“Because, like you, I wanted something better for myself. I wasn’t going to find it as a mercenary. I took up goldsmithing; the case I made for Wyrmblight was the first thing I made.” Braddoc held up his braids and smiled ruefully. “I stripped the gems from my hair clasps—not to mention my goblets, my daggers, rings, and everything else I could find—to ornament that case.”
“The case is lovely, especially now that we know what you sacrificed to make it. What made you become a goldsmith?” Jo asked politely.
Braddoc shrugged. “You might say I wanted to return to my dwarven heritage.” He turned his good eye toward Flinn. “You haven’t said whether you’d like my company.”
Flinn held out his hand. “I would be grateful, friend, if you’d join me.”
The dwarf extended his hand, too, and the two men clasped wrists. Braddoc nodded and said, “It’ll be good to be on the trail again with you, Fain Flinn.” He stood and looked down at the sleeping Dayin. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, the boy’s got a good idea. I’m off to bed. Good night.” Braddoc picked up Dayin and carried him from the room. Just before entering the kitchen, Braddoc flashed Flinn a thoughtful look. The warrior looked away.
Jo quietly looked at the fire for a few moments, then turned to Flinn. “I had best be going to bed, too.” She made as if to stand, but Flinn caught her arm. She settled back in her seat.
Flinn looked at Jo, taking in the curve of her neatly braided hair and her high, intelligent brow beneath. He noted her firm chin, sensitive lips, and compassionate eyes. He touched her hand.
“Stay and talk awhile?” he asked quietly. He’d never actually asked her to converse with him before, and for a moment he wondered if she would misinterpret his desire.
“Certainly,” Jo said with alacrity. “What would you like to talk about?” Her eyes watched him intently.
“Tell me what you think will happen when we reach the castle,” he suggested.
Jo smiled. “That’s easy. I know what will happen. You will present your case, exposing the lies of your accusers, and not one person there will vote against you. Everyone will know that you were unjustly accused and that you deserve to become a knight again. Your knighthood will be reinstated.”
Flinn looked at her, baffled at how she could have so much faith. “You can’t really believe that, can you? There are people who don’t think of me as you do, you know,” he added with asperity.
“Yes, I know,” Jo said, then smiled solemnly. “Your petition isn’t likely to go that smoothly. But I do know you will regain your knighthood. Have no fear.”
Flinn looked at her questioningly. “Do you have any fears, Johauna?”
She looked away for a moment, then turned back to him. Her eyes were clear and steady. “I fear that perhaps you may find it difficult adjusting to a life with people again. You’ve lived outside society for the last seven years, and been a recluse for the last three.”
“What makes you think I’ll have trouble getting used to people again?”
She shrugged. “Only that I had trouble adjusting to a life without people. You might have the same problem, but in reverse.”
“Do you miss Specularum?” Flinn asked suddenly. It had never occurred to him that Jo might be homesick.
“I did, but not anymore.”
“And you don’t think I’ll adjust as easily as you did?” Flinn asked laughingly.
“I didn’t say that,” she responded. “I only wanted you to be aware of my thoughts. My only fear is that you will think things would be the way they used to be, and then discover that they’re not. You’ll need to readjust, that’s all.”
“And is that really your only fear?” Flinn asked slowly. He leaned near her. He wanted to make sure Jo harbored no lingering doubts about becoming his squire.
The girl looked at him sharply. Her hands were tightly clasped again. “No … there is one other fear I have.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Flinn’s peered into her eyes. “And what is that?” He lowered his voice, too, though he didn’t know why.
Jo didn’t look away. “My last fear is that Yvaughan will plead for your forgiveness.”
Flinn’s eyebrows knit. “Why should you fear that?”
“Because I’m afraid you will forgive her, and that she will once again mean to you what she used to,” Jo said in a small, tight voice. “Because, if that happens, you won’t need me to—to love you.” The last words were spoken in a broken whisper.
Flinn reached out and took both her hands in his. He gripped them hard. “Jo, Jo,” he murmured. “My feelings for… Yvaughan died a long time ago. My forgiving her—if indeed I do forgive her—won’t change how I feel about her now.”
Jo hung her head. “I think it might.”
Flinn touched her chin and tilted her face upward, but her eyes remained averted. Flinn waited. Finally she looked back at him. Her eyes were clouded, and he couldn’t discern her emotions. He moved as if to hold her, but something held him back. “Jo, dear,” he said, unaware that the endearment slipped out, “you are right. My feelings for Yvaughan might change, but too much time and pain have passed. I will never love her again.”
Jo bit her bottom lip. Flinn felt her hands tremble within his. He could only imagine what it cost her to say her next words. “Do you… do you think you could… love me—someday?” Her voice cracked.
Flinn tightened his grip even more and smiled wistfully. “Jo, my… my feelings for you are too new for me to understand just yet. I must regain my life—my soul—before I can have anything to offer you, or anyone else.” He released one hand and permitted himself to touch her cheek. “It’s not that I’m not tempted….” He shook his head. “It’s that I’m not sure I should.”
Jo took the hand touching her cheek and turned her head so that her lips rested against his palm. She kissed the inside of his hand, and he felt her tremble. She released his hand and nearly ran across the floor to the bedroom door. “Good night, Flinn,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.
Flinn stared at the dying fire. The girl worshiped him. She had from the very beginning, that much Flinn had known. But her feelings had escalated into something much deeper, and he wondered why he hadn’t stopped it. He should never have allowed that. A glowing log shifted position in the hearth, and Flinn used the poker to push it back in place. The fire snapped and hissed in return. “Would I have quelled Jo’s feelings if I had known?” he asked himself. His gaze darkened.
Johauna Menhir had turned his life completely around. She had believed in him wholeheartedly, despite his fall from grace as a knight. She had believed him a man worthy of knighthood; she had believed him honorable and courageous and good. He smiled grimly, shaking his head. Her faith was so groundless, and yet it was her faith alone that nourished his soul.
As the midnight hours slipped slowly by and the fire died completely, Flinn realized that he couldn’t have faced his past disgrace were it not for Jo. She had inspired him to look beyond his misery and petty spite to see that he was still, at heart, a good and honorable man.
Flinn sighed, scanning the elaborate runes that chased the flat of Wyrmblight. He had regained his honor and his courage, and he touched those two shining runes of the Quadrivial. His fingers slipped slowly past to the points of faith and glory. Jo had faith in him. Jo had complete and absolute faith in him. But he needed more than that. He needed to find his own faith in himself, and he needed the faith of the people, too. Confronting those who had wronged him seven years ago and righting that wrong would restore that faith, he was sure.
He picked up Wyrmblight and pointed the tip of it toward the ceiling. He stared down at the last stained sigil and said aloud, “Slaying Verdilith will bring me the fourth point of the Quadriviaclass="underline" glory.”
The warrior returned the sword to his side and looked about the room, his eyes filled with a restless hunger. “And on that day, I shall once again be a true knight.”