As the brown-haired knight watched, he noticed the little things again. The way Ava’s fingers lingered over the cheese. The way Grainne stamped her hooves when she grew impatient.

  They rode north of Acre through the coastal plains. Evergreen bushes brushed the path as birds flitted overhead. Hooves squelched against the damp earth, carrying them toward the Cathedral of Our Lady. Thomas’s eyes kept drifting back to her. The straight line of her back in the saddle. The calm authority in how she held the reins, even when Philip’s name slipped from her lips in the quiet.

  Grainne neighed softly. Ava reached for the cheese with practiced ease, her fingers brushing the rind. The rich, earthy smell filled the air. Thomas felt his pulse quicken at the small, private smile that crossed her face as she unwrapped it.

  Yet at night, her voice trembled, and her brief, private smile turned to a grimace of guilt.

  “No… please don’t take him. I’ll repent. I know I’m dirty.”

  Thomas tightened his grip on the reins. The woman who could cut down a man without hesitation begged for mercy during the night?

  The wind stirred her hair across her cheek. He found himself watching as it caught the light, noticing how even the smallest movement of hers felt deliberate and alive.

  “Thomas,” she called. “Daydreaming will not get us anywhere. We need to cover more ground before sunset.”

  He flushed and urged his horse forward, but his gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than it should have. A dull ache settled in his chest.

  His stomach twisted as an old memory surfaced. The time he had helped dress her wounds. The closeness. The shame, as if touching her skin had marked him with something he could never wash away.

  “Coming, Deputy!”

  …

  He had never seen that face on her before.

  Her lips trembled. Shoulders pulled tight. Tiny drops of moisture caught the firelight along her cheek. Grainne’s low, mournful neigh shivered through the night.

  The campfire crackled, throwing shadows over her bowed shoulders. Thomas could not look away. He could not meet her gaze. And yet he felt it all, the sorrow, the longing, the weight pressing down from years past.

  “Philip,” she whispered. Her voice caught. “He was… he was my…”

  She broke off and swallowed. Then, quietly:

  “Philip von Greifenau. He was my—”

  Her voice cut off, Thomas noticed it briefly, how her eyes trailed to her abdomen before she continued.

  "Back then, we trained to join the Order. We thought we were meant to fight for Christendom, to reclaim the Holy Land.”

  Thomas’s chest tightened. Smoke and heat pressed into his lungs. Grainne leaned in closer to Ava, nudging her side gently, as if to share her sadness.

  Ava’s eyes glistened. “We committed a grave sin. Every day, the sin weighs on me, and why it felt so… right.”

  Tears streaked down her cheeks. “When the Order found out about the sin we were committing, they punished us with their full might. They stormed our lodgings, and then…”

  Her hand sank into her face. Grainne pressed her muzzle against Ava’s shoulder, low whinnies trembling against the night.

  “They separated us. I never saw him in training again. Louis… he decided to take my punishment into his own hands, he began my private lessons…”

  Thomas’s stomach knotted. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he sat frozen, firelight flickering over her, the woman whose pain now felt unbearable to witness.

  And in that silence, he realized he had never felt more helpless.

  And yet more certain that he could not look away.

  …

  “Deputy, how long was I out?” Thomas asked, still patting down his unruly hair.

  Ava giggled hollowly.

  “About an hour. Nothing too long. It’s your turn on watch.”

  She lied without hesitation. A proper superior did not divide the burden with a recruit. If she were to inspire her knights, she would lead by example.

  Thomas rose with a yawn, stretching his arms. Rest, it seemed, only gave him time to invent new questions.

  “Deputy… you know the stories about how the Order was founded? We used to talk about them all the time in Bayeux. The squires loved it, especially after jousting lessons.”

  Ava twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her gaze distant. “The legend of Lady Seraphine and her brother, Lord Florian. Of course.”

  “What do you think really happened?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s been nearly a hundred years since the Silver Sword was founded, and no one seems to agree.”

  Ava walked over to Grainne and settled beside the fire, warming her hands. She drew her sword and ran a thumb carefully along the dulled edge.

  “Lady Seraphine has been immortalized,” she said at last.

  “They say she wielded Silveredge in the First Crusade. That she defeated four Seljuk champions alone. That after her brother’s betrayal, she bested him in a jousting duel.”

  She gave a faint smile.

  “The plains we train on are still called the Seraphinan Plains because of her.”

  Thomas nodded eagerly. He knew Scripture well enough, but the stories he truly loved were always about her.

  “And then she died,” Ava continued.

  “Some say natural causes. Others say Lord Florian had her poisoned after his exile and used her death to reclaim Silveredge.” She stared into the flames.

  “After Lord Godfrey’s death, the sword vanished. No one has seen it since.”

  Ava snuggled closer to Grainne, stealing her warmth.

  “I think Silveredge is a made-up weapon, if I must be honest.”

  Her head tilted skyward.

  “Why do you ask that now?”

  Thomas arranged his gear. Sword. Armor. Water. Medicine. Last came the crossbow he had taken from the quartermaster in Acre. He ran his fingers along the polished wood, over every groove and notch, letting the familiar weight settle into his hands. The cool metal of the trigger pressed into his palm.

  “I was just curious about the Order’s founding,” he said, keeping his tone even.

  “The stories are… impressive, especially Lady Seraphine.” He glanced briefly at Grainne, brushing a fleck of cheese from her mane.

  He paused, Thomas whispered the words out, lower than the roar of the humble fire.

  “She’s impressive, like you…”

  His comment seemed to float in the firelight. Ava did not respond, her eyes fixed on the low roar of the flames. Thomas shifted his weight, his hands brushing over the crossbow resting across his knees. He had not expected her reaction, or lack of it, and the moment stretched longer than he intended.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Deputy, my classmates, the new recruits, we all agree,” Thomas bolted upright.

  “You… we all admire the skill you showed at Fiana. Do you know what they call you?”

  Ava’s brow furrowed, fist clenched, teeth gritted.

  “What?”

  “They call you the Hero of Fiana.”

  Ava went still. Then she moved.

  She crossed the space between them in two steps, eyes wide, jaw tight.

  “Deputy, aren’t you meant to be resting—” Thomas began.

  Her fist struck his jaw with clean, practiced force.

  Thomas stumbled back, the world flashing white.

  “Never,” Ava said. “Never call what I did at Fiana heroic. Do you understand?”

  Blood ran from his nose as he struggled to steady himself.

  “I don’t… but…” he said, dazed. “You saved—”

  Ava turned away and wrapped herself in her blanket beside Grainne.

  She did not answer.

  …

  Thomas’s jaw would not stop aching.

  Rain fell in a steady curtain over the coastal plain, blurring the world into gray and shadow. It soaked through his cloak, cold seeping into his shoulders and down his spine, but he barely noticed. His eyes kept drifting ahead, to her.

  To Ava.

  Water ran in thin lines over her armor, darkening the blue of her cloak until it clung to her back. Grainne pushed through the mud without slowing, steady and stubborn, just like her rider. Thomas watched the way Ava sat in the saddle, rigid and upright, as if even the rain were something she refused to yield to.

  They did not speak.

  The silence felt worse than the cold. Thomas could still feel the sting in his jaw, could still hear the flat edge in her voice. What he had said, what she had done, hung between them like something broken that neither of them knew how to touch.

  “Deputy…” Thomas began, his head sinking.

  “I… about last night…”

  No response.

  Ahead, Iss began to emerge through the rain. Dark stone walls rose out of the mist, roofs clustered behind them, smoke curling faintly into the low sky. The town looked small and tired beneath the clouds, as though it had been waiting a long time for something to arrive.

  Ava urged Grainne forward. The mare spared Thomas a brief glance, and for a moment, he almost thought she felt sorry for him.

  When they reached Iss, the town’s simple, weathered stone struck him at once. Cracked cobblestones spiraled through narrow streets, slick with rain, reflecting the same dull gray as the sky above.

  The houses of Iss were humble, wooden in nature with stone bases, narrow stone houses pressed close along the street, their pale walls darkened by rain. Low wooden doors sat behind raised thresholds, keeping the filth and water out, while tiny shuttered windows leaked only thin lines of lamplight. Flat roofs spilled runoff into the crooked lanes, and everything smelled of wet dust, smoke, and old stone as Thomas and Ava parked their steeds in the closest local pen.

  They pressed on through the narrow street, boots slipping on wet stone. Near a crumbling wall, Thomas noticed a small patch of flowers. Or what had once been flowers. Browned petals clung to broken stems, sagging under the rain.

  Before Ava could say anything, he knelt and touched them, fingers brushing the damp, rotting leaves.

  “Deputy… are these…” He hesitated, then swallowed.

  “Could these be for Godfrey the Brave? The First Company’s former captain. He… he died in this town, didn’t he?”

  Ava stopped. For a moment, she did not even turn around. Rain ticked against stone, against armor, against the empty space between them.

  “Allegedly,” she said at last. “That was nearly nine years ago.”

  Her voice was flat, but something in it was closed tight.

  “Reynard mentioned him once. His old captain.”

  Thomas let the flowers fall back into place.

  “Did he say how he died?”

  Ava shrugged.

  …

  Ava pressed forward through the narrow streets of Iss, Thomas trudging behind her, his jaw still swollen, his boots sinking into wet stone and mud. She stole quick glances back, taking in his slow, awkward pace. She had struck him hard, and yet she was not even sure why. She only knew what he had said was wrong.

  The Hero of Fiana.

  How could they call her that? How could those idealistic recruits see a butcher, someone who had killed without hesitation, even in the house of the Lord, as a hero? Fiana had been an atrocity, and they celebrated it.

  She carried so much still. Fiana. Ayyadieh. Philip. Every sin, every death, every failure pressed down on her. That was why she had to reach the Cathedral. There she could seek absolution. Or, if none came, face what awaited her.

  As the pair approached the shore, Ava thought her eyes deceived her.

  Rows of wooden cages stretched along the shoreline, packed so tightly together they looked less like cells and more like stalls for animals. Thick iron bars ran across their fronts, bolted into crude frames warped by salt and age. Rust bloomed where the metal met the damp sea air, streaking down like dried blood.

  Inside, shapes shifted. Men and women huddled in the shadows, some sitting, some gripping the bars with pale, swollen hands. The smell reached Ava before the faces did. Sweat. Rot. Fear. The brine of the nearby sea. It was the stench of people kept too long in places never meant for living.

  Light shone on the pens, yet they seemed to remain in darkness. They were loosely guarded by merchants with whips and Crusaders with longswords. The Muslims inside shuddered as their overseers barked orders and lashed out, the crack of leather cutting through the air.

  She was stunned. Thomas was the first to speak.

  “Deputy…” he said, covering his mouth. “This is… these are…”

  Without hesitation, she stormed forward to inspect the situation further.

  …

  They moaned in agony. Their pleas were far too familiar to her.

  The pair now stood directly in front of the pens, so close they could make out the slaves’ faces. Young and old. Male and female. All crammed into cages not even fit for farm animals. Their cries for salvation hammered at Ava’s skull like a migraine. Thomas took several steps back, careful not to add to the foul, lingering stench.

  Tentatively, Ava reached toward one of them. He was small and painfully thin, no more than his thirteenth summer. Yet his eyes, dark and brooding, locked onto hers. His hair hung in limp, filthy strands, caked with blood and dirt, lash wounds still bleeding across his skin.

  A sudden crack split the air.

  Pain tore through her left hand as Ava collapsed to the ground, her gauntlet ringing from the blow. It had offered little protection.

  “Dame knight! What do you think you’re doing?” one of the merchants snapped, the whip still in his grip.

  He strode toward them, but Thomas stepped in front of him before he could reach Ava.

  Still staring in horror at the pens, Thomas spoke.

  “Are these… slaves?”

  The merchant, his dark beard braided with lighter strands, sneered.

  “Yes, boy, they are. Iss has been a commercial hub for slave trades for years now. What’s it to you? They’re Saracens.”

  Ava, still shaking with pain, forced herself upright, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

  “I… they are Muslims…” she said.

  The merchant’s eyes raised for a brief second at the word Muslim.

  “But these conditions…” Ava continued. “Are you sure the Lord would approve of this? Even if they partake in blasphemy, in Galatians 3:28, it says that we are all one in Christ—”

  The merchant scoffed and cut her off.

  “I couldn’t care less. They don’t follow the Lord, so what’s it to me? I get to punish Saracens.”

  He jingled a pouch of dinars in front of them.

  “Whilst making a fortune. What happens to devils is no concern of mine. I suggest you follow suit.”

  With that, he turned and walked away.

  …

  Nightfall was closing in.

  The pair had found lodgings on the far side of town, away from the wailing of the Muslim slaves and their oppressors.

  Deputy Ava was even quieter than she had been that morning. Whether it was because of what he had called her—the Hero of Fiana—or the atrocity she had been forced to witness, Thomas could not tell.

  The young knight sighed as he leaned back on his bed. He wanted to console her, to be there when she needed someone to lean on. But lately, all he seemed to do was drag her down and anger her, even when he tried his best.

  The lodgings they had acquired were humble, offering only the bare minimum. Rough wooden beds creaked beneath thin, threadbare blankets that smelled faintly of old sweat and sea salt. A single oil lamp cast weak, wavering light across cracked plaster walls, providing little more than shelter from the night. Even so, Ava had insisted on this place, as it had a stable close by, perfect for Grainne and Thomas’s steed.

  He had thought about naming his horse, but the idea quickly withered. Considering the short lives of warhorses, it felt pointless. Yet Ava had managed to keep Grainne alive since Fiana, at least.

  His Silver Sword Bible lay beneath the thin lamplight, its cover glinting faintly, almost calling to him. It was time. Since the start of their troubles, Ava had encouraged Thomas to read more from it. But the phrasing was difficult, especially since he was barely literate to begin with. Words like Deuteronomy never stayed in his head.

  After a slow sigh and a gentle rub of his jaw, he picked up the Bible, blew out the lamp, and left his room. He walked down the hallway nervously, half expecting Ava to send him away. But he had a chapter in mind, one he believed could help her, help them, after what they had seen that day.

  Anxiously, he knocked. The wait felt like an eternity. He heard nothing behind the door. Just as he was about to leave, the wooden door opened with a creak, revealing the Deputy in her orange tunic, eyes glued to the floor.

  “Thomas… I… I’m sorry I hit you… how can I make it up to you…” Her eyes still gazed longingly, as if she barely registered his presence, yet he noticed her left hand still shaking from her lash earlier.

  Thomas blushed and stroked his jaw. He hadn’t expected her to apologize—if anything, he thought he’d have to grovel at her feet—but he would take the opportunity nonetheless.

  “Deputy, about our Bible studies… I picked one. One I think you’ll be interested in talking about.”

  Her eyes perked up ever so slightly. “Ah, which one was it…”

  “Proverbs,” Thomas replied immediately. “Proverbs 3:5.”

  …

  “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The pair said in unison.

  Her room was already cluttered with supplies. Weapons and armor lay neatly arranged, polished, and ready. She must have visited the armory while he was gone.

  They took turns reading from the Book of Proverbs, trading lines back and forth until they reached the verse.

  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart,” Thomas began, running his finger slowly across the words, “And… do not lean on your own understanding.”

  Ava continued, “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight all your paths.”

  Thomas sensed a brief hesitation in her voice. He lifted his eyes from the page.

  “Deputy, what do you think this means?”

  She paused.

  “My spiritual teacher… Lady Grainne, she also loved this verse…”

  Her gaze dropped to her clasped hands.

  “I do not believe this verse is telling us to just believe in the Lord and not worry…”

  She brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “I think it’s telling us to accept that our worldly perspective is not enough, and to place faith in our savior to see the full picture for us…”

  Thomas stared at her, caught off guard.

  “You think that we should just abandon those slaves?”

  Ava froze.

  Thomas’s voice rose as his fists clenched.

  “Answer me!”

  She turned to her bedside, where her sword rested. The blade caught the lamplight as she lifted it, the edge newly honed.

  “No,” Ava said, extending her hand to him. He grasped it, rising from his knees. “For once, Thomas, I don’t think scripture alone can solve this. We are going to save them. All of them, for we are all one in Christ.”

  Her face remained still, unreadable, as she approached her armor and equipment.

  “Thomas, prepare the horses. We ride out tonight.”