Chapter 13 – Holy Ground

Valentina awoke at sunrise the next day, still feeling a slight soreness between her legs. Cosimo had been demanding last night. Not really rough, he never was, but enthusiastic in a way that made her body remember every single position he had put her in.

“Stiff?” Vyxara inquired with a hint of amusement.

“Oh, shut up,” Valentina thought back as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

A knock at the door announced Margaret, who was already carrying a stack of carefully folded clothes over her arm. The older servant hurried into the room, busily drew the curtains, and laid out Valentina’s washing utensils.

“Good morning, Milady. I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Valentina lied, suppressing a yawn.

As Margaret helped her slip out of her nightgown, Valentina noticed that the clothes she had prepared were unusually plain. A dress in muted grey-brown with cream accents, high-necked and without any embellishment except for subtle silver embroidery at the hem.

“Margaret, why this dress? It’s… more modest than usual.”

The maid smiled knowingly as she adjusted the bodice. “I was told to dress you as if for a visit to the Flametower, Milady. I heard Her Grace has planned an outing to the Hearth of Sommerland today.”

The Hearth of Sommerland was the seat of the Scorchbishop and, in a sense, the headquarters of the Church of the Martyr in the realm. It was a place Valentina would have preferred never to set foot in, considering what dwelled in her mind.

“How exciting,” Vyxara remarked dryly, but Valentina sensed a certain tension beneath the sarcasm that she was not accustomed to from the demon.

Margaret braided Valentina’s chestnut hair into simple but neat plaits and pinned them at the back of her head. No elaborate knots, no pearls, no jewelry, only practical simplicity, as befitted a visit to Flametower.

“You still look wonderful and elegant, Milady,” Margaret said with satisfaction.

Valentina looked at herself in the mirror and nodded slightly. Fortunately, she looked like a pious daughter from a good family, not someone who harbored a demon in her head and regularly lay in the bed of a married duke.

“A convincing masquerade,” commented Vyxara.

When Valentina entered the corridor, Lady Beatrice was already waiting for her in a similarly simple dress in warm amber tones, which apparently was her favorite color. Her honey-blonde hair was also arranged in modest braids.

“Ah, Valentina. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” The lie came naturally by now.

“The duchess is ready, I already took care of that. We expect Lady Innogen in about an hour.” Beatrice began walking down the corridor, and Valentina fell into step beside her. “You’ve never been to the Hearth, I guess?”

“No. However, I have of course seen the Burning Tower in Bridgewater, and there they are very proud about the Burning Tower being larger than the Flametower at the Hearth.”

“Yes, the Hearth is something else. It’s not just a single building, but more of an entire complex of impressive structures. Imposing in its own way, although the Flame Tower there is certainly not quite as spectacular as the Burning Tower.” Beatrice glanced sideways at her. “Especially for Essence Weavers, I’m told. But the architecture alone is worth the trip.”

Valentina nodded and tried to look interested. Her enthusiasm about spending an entire morning surrounded by Emberwardens and perhaps even Illuminators was as limited as her interest in architecture.

An hour later the Ashbourne carriage rolled into the courtyard of the Greystone townhouse shortly before eight o’clock. Valentina stood at the door with the duchess and Lady Beatrice, watching as a servant opened the carriage door.

Innogen stepped out, dressed in a simple dress of green that made her golden hair shine, even though it was arranged in simple braids. She looked tired, but her posture was impeccable as always.

“Lady Innogen!” Duchess Rosalind stepped forward and greeted her future daughter-in-law with formal kisses on both cheeks. “How wonderful that you are joining us today. I am so looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“The honor is all mine, Your Grace. I am deeply grateful for this invitation.” Innogen managed to sound warm and gentle.

But as she exchanged pleasantries, her gaze wandered over the duchess’s shoulder to Valentina for a tiny moment, so quickly that only someone looking for it would have noticed.

Valentina allowed herself a tiny smile, which was completely lost in the general politeness, of course.

A few minutes later, the four women were seated in the Greystone carriage, with the duchess and Lady Beatrice on one side and Innogen and Valentina on the other. So close that their skirts touched, yet forced to behave like polite acquaintances.

The journey took them through streets Valentina had never seen before. Away from the wide boulevards near the palace, into older neighborhoods where the buildings stood closer together and the cobblestones were increasingly uneven. The architecture here was older, more convoluted, and narrow alleys branched off into shady corners.

“This is the oldest part of Vandercourt,” Lady Beatrice explained. “Some of it dates back to before the Malandrine invasion.”

Valentina nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. Vyxara was unusually quiet. Normally, the demon would have made some snide comment about Lady Beatrice’s history lessons or something by now, but since they had left the townhouse, it had been strangely quiet in her head.

“Vyxara?” she thought cautiously. “Is everything all right?”

There was a pause, longer than usual, which made Valentina’s pulse race.

“Are there demons nearby? Can’t you speak?”

“No, nothing like that.” Vyxara’s mental voice was tinged with something that seemed almost like tension to Valentina. “But we are approaching the lion’s den. This is the place from which they hunt people like us. I don’t think we need to be afraid, but I am… alert. I am enjoying our time together in your world and would be very disappointed if it came to a premature end.”

“I understand,” she thought back. “I’ll be careful for the both of us.”

“How touching,” Vyxara replied, but the sarcasm seemed forced.

Then the Hearth of Sommerland appeared before them, and Valentina raised her eyebrows.

The church complex rose behind high walls of honey-colored limestone that glowed warm in the morning sun. The Flametower was indeed not quite as tall as the Burning Tower in Bridgewater, but it was still imposing. Even in daylight, she could see the flames blazing at its top.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” the duchess remarked with a satisfied smile.

“Very,” Valentina replied, and this time she didn’t have to lie.

At the gate, they were greeted by Emberwardens in burgundy robes and armor. They were respectful, far more respectful than they had been in Bridgewater, but still thorough. Even the duchess had to show her credentials. She presented a document bearing the royal seal without hesitation, and the heavy, dark iron gates swung open.

The courtyard that stretched out behind it exceeded Valentina’s expectations. Well-tended gardens with herbs and blooming flowers in every shade of red, yellow, and orange, cloisters made of light-colored stone, several buildings in different architectural styles that hinted at centuries of slow expansion. And towering above it all was the Flametower, which was indeed quite impressive when viewed up close, even though it lacked the complex Essence patterns that made the Burning Tower so spectacular.

“The distinguished visitors,” announced one of the Emberwardens, and a figure in a dark red robe approached them.

Valentina tensed involuntarily. An Illuminator. She immediately thought of Eastwald, his cold eyes, his cruel interrogation methods, his hypocritical piety, and the fear he had instilled in her for months.

But this man was different.

He was middle-aged and rotund, with the soft hands of a scholar and a warm smile on his round face. A silver amulet chain with the symbol of the Burning Tower hung around his neck.

“Your Grace!” He bowed deeply to the duchess. “I am Illuminator Windbert, and it is my great honor to show you and your party our sacred complex. Welcome to the Hearth of Sommerland!”

“Illuminator Windbert,” the duchess replied with a warm smile. “We have heard many good things about your tours.”

The man beamed. “You are too kind! But come, come, please, there is so much to see, and I could talk for hours about every single stone joint if you let me.”

“Well,” Vyxara remarked with a hint of her usual irony, “perhaps not all of them are as unpleasant as Eastwald.”

Valentina allowed herself to relax a little and took care not to slip on the stones of the cloisters, which had been worn smooth by centuries of pious feet.

“The oldest parts of this complex were built over eight hundred years ago by the local Norothalan petty king at the time. Centuries before the Malandrine invasion, can you imagine? Do you see the differences in the arches here? These rounder shapes are typical Norothalan, while the more pointed arches over there…” He pointed to an adjacent corridor. “…date from the period after the conquest. We can clearly see the Malandrine influence in the increasing architectural pointedness…”

The duchess asked a lot of intelligent questions and Lady Beatrice added observations from her previous visits. Illuminator Windbert blossomed with so much attentive interest.

In the gardens, Kindles worked in their simple rust-red robes, weeding among medicinal herbs or pruning rose bushes. Some paused to bow respectfully to the noble visitors before continuing their work.

Valentina caught up until she was walking beside Innogen, who was one step behind the duchess.

“How are you?” she whispered, barely audibly.

“Better,” Innogen whispered back. “Now.”

They went inside the Chapter House next, which had tall, pointed arch windows flooding the interior space with color. Their stained glass depicted scenes from the Martyrium and the life stories of various saints. The images were breathtakingly beautiful and disturbingly intense at the same time.

“Here we see the Martyrium, a very popular motif, of course,” explained Illuminator Windbert in a hushed voice as they stood in front of the largest window. “This here shows the Martyr in his tower, the flames engulfing him, while the tyrant is caught in the bankreizh. And here,” he pointed to a whole row of terrifying figures at the edge of the picture, “the demons of hell, as imagined by the artists, based on the traditions and descriptions of the Illuminators.”

Valentina looked at the depictions of the demons. They were distorted, nightmarish creatures with too many eyes, too many teeth, and too many limbs in unnatural contortions. The idea was right, but the execution fell a little short.

“Ridiculous,” Vyxara commented with a quiet chuckle. “I don’t even remotely look like that.”

Valentina suppressed a shudder. The demons in the windows indeed didn’t really look like Vyxara had looked when Valentina had summoned the demon. The truth was that Vyxara in her true form had been far more terrifying than these stylized monsters.

“Oh, I know you know better,” Vyxara continued, amused. “But isn’t it entertaining to see what mortals come up with?”

They wandered on, past windows depicting various saints. Valentina paused in front of one depicting a young woman with dark hair standing amid flames, her hands raised to the sky, while around her, demon-possessed humans burned to ashes.

“That’s Saint Valentina,” said Illuminator Windbert, who had noticed her gaze.

“I… yes, I know.” Valentina managed to tear her eyes away from the stained glass. “My mother named me after her.”

“Oh, how charming! A wonderful name patron! Saint Valentina is revered for her self-sacrifice. She gave everything she had to help others.” The Illuminator smiled warmly. “A beautiful name for a charming young woman.”

Valentina accepted his friendly compliment with a smile and a slight tilt of her head, while Vyxara giggled to herself.

The interior of the Flametower, which they entered shortly thereafter, was almost identical to the interior of the Burning Tower in Bridgewater and, in fact, every other smaller Flametower. In the center, in front of a statue of the Martyr, was an altar on which the eternal flame burned. The fire had been passed down for over fourteen hundred years from the original flame from the smoldering ruins of the true Tower of the Martyr, as Illuminator Windbert reverently explained to them.

Hundreds of candles flickered on the walls, lit by the faithful. Embers and Kindles knelt in silent prayer, only their lips moving silently and the air smelled of incense and warm wax.

The group remained respectfully quiet, and even Valentina couldn’t help but feel a certain awe. Whatever she thought of the church and its representatives, the sheer history of this place, the weight of fourteen centuries of unbroken faith in the benevolence, power, and sacrifice of the Martyr, was hard to ignore.

As they left the Flametower and headed toward the administrative buildings, the duchess asked a question about a topic Valentina would have preferred to avoid.

“Illuminator Windbert, tell us about the work of the Illumination. How exactly do you combat demonic corruption?”

The Illuminator nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, that’s one of the most important tasks of the church, Your Grace. It is our sacred duty to protect the faithful from demonic influence. We investigate reports of unusual occurrences, interview witnesses, and if we find corruption…”

Valentina was barely listening. A tingling sensation ran down her neck, the instinctive feeling of being watched. She looked up.

On a balcony above them, perhaps twenty paces away, stood a figure in a dark red robe. Cold, fanatical eyes that she would have recognized anywhere were fixed directly on her and Innogen.

Illuminator Eastwald.

“Stay calm,” Vyxara warned sharply. “Don’t show anything. Nothing at all.”

Valentina forced herself to lower her gaze as if she hadn’t noticed anything. But her heart was pounding against her ribs.

Innogen had also looked up beside her. Valentina felt her friend freeze beside her. Then, with admirable self-control, Innogen relaxed again and turned her attention back to Illuminator Windbert’s explanations.

But the duchess had also noticed the staring man.

“Illuminator Windbert,” she interrupted in a polite but sharp voice. “Who is that gentleman up there on the balcony? He seems to be watching us quite intently. It seems a little inappropriate to me.”

Windbert’s round face contorted in visible discomfort. He looked up, recognized the figure, and something tortured flitted across his features.

“Ah, that’s, um, that’s Illuminator Eastwald, Your Grace.”

“Eastwald.” The Duchess pronounced the name slowly. “The name sounds familiar. Isn’t that the Illuminator who led the… thorough investigation at Bridgewater University?”

Windbert squirmed visibly. “Illuminator Eastwald is, um, known for his dedication to his duty. Yes, very thorough in his investigations. He has achieved remarkable success in the fight against corruption.” A pause. “But his methods are sometimes considered, um… exceptionally rigorous. Even within the Illumination, opinions differ. Some believe that he may take some things, um, too seriously.”

“But he has powerful supporters,” the Duchess added calmly. There was no question about it.

Windbert swallowed. “He has… yes, well Her M- um, yes. There are certain personalities at court who greatly appreciate his work.” He broke off, obviously alarmed at how much he had already said. “But that’s… forgive me, Your Grace, I’m talking too much. May I suggest we continue our tour?”

“Of course.”

As they walked on, the duchess gave Valentina a meaningful look.

“Certain personalities at court,” Vyxara repeated in Valentina’s head, her voice dripping with contempt. “The queen, most likely. That would explain how he got hold of her hair for those filthy games he played with you at Violet Delights. I wonder if she would still support him so eagerly if she knew about that?”

Valentina didn’t answer. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not looking back at the balcony, where she could still feel Eastwald’s gaze burning into her back.

The rest of the tour flew by. They saw the Emberwardens’ training grounds from a distance, took a regrettably brief look at the large library with its endless shelves full of folios, and visited a small hospital run by Kindles that treated the sick without Essence Weaving.

Illuminator Windbert returned to his warm, informative manner, clearly relieved to have left the unpleasant moment behind. He recounted historical anecdotes about former residents of the Hearth, explained the various medicinal plants in the hospital garden, and his genuine enthusiasm for everything was downright contagious.

When they finally arrived back at the main gate, he bowed deeply.

“It has been a great honor to guide you today, Your Grace. And your wonderful companions, of course.”

“We thank you for your time and your knowledge, Illuminator Windbert,” replied the duchess graciously. “It has been a most enlightening experience.”

Only when the carriage had rolled through the gate and the high walls of the Hearth of Sommerland had disappeared behind them did Valentina allow herself to breathe properly.

“That,” Vyxara remarked, and the demon’s presence felt warmer again, calmer, “was interesting. And I must admit, I’m glad we’re out again.”

“Me too,” Valentina thought back. “Me too.”