Behind Aubin, the two women had gone very still. The broader one clasped her hands in front of her, her plain face arranged into an expression of careful warmth that was clearly genuine but equally aware that the wrong word at the wrong moment could undo everything sheâd come here to do.
The leaner woman with fading auburn hair stood with her arms at her sides, her jaw tight with the kind of controlled energy that suggested she was resisting the urge to step forward and explain things herself before High Priest Aubin could speak on her behalf.
Jocelynn stopped a few paces inside the door and let her eyes adjust to the candlelit interior. The chapel felt different with people in it, warmer and smaller than sheâd imagined when sheâd pictured this morning in her mind. Sheâd envisioned an empty room, quiet and still, just herself and the altar and the growing light of dawn through the colored glass. A place where she could be alone with her grief and say the things she needed to say to Ashlynn without anyone listening.
"Your Worship," she said, keeping her voice steady even as her grip tightened on the chest. "I thought we agreed that this morning would be private."
"We did, my Lady," Aubin said, bowing his head as he spoke. There was genuine apology in his voice and a twinge of discomfort as well. He stopped before her and placed one weathered hand gently on her arm, the way heâd done on the night of Eleanorâs funeral when sheâd been too exhausted to stand without swaying.
"Iâve honored that agreement as best I could," he said somewhat helplessly. "I turned away three baronesses earlier this morning who came to offer their condolences, and I would have turned these ladies away as well if I didnât think their request deserved your consideration."
"The decision is yours, my child," he added, pausing with a slight huff that ruffled his long white mustache. "It has always been yours. If you wish for them to leave, they will leave, and Iâll see to it myself."
"Who are they?" Jocelynn asked, glancing past him at the two women. "I, I still havenât met everyone yet," she admitted softly. If she were her usual self, she would have asked for sketches of important people before they arrived, or looked to see if they had portraits in any of the Lothian galleries... But thereâd been no time to prepare the way she should, and even if there had been time, she couldnât say that she would have given the ladies of the Lothian Court the attention they deserved.
"Lady Ragna Fayle," Aubin said, inclining his head toward the lean woman with the auburn hair and the carefully mended clothes. "And Baroness Sorcha Iriso," he added, gesturing toward the broader woman with the practical braid.
"Theyâve proposed a small gathering of noblewomen to join you after the memorial," Aubin continued. "Wine, bread, and stories shared in your sisterâs memory. They were worried you wouldnât be able to honor your sister the way youâd want to since there arenât any other noblewomen from Blackwell for you to share a drink with," he explained before dropping his voice to a quieter tone that only Jocelynn could hear.
"I know they never knew your sister," Aubin said. "And they donât know you at all either. But even if theyâre being a bit... forceful this morning," he said, politely refraining from calling the women stubborn. "Where others were content to make an appearance and put on a show, they genuinely want to support you right now. Theyâve promised to keep the gathering small, just large enough for you to send your sister off the way a Blackwell should."
The way a Blackwell should. Jocelynn felt something shift in her chest at the words, an ache that was half longing and half resentment. Back home, when someone died, the family gathered with those who knew the departed and drank together until the grief was lighter or the wine ran out, whichever came first.
Jocelynnâs first taste of strong wine had come at the family gathering after her grandmother passed. Her mother hadnât been happy about it, but her father countered by claiming that his mother used to say that tears were like salt water: they needed to flow, and they flowed easier among friends with a little bit of wine to loosen them up.
But these women werenât her friends. They were strangers, or near enough to it, and Jocelynn hadnât planned to be among strangers this morning. Sheâd planned for solitude, for the quiet of an empty chapel and the words she needed to say to Ashlynn before she could face the days ahead.
Sheâd only planned to share this moment with people from home... People who could understand, at least a little, but who couldnât draw too close to her because of the differences in their station.
She was forming the shape of a polite refusal when movement outside the chapel doors caught her eye.
Through the doorway, standing in the grey dawn on the frost-covered flagstones, Charlotte Otker was waiting with her hands folded in front of her. She wore a subdued gown of dark olive green that lacked her usual bright colors and cheerful patterns, and her light brown curls were pinned simply beneath a modest wool hood. When she caught Jocelynnâs eye, she offered a small, uncertain smile that carried no expectation and no demand, just the quiet hope of being welcome.
Beside Charlotte stood Lady Adala Leufroy, shorter and sharper by half a head, her dark brown hair woven into elaborate braids threaded with silver chains that caught the faint light of the templeâs watchfires. Her dress was somber but impeccably made, dark grey brocade with restrained embroidery at the collar and cuffs.
The expression on her face was carefully pleasant, and a touch awkward, as though she wasnât quite certain whether she should step forward to enter the chapel or not.
When it came to Baroness Sorcha and Lady Ragna, it was easier to refuse. After all, she didnât know them at all. But Charlotte and Adala were people that sheâd spent some time with in the past month. They werenât strangers, even if they werenât truly friends either.
And of the two, one of them had a real reason to be here. After all, she and Ashlynn had a chance to become acquainted during Ashlynnâs previous visits to Lothian March.