“You asked me if I had a name for him. I do, but I need your approval.”
“You do not need my approval, but what is it?”
“Quinton.”
Creston couldn’t help it. He drew in a sharp breath and looked at her. “After my father?”
“Does that displease you?”
Tears stung his eyes again. “Nay, of course not,” he said. “You… you truly want to name him after my father?”
“Unless you wish to save the name for a living son.”
He put a big hand on the top of the infant’s head in a tender gesture. “I can think of no greater honor for my father than for our firstborn to carry his name,” he said. “Thank you, my love. That is very considerate of you.”
She watched his face as he looked at the baby and her mood changed into something timid, yet hopeful. There was so much emotion going on in that room that it was difficult for her to put it into words.
“You know that I came here to confront my grandfather because I thought… I hoped… that I could make a difference,” she said, meeting his eyes when he looked up at her. “I wanted to do this because you have made such a difference in my own life, Creston. I do not think you understand just how much of a difference. Before I met you, I was searching for… something. I do not even know what it is, but I was searching so hard that I tried to force poor Cecil to provide it. I did not even stop to realize that he couldn’t. It was not his fault what happened, you know. I was blinded in my quest to find something I could be part of, someone I could love, a belonging I needed deep in my heart. I found that—all of that—at a training guild for warriors. Who knew that was where I would discover the true meaning of joy?”
He smiled. “And who knew I needed you as much as you needed me?”
She met his smile as her tears for her son were forgotten for the moment. “Do you realize how truly fortunate we are?” she said. “So many people speak of love and romance, and there are stories from ages past about great lovers and how they could never be separated. We have that sort of love that people dream of, and I had to protect it at all costs. Even at the risk of a great tragedy.”
She meant the child. They both turned to look at the infant with his perfect lips and perfect nose. Creston kissed the child on the forehead before kissing Ophelia on the lips.
“Sometimes happiness does not come without risk,” he said. “In our case, you met the danger, at great cost. But your bravery will not be forgotten, nor will Quinton’s death be in vain. I promise you that he will continue to be part of our lives, for as long as we live.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do,” he said, nodding. “It was because of Quinton that you and I shared our first true test of trust. Remember? You told me of your grandfather’s plan and were willing to sacrifice your future just to save me. And just now, you did it again. You were willing to sacrifice yourself to save me and all of Blackchurch. They call me The Avenger because of my dedication to justice in all things, but I think you deserve that name more than I do. I have never met a braver woman in my life and I am incredibly fortunate to call you my wife. You and I, my love, are meant to be.”
She smiled at him, adoringly, and he kissed her sweetly. It was a kiss of love, of trust, and of the beauty of two lives that were so connected that the bond could never be broken. It was also a kiss of appreciation in a situation that had come to aconclusion. Perhaps not one Creston had hoped for, but at least he still had Ophelia. As long as he had her, he was a content men.
If I cannot be close to her, then I will settle for the ghost of her.
He’d once told Cruz that when it came to being with his wife, in this life or in the next, he would take any form of her that he could get. He would love her ghost, love her spirit, love her heart, living or dead. Perhaps they had only been married a short time, but one didn’t need a lifetime to know that what they had was special. A relationship that bled into the realm of legend.
For The Avenger and his protector, what they shared would always be powerful.
Legends always are.
EPILOGUE
The Blackchurch Guild
Year of Our Lord 1234
“Tomorrow, we’ll startthe interrogation instruction, so be prepared,” Creston was saying. “In order to be prepared for any capture, a warrior must be prepared for the interrogation, and that is never pleasant, so be advised.”
It was nearing sunset on what had been a particularly strenuous day. It had been raining, so it was quite muddy, but the sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds. It glistened off Lake Cocytus, giving the land a rather fresh appeal. But Creston and his assistant, a recent Blackchurch graduate by the name of Tobin du Reims, were trying to stress the intense module that their recruits were about to face. Since Creston’s classes were usually at the end of a recruit’s five-year cycle through Blackchurch because they could be so brutal, the men—and three women—that they faced seemed ready for what was to come. They’d already proven themselves through the instruction of Tay, Sinclair, Fox, Kristian, Cruz, and Payne, so now they were facing the last of it. They were a tough lot.
But tougher times were to come.
“If there aren’t any questions, I suggest you eat and sleep well tonight,” Creston continued, looking over the hardened faces around him. “Tomorrow, you descend into hell.”
“My lord?” a man from the back spoke up. He was from Athens, a big recruit who had scars all over his body. “Can you tell us what sort of interrogation instruction we will be starting with?”
Creston folded his big arms across his chest. “A fair question,” he said. “For the next week, we will be discussing the historical aspects of interrogation and give examples. The Dragon will be part of this discussion, as he has experience in things we do not normally see in the Christian world. But after that, each man and woman here will have to face the practical application of interrogation methods.”
