The Vampire & Her Witch

Chapter 1549: Cleaving the Sun (Part One)

Jocelynn felt the heat first.

It pressed against her skin like the blaze of a furnace door thrown open in her face, and the instinct to flee and put as much distance as possible between herself and the descending inferno was so powerful that her legs nearly buckled beneath her.

"Ollie, keep her safe," Ashlynn said. She took half a step back from her sister, gently supporting her even as she turned to face the ball of flame. But, even though she helped Jocelynn to remain standing, the instant Ashlynn pulled back, Jocelynn felt like she’d stepped out from under the shade of a tree into the blistering summer sun.

Then Ollie’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close against his blood-stained gambeson, and his other hand dropped to the pale hilt of the knife at his hip.

For a moment, Jocelynn flinched, shrinking back from the strange knight’s touch, but his grip on her yielded just enough to let her know that she could escape if she wanted to while still keeping her close to him.

"Stay with me," Ollie said softly. "I won’t hurt you, I promise. Lady Ashlynn only gave me one order tonight," he said as he looked away from the growing ball of holy flame to meet her seafoam gaze with gentle, pale eyes that she never expected to find on a man with such tremendous potential for violence.

"Ashlynn told me to keep you safe, no matter what," Ollie said. "Even if I have to abandon her to do it. So stay with me, and nothing will hurt you," he promised.

Jocelynn didn’t understand what happened next. One moment, the air around her was so blisteringly hot that it hurt to breathe. The moment next, the air was cool and clean, carrying a faint scent of damp earth and green, growing things that had no business existing inside the great hall of Lothian Manor in the dead of winter.

Ollie’s arm around her felt like it carried a shield she couldn’t see, one that would ward off the flames of the Inquisition and shelter her from any other danger she could imagine. Two dozen men of the Inquisition had combined their power to burn Ashlynn, Jocelynn, and everyone around them to ash, and the man who held her wasn’t just completely unafraid... He left her feeling safe as well.

"Nothing will harm you," Ollie said quietly. He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it regardless of what descended from the ceiling above them. "Your sister is right here, and I won’t leave your side."

Jocelynn believed him. She didn’t understand why, but when he spoke, she believed him. He’d already stood up to Owain, placing himself as a wall between her and the greatest swordsman of the current era, and he refused to let the Lothian Lord come anywhere near her while she selfishly stole a few moments of comfort from the sister she thought she’d lost.

Now, he was doing the same thing, standing guard over her against the flames of the Inquisition. For any other knight, it would have been an impossible boast to say that they could protect her from the Church. And yet, from this man, this ’Sir Ollie’... she believed that he could.

So, rather than turning away, she chose to put her faith in the man her sister entrusted to, stepping in close enough to bury her face in his shoulder as she closed her eyes against the growing brightness of the Inquisition’s miracle.

Just a few paces away, Ashlynn stood her ground.

She hadn’t moved since Owain called for the Inquisition to burn her. She’d positioned Jocelynn safely behind Ollie’s protection, and now she stood alone in the aisle, the cavalier hat casting a shadow across her features as the descending sphere of Holy Fire bathed the great hall in golden light.

The heat was extraordinary. Even for a witch whose body had been strengthened by months of training and the bond she shared with one of the most powerful vampires in the world, the concentrated faith of two dozen men of the Inquisition burned against her skin in a way that ordinary fire never could. This wasn’t simply heat. It was conviction, weaponized belief, the collective certainty of men who had dedicated their lives to the destruction of everything Ashlynn was.

But Ashlynn didn’t flinch, and she didn’t retreat, because she didn’t need to.

"Ignatious," she said, without turning her head.

The former High Inquisitor stepped forward.

In the antiquated crimson and gold robes that predated every living member of the Church, Ignatious moved with the unhurried grace of a man walking to the altar for morning prayers. His dark eyes reflected the golden light of the descending sphere, but there was no fear in them, only a deep, quiet sadness and a resolve that had been forged in the darkness of the Tangled Tower under the cruel hand of High Lord Hamdi.

Underneath the fire and fury of the blazing ball of flame, he found the same hollow faith that had once been allowed to fill his own heart. A faith built around fear. Whether it was fear of witches, fear of the Eldritch, or just fear of things that he hadn’t understood, fear had been the foundation of his faith for too many years, and he knew it well.

Now, listening to the prayers of the Inquisition, he heard the same fear in them, masked by hatred and fury and a willingness to destroy whatever needed to be destroyed so they could feel safe. It was a tragic sort of faith... and it was also a very fragile one.

He drew the Holy Flame Blade from its gilded sheath.

The sword had been silent since they entered the great hall, resting in its scabbard like a sleeping thing, but when Ignatious’s hand closed around the hilt with its braided gold wire and ruby settings, the blade woke with a sound like the roar of a forge when the smith pumped at the bellows.

The golden pommel, shaped like a radiant sun, caught the light of the descending sphere and threw it back as if answering it.

Golden flames erupted along the length of the blade, racing across the steel where the engraved path of the high summer sun served as a channel for the fire, and the light they cast was nothing like the angry, weaponized fire of the Inquisition’s sphere. It was something older and purer, a light that was warm without burning and bright without blinding, the way early spring sunlight felt on your face after a long winter spent indoors.

At the base of the dais, High Priest Aubin’s ceremonial staff slipped in his hands, nearly falling to the floor before his trembling fingers caught it.

"Ignatious..."