointing with a trembling finger.
"Yes, son. I see them," Ari replied wearily. "Hard to miss. They look like a traveling fair of mirrors."
He began to push his way through the crowd, which parted for him with murmurs of "It's Father Ari." He felt their eyes on his back, a mixture of respect for his office and a morbid curiosity to see how he would interact with the newcomers. At the head of the Templar group, standing next to the sweaty and nervous mayor, were two figures who stood out from the rest. Two figures he recognized instantly, and his heart, that lazy, selfish organ, lurched for two very, very different reasons.
The first was Vespera.
Even in functional plate armor, she couldn't hide her vibrant energy. Her hair, a fiery red like autumn leaves, was pulled back in a practical braid, but several rebellious strands had escaped her helmet, which she held under her arm. As soon as her eyes landed on Ari, her face, dotted with a few freckles he remembered once counting, lit up with a smile so genuine and warm it could have melted snow.
"Ari!" she exclaimed, her clear, cheerful voice breaking the tension in the square. She took two quick steps toward him, completely forgetting military protocol. "I knew I'd still find you here, getting into trouble and hiding in this dusty old church!"
Ari couldn't stop a crooked smile from forming on his lips. The relief of seeing a friendly face was almost as potent as the irritation he felt. "Vespera. Still as loud as ever. Didn't they teach you to be quiet in the capital? One of these days you'll scare the enemy to death with your shouting alone."
She let out a laugh. "That's the plan. It's more efficient than using a sword."
And then, his gaze drifted past Vespera, to the figure standing beside her. The captain. Thalassa.
The sight of her hit him like a shot of strong liquor. The silver armor looked as if it had been forged for her tall, imposing frame, each plate fitted to her curves with lethal precision. There wasn't a single unnecessary flourish; only function and power. Her hair, a startling silver that looked like liquid metal in the sunlight, was pulled into a braid so perfect and tight it looked painful. But it was her eyes that stopped him. Blue. Cold and distant, like a frozen lake in midwinter. Or at least, that's how they seemed in public.
For a second, just one, as their gazes met over the heads of the others, he saw something else. A flicker. A minuscule crack in the icy facade. A fleeting memory assaulted him with the force of a lightning strike: the smell of dry hay in the old barn outside of town, the sound of their own laughter muffled against the fabric of a linen dress, the clumsy, desperate unlacing of a corset that wasn't red, but a simple cream color. The memory vanished as quickly as it came, drowned by the cold reality of the present.
Thalassa looked away first, her face an impenetrable mask of authority. She addressed him, but her voice seemed to be speaking to the crowd, to the mayor, to anyone but him directly.
"Father Ari," she said, her tone as cold and sharp as the steel of her sword. "I am Captain Thalassa of the Order of the Silver Flame. We have come in response to reports of a growing threat in this region. Monsters attacking the trade routes. We will require your full cooperation."
Ari bowed his head, composing an expression of devout humility that would have won him an award. "At your service, Captain. The Light guides us to aid its bravest protectors."
Protectors, my ass, he thought bitterly. She's probably here to investigate me. And to ruin my night, of course. That's always on the agenda.
"We need a place to establish a temporary headquarters," Thalassa continued, her gaze sweeping over the square with an appraising eye. "The inn will serve. I also want a detailed report on any strange occurrences over the last two months. Anything. Rumors, sightings, missing livestock." She paused, and her blue eyes finally locked onto his. "And you, as the village healer, will accompany us on a reconnaissance patrol tomorrow at dawn."
Tomorrow? At dawn? Shit! The word exploded in his mind. Tomorrow was his day off. His day to sleep in, read the risqué novels he'd confiscated from merchants, and maybe visit the blacksmith's widow, who made an excellent stew and had a grateful smile.
"It would be an honor, Captain," he replied, the taste of disappointment bitter in his mouth. "I will be at your disposal."
Thalassa gave a single, curt nod, as if she had just closed a business deal. She turned without another word to give orders to the mayor, ignoring Ari as if he no longer existed. The mayor, a short, plump man named Fendrel, scrambled to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Vespera sidled up to Ari and gave him a friendly nudge in the ribs. "See? She's already putting you to work. You didn't even last five minutes."
"She has a gift for personnel management," Ari retorted in a low voice, rubbing his side.
Vespera lowered her voice, her smile fading and replaced by a shadow of concern. "Listen, Ari. Behave yourself, will you? She's not the same person we knew. Ever since she was promoted to captain... she's gotten intense. Really intense. Don't give her a reason to stick her sword through your foot just for looking at her the wrong way."
"Don't you worry about me," he murmured, though the warning unsettled him. "And you? How's life as the great captain's squire?"
"Second-in-command, please," she corrected with a wink, though it didn't quite hide the tension. "It's... demanding. But she's the best. She keeps us all alive."
"I'm happy for you, Ves. Really." And he meant it. Vespera was like the loud little sister he'd never asked for but had grown to appreciate in spite of himself.
The group of Templars began to move with disciplined efficiency toward the main village inn, "The Thirsty Boar." Their boots echoed in unison on the cobblestones, a sound that promised nights of interrupted peace.
Ari stood still, watching them go. Thalassa walked at the head, her back straight as a steel rod, her silver braid swinging like a deadly pendulum. As she passed by him, she didn't turn her head. She didn't look at him. But her hand, gloved in leather, brushed against his. The contact was so brief, so subtle, it could have been an accident.
But it wasn't.
He felt the press of a small, rough object against the skin of his palm. A piece of parchment, folded over several times until it was tiny. His hand closed instinctively around it, hiding it from view.
He waited, unmoving, until the last of the Templars had disappeared inside the inn and the crowd of villagers began to disperse, whispering with a mixture of fear and excitement. Only then, when he was sure no one was paying him any attention, did Ari retreat into the church's shadow and open his hand.
The scrap of parchment was coarse, likely torn from a travel journal. The handwriting was elegant, precise, but the words were direct, unadorned. Familiar.
The old barn. When the moon is high. You'd better bring wine. And not the cheap church crap, you idiot.
Ari crumpled the parchment in his fist, the paper crackling in the silence. A slow, genuine smile, the first real smile of the entire day, spread across his face. All the irritation, all the annoyance over his ruined plans, vanished like morning fog, replaced by a wave of heat and an almost painful anticipation that settled in the pit of his stomach.
He glanced at the moon, which was just beginning to peek over the rooftops.
Well, he thought, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. Maybe tonight isn't so ruined after all.
He would have to get some good wine. And fast.