Ava’s abdomen tightened with a dull pain as her eyelids fluttered open to the cold night of the Levant. Her eyes stung; the same familiar back pain accompanied it—her forehead was sensitive and aching.

  She turned to see Thomas lying on his stomach, drool dribbling outwards as he slept peacefully. Ava could not help but smile. Innocence was a rarity in the Holy Land; any opportunity for rest must be taken, and Thomas had more than earned it.

  Ava rose slowly to her feet. As she shuffled her legs, she felt a slight damp sensation near her thighs. Again.

  Of course, it was happening again.

  Silently, she took her cloak from her bedside table and draped it around herself. She then ripped a piece of cloth off it and folded it tightly. She may as well clean up; she could take the time to wash her face, too, maybe even check in on her loyal companion.

  …

  Ava stared at the midnight sky; no stars illuminated it tonight. She let out a woeful sigh.

  She tugged at her cloak, doing everything she could to keep the cold of the night from her. Her mind still fresh, still racing. Even in sleep, she could not escape war.

  Still, Ava smiled, the frantic tugging to keep the cold out, even the very cloak she used, her thoughts raced back to St Mildrith Abbey, and how tonight was so very similar to that fateful night.

  It had been a little under a month since she and Thomas freed the children—Khalid and Ari—they said their names were. She walked across the city of Tyre daily, eyes glued and primed for a flash of blue and white, the Order’s sigil, which was once a sign of protection and salvation, was now the very thing she looked to avoid.

  Ava strolled to the nearest well from the lodgings where she and the others were staying. She and Thomas had to share now; her stay in Tyre had dragged on far longer than expected. Each time she opened her pouch, there always seemed to be fewer coins inside than the last.

  The young woman drew the rope at the top of the well, raising a meagre wooden bucket, half full with water, crystal clear and cold. Eagerly, she cupped all the water her hands could take and splashed her face with it, thrice, to be sure.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Washing her face was one of the few luxuries she had carried with her from Canterbury to the Levant. There was a time when Ava could sing her heart out, but that softness had become a burden. During her years in the Order, such things had begun to feel like weaknesses. What kind of knight, leading a Company, would sing? Praying too had once been a comfort, but the weight of the Holy Land made even that no easy task.

  Her abdomen throbbed still, yet compared to arrow fire, sword slashes, and days spent on horseback, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Ava thanked the Lord it never happened during skirmishes, or maybe she didn’t notice. Either way, she slowly soaked a piece of cloth in water and proceeded to clean beneath her.

  Ava’s knees throbbed too, from constant battlefield use to kneeling at the Cathedral of Our Lady; new injuries covered old scars. She was lucky to have not been infected by now, lest she end up like Abel…

  No. No time to think about that.

  Ava had one more destination before she would try and battle sleep once more, a fight she’d been losing for years now, the last time she’d slept peacefully—she’d lost that which she held most dear. That which was most sinful, yet so kind.

  Leather continued to tap upon stone as she strolled towards her loyal companion’s lodgings. Grainne lay peacefully, her lustrous white fur, pale as the moon. The mare’s stomach seemed to rise and fall like the ripples on the edge of Tyre, and Ava could not help but smile at her old friend. Ava always liked to imagine Grainne as a princess of sorts; here and now, she was living up to her royal lineage.

  “Goodnight, old friend.” Ava let a smile, ever brief, leave her lips before heading back to her quarters.

  …

  When Ava entered and saw Thomas lying firmly on the ground, she could not feign anger, not to him, or herself.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He insisted that he slept on the floor, and she on the bed.

  “As my superior, it is your right, Deputy,” Thomas would go on.

  Viciously, she rubbed her eyes, too tired to bring the argument up again. Every night, she would wait, leave, and hope he would take the chance to have a nice rest for once.

  Every time, she was wrong.

  Ava settled into her bed, a narrow wooden frame strung with coarse rope and layered with a thin straw mattress. The linens were rough against her skin, carrying the faint scent of dust and old sweat, and the pallet dipped beneath her weight with an uneven creak. It was nothing like the soft comforts she remembered from Canterbury.

  Nighttime was the second battlefield, the first was of arrowheads and spearmen, warhorses galloping at speed, and swords swinging. The second was much more intrusive. It was a battlefield of the mind.

  Alexei’s words came to the forefront of her mind as she stared upwards to the ceiling of the room, which was pitch-black, just as the night sky she’d just observed. Ava rolled and turned inside the linen covers, the words of the bishop ringing clear.

  “The weight of your beliefs weighs on you, does it not?”

  Ava winced as she turned once again. He heard a groan from Thomas, likely sleep-talking, he muttered.

  “No… Captain Reynard, I can’t drink anymore….”

  If Ava were not so lost in thought, she would’ve stifled a laugh, but the phrase Alexei said, she’d heard before. Not from any of the Silver Sword Knights, not any Captains or the Marshal either, not from any people she’d met in Cyprus or the Holy Land….

  She’d heard it from Lady Grainne.

  With that thought, Ava resolved herself to her second battlefield once more, as she closed her eyes…

  …

  Canterbury, 1184 AD, April 15th – Abbey of St Mildrith

  “Again, Aveline!” the ever-so-familiar voice scolded her. “How many times must I tell you that we do not insult our fellow sisters?”

  Ava’s mouth begged for mercy, her cries for her to stop muffled by the repulsive taste of soap, an expensive luxury in England. Her hands were raised, fumbling and grasping as she tried to comb through the woman’s hair, even as she dodged the young girl’s flailing limbs.

  The chapter house, where Ava’s punishment was taking place, was older than the cloister, its stone walls holding the night long after dawn had broken. Benches were carved into the walls in a shallow curve, worn smooth by generations of habits and restless hands. Light fell through two narrow windows, cutting the chamber into pale stone and shadow. At the far end stood a plain chair and a lectern, with the Rule of St Benedict placed upon it. Above them hung a tapestry of the Sign of the Cross.

  “Aveline! Stay still! I take no pleasure in this either!”

  When the woman was finished cleaning Ava’s mouth with soap, she clasped her hands before her and bowed her head in prayer.

  “Dear Lord, forgive this child, for she knows not how she has sinned.”

  Ava glared up at her, her blonde hair bound into a messy bun, loose strands clinging to her damp cheeks. The woman only looked back at her with mercy.

  “Lady Grainne!” Ava protested, the words thick on her tongue. “I was in the right this time. Beatrice was being mean to me again!”

  The nun’s eyes softened with sadness, though a firmer resolve soon settled over her expression.

  “I will speak to Beatrice,” Grainne said, turning her gaze aside, “and the pair of you will reconcile.”

  She drew a Bible from her waist and began to read aloud.

  “Ecclesiastes, chapter seven, verse nine: ‘Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in—’”

  “The lap of fools,” Ava finished, spitting out the last of the bitterness from her mouth. “I know, I’m sorry, but I disagree with her on everything. How can someone speak so callously about our roles in the world? We are training to be Sisters of St Mildrith to help others in need, not because we are weak. Does she have no pride in her faith?”

  Ava’s eyes burned as she spoke, her gaze never leaving Grainne’s face.

  “Aveline,” Grainne said softly, “I do not understand you. You are one of the most promising novices in the priory, and yet you act so brazenly.”

  She lowered herself to her knees before Ava and gently brushed her thumb across the girl’s cheek.

  “Why?”

  Ava hesitated, spitting the lingering taste of soap from her mouth as she looked at Grainne, adorned in her humble black gown, her veil and wimple arranged with care.

  “Lady Grainne, it is because I understand it,” she said at last. “I cannot sit back and allow Beatrice to disrespect our cause or our convictions. We do not sit and pray because we are weak. We pray because there is strength in placing ourselves in the hands of the Lord.”

  Her eyes drifted upward to the Sign of the Cross above the lectern.

  “That is why,” Ava continued, her voice unyielding, “and I will keep arguing with Beatrice until she agrees with me. Until she is correct.”

  Light crept through the narrow windows of the chapter house as Grainne sighed, lifting a hand to her brow in weary frustration. When she extended her other hand to Ava, the girl spat another defiant swath of soapy saliva onto the stone floor.

  “Aveline,” Grainne said quietly, “I cannot favour you. You insulted one of your fellow novices. But please, for my sake, apologise to her. Try to refrain from arguing with her. Washing your mouth is as painful for you as it is for me.”

  Ava rose slowly from the cold cobblestones.

  “Come,” Grainne added more gently, “let us get you to the dormitory. Abbess Mathilda is leading the choir today. You said she has a voice sent from the angels, did you not?”

  At those words, Ava’s face brightened, the tension in her shoulders easing. The Abbess’s voice had always soothed her, especially when Beatrice tested her patience.

  “Then let us get you ready,” Grainne said, a faint smile touching her lips. “You may be a prodigy when it comes to your studies of the Bible, but your voice is far from that of the angels.”

  A small chuckle escaped both of them as Grainne wrapped her arm around Ava’s. Together, their shared smiles seemed to soften the hard stone of the chapter house around them.