Page 13 of The Thornwyck Rose

Lord Henry raised his goblet. “Let Lady de Thornwyck do her duty.”

All eyes were on her and the girl.

Seren kneeled in front of the child. Her palms were shaking, but she steeled her face and lowered her voice into the rhythm of a prayer. Her long linen veil gave her and the girl privacy. She slid her thumb to the hidden chamber—one drop for a child.

The girl’s eyes were locked with Seren’s.

She slid the lid, dabbed the drop on the pad of her finger with such practiced ease and silence that the girl overlooked the swift action and said nothing.

“Lord and Father above, be near this child in her suffering; take her from this life in peace. If it is your will, let her suffering be only what is required for her sin.”

One drop. Was it murder? Or was it mercy? She could do nothing to save the girl from death, but she could save her from pain.

“Forgive the hunger that led her to steal,” Seren continued. “Forgive the pain she inflicted on the owners of what she stole.”

Her finger brushed the girl’s lips as if blessing her with oil.

“Cleanse her, Lord, and allow her to enter Heaven’s Gate.”

Seren leaned back. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Her hands dropped to her sides as the crowd said in unison, “Amen.”

The girl blinked too fast. Seren stood as the guards dragged the accused up.

Seren patted her head and gave a short nod. “Be strong, child. The Lord be with you,” she said.

The girl’s head lolled, and as they walked her from the great hall, she sagged. Her limbs slackened, and she dropped to the floor before they crossed the hall’s threshold.

Gasps rippled among the nobles. Some turned to look at Seren, their expressions ranging from curious to scandalized. The guard bent down and checked her breath. He stepped back in fear as he locked eyes with Lord Henry.

“She . . . she’s gone,” he stammered.

A deep, uncertain silence took root in the hall as all eyes turned to Seren, including Father Osbert’s.

She straightened her back and scanned the room, acting as surprised as everyone else. “The Lord . . . The Lord must have seen fit to take her,” she said, keeping her voice meek. “Make her suffer in accordance with her sin—that is what I prayed.”

She looked straight at Henry with large, innocent eyes.

“Is it not?”

The longer Henry studied her, the corners of Henry’s mouth rose as slowly as grass growing. His lips remained pinched. She’d stumped him, but had given him an excuse—it was the Lord. And who was to argue with the Lord God?

But no kindness lived in his expression.

“It is what you prayed, milady.” Henry addressed the crowd. “I am lucky to have such a wife that even the Lord listens to her prayers and responds with such urgency.”

Seren bowed her head.

“I am but a servant wife, my lord,” she said quietly, hands folded over her stomach. “If Heaven heard me, it is onlybecause I serve a husband who rules with justice and commands with righteousness.”

Her voice barely rose above the hush. “All I have belongs to my lord husband—my prayers included.”

Henry chuckled, “Of course, Lady Seren.” He shifted his weight. He sipped his wine and cleared his throat.

“Return the girl’s body to her village,” he said. “Let it be known Lady de Thornwyck delivers her justice . . . on her knees.”

Laughter followed his chuckle as he raised his cup again.