“No,” Ember said. “But it’s beautiful.”
“An exceptional tree with an exceptional purpose,” Father Michael told her. “That tree was carried by Templars from the Holy Land and planted here over one hundred years ago. It is a cedar of Lebanon. Each year we renew our fealty to serving the earth and seeking knowledge of its mysteries and sharing that knowledge with our brothers and sisters of Conatus near and far. The tree is the symbol of that commitment.”
Ember spoke carefully. “The pope knows of this?” She couldn’t believe the Church would condone friendship with enemies of their faith. Too many wars had been fought to separate Christendom from nonbelievers.
“Whom of the three popes do you mean?” His blunt question made Ember gasp. He smiled wryly before continuing. “While in name we serve the Church, our work is not like that of any other order.”
Father Michael’s gaze shifted away. “There are some elements of Conatus that remain hidden, even from its mightiest benefactors. Particularly when the Church is at war with itself.”
Ember went very still.
“I am a man of the cloth, Lady Morrow,” he said. “I can only offer you my assurance that my role here is to ensure that our order serves the greater work of God. Even if we may not be able to reveal the extent of that work to my superiors.”
“Are you not afraid such secrets will be discovered?” she asked.
He nodded. “It’s a constant danger. No matter how necessary our work, if the Church believes its authority here to be questioned or waning, our fate would be the same as that of the Templars. That is the reason we seclude ourselves in the wilds of Scotland, why we rarely engage in the affairs of kingdoms or of men in general. Our lives are apart. And we take the orders of holy men and women, forsaking the comforts of flesh and family in our service. By freely placing such restrictions on our actions and our lives, the Church is reassured that our strength is tempered, our pride kept in check. We must demonstrate submissiveness and humility so that our purpose may be fulfilled.”
“I understand,” Ember said softly. What she understood even more was that the dangers of serving Conatus ranged far beyond the existence of monsters and the expectation that she would fight them. This place housed secrets and encouraged practices that could easily be deemed heretical.
Father Michael watched emotions play across her face. “The risks are many.”
Ember couldn’t pretend she wasn’t afraid. To flee would mean a safe and comfortable marriage that would please her father. She would provide grandchildren that would delight her mother. She would never fear death at the hands of a monster or the fires reserved for traitors of the faith.
But something within Ember stirred, restless and yearning toward the unknown. She’d gone into the cellar armed with a dagger, not the sword familiar to her. She’d faced a creature beyond her imagining. And she had survived.
To stay meant she would continue to battle with nightmares, but she would also be granted the ability and knowledge to defeat them. The secrets of Conatus would be her own. It was power she had never dreamed of, and its allure was intoxicating.
Father Michael asked, “What say you, child?”
“I have been called,” she said, if a bit unsteadily. She cleared her throat before she finished. “And I will serve.”
“And so you shall.” He took her hands in his, helping her rise. “Come with me, Lady Morrow.”
He led her from his simple quarters back into the chapel. Ember followed the priest dumbly, caught in a daze by her own words. She’d committed herself to Conatus, to the Guard, and some small part of her mind was screaming at her stupidity. How would she survive here? But another, deeper voice—one that she believed was her spirit—whispered that her choice was the right choice, the only choice. To know of the existence of evil, true evil that corrupted the world, had forever altered her heart and mind. If she had chosen a different path, she wouldn’t have slept another night. Her head would have been restless as she thought only of the horrors that might be creeping outside her door, waiting to rend her flesh. She would not live a life as the hunted; she would be the hunter.
Father Michael took her through a rear exit in the chapel and across the courtyard to the barracks. The structure resembled the manor but on a smaller scale.
“This is your home now, Lady Morrow,” the priest told her. “Your new companions will be waiting for you in the hall.”
Ember left Father Michael at the barracks’ entrance. As he’d told her, the Guard who had been lining the corridor that led to her trial were assembled, waiting for her.
“Novice!” A booming voice demanded attention. Ember’s gaze fell on the speaker. He was an impossibly tall man, nearly seven feet in height, his hair and eyes dark as freshly turned earth. Though it was the first time she’d seen him, Ember had no doubt as to the man’s identity: Lukasz, commander of the Guard. Alistair spoke of him with near reverence. The knight’s sharp features, hooked nose, and bright eyes made it clear why Alistair called him “the Falcon.” He was distinct from the warriors in appearance and demeanor. Unlike most of those residing in the keep, Lukasz hailed from kingdoms in the eastern reaches of Christendom, bearing with him an air of experience and worldliness that both intimidated and fascinated Ember. Power rolled off his shoulders as he moved through the room, his piercing gaze at last falling on her.
She shivered when he said, “Step forward.”
Ember had never felt more alone as she stood, a solitary figure, while the twenty-some number that made up the full Guard formed a ring around her.
Lukasz drew a claymore from its sheath, which was strapped across his back. The sword was taller than Ember, and she knew one sweep of the knight’s thick-muscled arm would easily cleave her in two, as it had undoubtedly already done to many of Lukasz’s foes.
He pointed the blade at her. Ember clenched her fists, forcing her shrieking muscles to remain still. Every inch of her being was screaming to jump back from the sword, even to flee from the room.
“Who has claimed this girl and will bear the burden of guiding her steps?” Lukasz asked.
His words didn’t come as a surprise. Alistair had explained that Ember would have a mentor, a seasoned warrior to train her as she rose from novice to a full member of the Guard. Of course, that had all been speculation. Now that she stood with the knights of Conatus and had chosen to become one of them, the haze of astonishment that had surrounded her bled away. She wouldn’t be going back to her father’s manor. She would not marry Lord Mackenzie’s son.