Chapitre Trente-Sept

Foi et Fault

Jehan

The carriage must have been drawing close to the Armand estate by now.

If Jehan had his way Mallory would have waited for him before heading home. Jehan Armand hated the idea of his dear wife traveling by herself. Any number of terrible things could happen on the road.

But she'd left just after their "conversation" about Demitri, taken a carriage back home.

Stubborn woman.

She always knew exactly how to drive him mad. In his youth, he thought that to be such a wonderful thing: a woman who would constantly push him to be better. He saw her as the kind of headstrong wife who encourages a man to be adamant about his will. Someone to make him strong

The years had shown it to be more of a nuisance than anything else.

Why can't she just be obedient?

The carriage came to a stop and Jehan stepped out onto the stone pathway leading to his front door. There stood his house, the battlefield where he fought against his own wife to maintain control over his estate.

A lesser man would have struck her by now.

Overlooking the double doors was a balcony, and hanging from that balcony was the Armand banner: a silver dagger on a field of blue.

Towers rose like great spikes on either side of the main doors, and ivy grew along the walls. The dampness of the vines eked into his nostrils.

As Jehan drew close, the door opened and out stepped one of the household servants, Maryvonne.

"Your Grace!" she said with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. It was not the warm welcome he expected to receive. Usually, the servants at least pretended to be happy to see him. "It's the Duchess..."

For a moment, Jehan felt a twinge of pity for this poor girl. Undoubtedly, Mallory had gone and insulted every member of the household staff by now. One of her foul moods, exacerbated by her pregnancy.

"What has she done now?" Jehan asked, rolling his eyes.

"She... she's gone into labor, your grace!"

"What?" Jehan pushed the servant aside and hurried inside the house. The baby's not due for another three months! "Where is she?" he demanded.

Maryvonne pointed. "Upstairs. The physician is seeing to her."

For the past few years Jehan had always struggled with those stairs, the pain in his knees and hip making it difficult for him to ascend. Often one of his servants would have to help him up when it was time for bed.

But at that moment he flew up those steps, one hand on the railing pulling him along. Another servant was unfortunate enough to get in his way, and he shoved that one aside, nearly knocking him down the stairs. Only Lyr himself would have been able to keep Jehan from his wife.

At the top of the stairs he could hear her screaming, and he rushed over to the bedroom door and flung it open.

Mallory lay on the bed, her brow glistening with sweat and her legs covered in blood. The physician and a midwife stood at her feet, watching for the baby's arrival.

Blood? Why is there so much blood? Oh, Lyr, don't do this to me!

"My lord," said the physician, "Please wait outside."

"I will not!" said Jehan, pushing his way into the room and rushing to Mallory's side. He reached for her hand, but she wrenched away and gripped the sheets tightly as she screamed again.

The midwife pushed Jehan's shoulder, inching him back towards the door. "With all due respect, your grace... get out!"

Jehan shoved the midwife out of his way and rushed back to Mallory's side. "Listen to her! I can't leave her at a time like this!"

"And I can't work with you watching me!" yelled the physician over another of Mallory's screams. "If you want her to live, get out!"

Jehan opened his mouth to argue, then glanced back and forth between his anguished wife and the furious physician. Without another word he left the room and closed the door behind him.

As Mallory continued to scream inside, Jehan slumped down on the floor with his back against the door, holding his head in his hands.

Please, Lyr! Please don't do this! Oh, God! Don't do this to me!

Jehan cursed himself for his anger. Had he not heard again and again that being angry and wishing ill against someone was a curse in itself? Had he so soon forgotten all that he'd learned while studying for the priesthood of Lyr?

He closed his eyes, rapped his knuckles against his chest, and chanted under his breath, "Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea culpa maxima! Mea culpa. Mea culpa..." Each time he struck harder and harder. Would Lyr accept this as penance for his sins? Or would he smite Mallory and their child as punishment?

Take my pain! Take this offering of pain!

He wasn't sure when it was that the girls arrived. All of his daughters; Abrielle, Giselle, Maika, Alaina, and Pauline gathered outside the bedroom door to hear the cries of their mother and stare at their self-flagellating father.

Don't put them through this... You have their sister, don't take their mother!

"Papa!" Pauline yelled as she ran to her father, grasping the arm with which he beat his chest. "Papa! Stop! Something's wrong with Mama! Help Mama! Don't hurt yourself!"

Maryvonne scurried over and pulled the girl away from her father.

"Papa!" Pauline screamed. "Papa! What's wrong? Papa!"

The servant carried her away, and the girl flailed and shrieked all the way down the hall.

Jehan continued to beat his breast, until his knuckles were sore and his ribs ached, but the screams from beyond the closed doors were the robbers of his breath. He could barely make out the voices of the physician and the mid wife, but nothing in their tones suggested any hope.

Whatever it takes to make this right! Please, you know of my endeavors to bring this Empire back into your ways! I have always been a faithful servant. Despite my shortcomings, spare my wife and our child! Please!

Abrielle started to sing one of the Sacred Hymns, and soon the other girls joined in:

"Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

Quem patronum rogaturus,

Cum vix justus sit securus?

Rex tremendæ majestatis,

Qui salvandos salvas gratis,

Salva me, fons pietatis."

Jehan switched to his other fist and continued to beat his chest. "Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea culpa maxima!"

And so it went on for what seemed like hours. Mallory screamed so much that hoarse and raspy wails escaped a throat that couldn't seem to hold them back. Slowly but surely, the screaming faded away, and Jehan bit hard on his fist in anticipation of the physician's news.

Finally, the door creaked open, and the physician looked up at Jehan. "Please, my lord, come in."

The look on his face told Duke Armand everything he needed to know. He stumbled into the bedroom, dizzy with shock and sorrow.

The physician closed the door behind him, leaving the girls outside as more servants came to usher them away.

The latch clicked with a weight as hollow as the physician's words, "I'm sorry, my lord..."

Jehan looked down at his wife on the bed. He watched her chest for any sign that she was still breathing.

None.

"Both mother and son..." the physician paused, beginning another offer of sympathy he was interrupted by Jehan's bitter, gargling shriek.

"My son! My son, Lyr!"

Jehan fell to his knees beside her bed and pounded his already sore fists on the floor.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all!" Jehan shrieked and wailed, tearing at his hair and flailing about.

Jehan's own spit covered his chin as he cried out. He stood from the floor, grabbed the lamp off the bedside table, and smashed it against the wall.

"WHY?" he shouted.

"I don't know..." the physician began, stepping toward the door and out of Jehan's path.

Jehan ignored him and turned to the statuette of Lyr in the far corner of the room, "Why? Damn you! Why? Are my sins so great as to warrant this! Don't punish my family, punish me! I should suffer for my crimes, not them!"

Jehan seized the statuette off the dresser and shattered the window with it. The statuette fell into the hedges along the outer wall. Jehan grabbed a silver candlestick and beat it against the wall until he'd broken a hole in it.

What poured from his mouth next was a string of curse words and obscenities he'd not used in over twenty years. He'd forgotten he even knew such terrible words. With every breath he cursed Lyr, called the Hymns a sham, and denied any fault for what had happened.

"Your fault! Your fault! Your most grievous fault!" he shouted as he pounded the candlestick against the dresser and destroyed the mirror on his wall.

A painful twinge in his hip brought him to his knees with a yelp.

He caught his own reflection in one of the shards of the mirror. With his torn hair, rent clothes, and bloodied fists he looked like a wild animal. He barely recognized himself.

The more a man sins, the more he becomes like a beast.

That old proverb. It left him as broken as his reflection.

No... I can't blame Lyr for this. This was my doing, all of it. Mallory told me. She told me I hadn't truly repented for my sins.

Jehan looked over at the blood-soaked bed, where his wife's body lay.

I'm so sorry, Mallory... You paid the price for my transgressions...

He forced himself off the floor with a painful groan and approached the bed.

That face...

She looked so peaceful now, her mouth no longer pulled back in a grimace, her eyes no longer screwed tight with pain.

Jehan cradled her head in his arms and wept. "I'm sorry, Mallory... I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Mallory! I'm so sorry!"

Everything hurt, and Jehan felt a nigh overwhelming urge to join her in the next world then and there. He knew that he could never take his own life if he wished to see either of them again in Paradise.

Oh, my son... My only son...

Wet from tears and sweat, throbbing everywhere, he gripped the sheets, saturated with his wife's blood.

From this moment on, do whatever it takes to make penance for your sins, he told himself. Let no one else suffer for the wrongs you have done.