Chapter 7
Mariette quickly rises from her pew and timidly approaches Mother, shrinking with trepidation as she speaks, hoping to explain things without arousing ire, "Uhm... Mother, we have a gues-" Her quiet words are slapped out of the air as mother accusingly yells, "WHY is there a HUMAN MAN in MY chapel?!?" Mother's words are laced with venom so malicious it was palpable, and made the other sisters snap their gazes to the floor and silence their whispers. "MARIETTE! What is the meaning of this?" Mother continues ranting, "Why are there no guards? Have you sent word to the duke? No shackles?? Where-"
Mariette kneads her hands together nervously, speaking up, trying to answer Mother's barrage of questions and implicit accusations, "Mother, I'm sorry... He arrived last night, and he was bleeding profusely, surely I couldn't let him-"
"Let him what? DIE?" Mother snaps, "Do you think that HE would show you the same mercy? Besides, he was likely plugged by an arrow at the border."
As she continues her raving, the knight in the back ceases his prayer, not due to mother's barking, but instead from his rosary. It grew warm in his palm. Warmer, and warmer still, as if it were a hot bowl of soup or broth, still it grew hotter and hotter. He glares behind his helmet at the cross clutched within his fingers as it starts to burn in his hand as though it were an iron rod left in the sun for hours on end. His glare moves from his cross to gaze at mother, all the while thinking: 'It grows feverish at Mother's presence. Certainly it mustn't say unto me that...' Silencing his inner monologue, he ties the rosary back to his waist, and looks to where Mariette is conversing with Mother.
Mariette, with a shaky voice, speaks to Mother pleadingly, "Please, Mother. I couldn't let him die out there. Does the Lord not smile upon grace and-" A resounding slap echoes through the church as Mother strikes her across the face with the back of her hand, voice now seething, "You DARE to tell ME what the Lord would want!?"
The man clears his throat, capturing the malignant glare of Mother as he spoke up, "Sister Mariette. I fear my bandages are coming undone, might I have your assistance?" His words echo through the chapel, splitting the awkward tension and adding its own layer unto it. Mother Superior points a frail, bony finger at Mariette whilst looking down on her with disdain, "Mariette...Tend to this heathen, I shall send for the duke. But be wary, sister, for his kind deceives often." her voice drops to a melancholic tone as she brings her hand up to the missing flesh from her snout, reminiscing, "you know what they do to our own..."
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"Of course, Mother. Thank you..." Mariette bows in appreciation before she spins around, her habit swinging out at the base as she twirls, and in a brisk pace, steps to the back of the chapel. She helps the man up out of the pew and back to the infirmary.
In the infirmary, the man steps towards the cot in which he earlier lie, finding his sword propped up against the wall at the foot of it. He listens as Mariette closes the door behind them both and speaks apologetically, "I'm sorry for the unpleasantness... She was just startled and has a uh... history with humans..."
The man, rhetorically apathetic, replies, "Oh? I hadn't noticed... Now catch." he announces as he wheels around and tosses his rosary to Mariette just as she turns away from the closed door. She snaps her arms up to catch, taken aback at the sudden task of saving thrown objects, whilst remarking, "Oh? OH! Why do you toss this like some trinket?" the thorny chain that dangled from the cross poking her palms as it lands haphazardly in her hands, "You ought take care of this." No sooner had she spoke and looked upon the gleaming silver cross within her palms had she heard a quiet chime. As she looks up from her hands towards the human, she sees the point of a silvered blade staring directly at her, with the man at the other end.
"Kneel..." he demands, his voice cold and bitter, with no comradery or personal inflection, purely authority; like a guard that had to deal with the same beggar one too many times. Mariette's eyes flash wide in disbelief, surely this stranger would not do her harm after she saved him. Yet here she stands, at the end of his blade... She begins to stammer in confusion, "You...w-what are you-"
"Hark! Silence from you... Luke, four-twelve... recite..." he commands as she collapses onto her knees before him.
Mariette feels her chest sink with terror as she looks up at him. The cold and emotionless helm that hid his face only instilling into her a sense of foreboding death. "I-I... Wait, uh... I can't remember which verse... It's..." she stammers and panics, the words from the passage slipping away from her mind like a bubble in a stream. "The spirit of the Lord is within Me, for He has anointed Me to preach-"
Her recital is cut short as he interrupts, "Incorrect. That is eighteen, not twelve..." Mariette's eyes dart around the room at his judgmental correction, her breathing quickens as her heart thumps hard enough to echo within her ears; she weakly beseeches unto him, "But...please..." then, accepting her situation, admits unto herself, "Mother was right." As she hears him say, "Forgive me, Sister," she squeezes her eyes shut and prepares for the blow.
Yet nothing comes... Instead, the sound of the sword slipping back into its sheath is all that is heard, apart from her racing pulse. Her eyelids pry open as she glances to her would-be assailant, his sword's guard chocking against the scabbard's end while he explains himself, "I meant not to accuse thee. It matters not if ye may recite every verse upon demand. I only needed to see how long you might stand the burn of the cross upon your flesh. Clearly: it does not." he speaks, then extends a hand down to her, "...thou art due an honest explanation."
