Age of Faith

Episode 3

Annyn stopped next to Jonas' horse and placed her hand on his large jaw. “I thank you for bringing him home.” He ran up the stairs. The porter frowned as he reached the top floor. “Nona, your uncle and Baron Wulfrith are waiting. Pray, go quickly to the kitchen and order yourself.”

Baron Wulfrith in Lillia? He glanced from his shoulder at the white destrier. How could he not realize its significance? The baron must be angry that he's returned Jonas himself. Except— William's face that wasn't smiling. The lack of disapproval was usually shown to him by the castle people.

No matter what his appearance might say about him, he lunged forward. "Miss, pray—" "I'll see my brother now!" The porter's mouth worked as if to juggle an argument, but he shook his head and opened the door. "Sorry, Miss Annyn." The apology made him even colder, he stepped in. The hall was silent, there was no sound disturbing the Lord and His angels were near them.

Flashing to adjust to the inside of the room, he saw the people in the pulpit. As their backs faced towards him and heads bent, he wondered what they were looking at. Anyway, where's Jonas? The back leg of the rabbit dragged the bushes where the animal was hanging by his side, he pressed forward, while telling himself that Jonas would immediately jump from the alcove and drop it to the floor.

“This honorable death, Lord Bretanne,” a heavy voice made a silence from the hall. Annyn stopped and picked the person who spoke—big man tall and wide, his hair cut to the shoulder. Oh my God, who is he talking about? He stepped aside, clearing the space in front of the master's table to reveal what he was looking for desperately. The rabbit slipped off his fingers, the bow from his shoulder. Faintly realizing the big man and his friends were swinging, he stared at his brother's profile which was the shadow of a gloomy day.

And there stood Uncle Artur opposite him, hands flat on the table where Jonas was laid, head down, shoulders bent to the ears. Annyn stumbled to run. “Jona!” "What's this?" the heavy voice demanded. When Uncle's head appeared, his framed eyes reflected shock upon seeing him. But there's only Jonas. In a moment he would have lifted it from the table and— He collided with a tangled chest and would have fallen backwards if not for the hand that circled his upper arm. That's the guy talking. He swung his legs and connected with his immobile shin. He dragged her up to his toes.

"Who's that little kid who runs your hall like a dog, Lord Bretanne?" Annyn grabbed him where he stood far above. He jerked his head back, but not before his nails peeled off the skin of his cheeks and jaws. With a growl, he pulled his arm back. "Stop! This is my nephew. The fist stopped above his face. “What did you say?” As Annyn stared at those large knuckles, she almost wished it would grind her bones so that she could feel less pain.

"My niece," said the Uncle with an apology, "Lady Annyn Bretanne." The man examined his face covered in dirt. "This is a woman?" "But a girl, Mr. Wulfrit." Annyn looked from the four streaks of anger on the man's cheeks to her grayish-green eyes. This is Wulfrit? The man Jonas trusted? Who made him a man? Who made him a corpse? "Take me off, skr!" He spat with a hoarse voice that Jonas often teased. “Anni!” Uncle protested. Wulfrith's grip grew stronger and his pupils widened.

He retreated, the heartache that had loved his brother's son causing his eyes to bulge. Wulfrith released Annyn. "I think I'd better pity you, Lord Bretanne." Barely resisting the urge to spit at him, he leapt back and gazed fully at his face: sharp eyes, sharp, slightly crooked nose, proud cheekbones, mouth firmly refuted by full lower lips, and a sharp, sharp nose, chins cleft. And falling off someone else's face might think handsome silver hair—lie, because he's not of the age that can order such a color.

Indeed, he could not reach more than twenty-five

"If I were a man, I'd kill you" he cried. Eyebrows raised. "It's good that you're just a little girl." If it wasn't for Uncle's hand falling onto her shoulder, Annyn would have once again placed herself in Wulfrith. “You are wrong, Son.” Uncle Artur spoke firmly. “Jonas falls in battle. His death was not upon baron.” He shrugged his shoulders from under his hands and went up on the podium. Her sister wore her best tunic, on her waist a silver-encrusted belt suspended in a sheathed misericorde. He was prepared for burial.

He put a hand on his chest and wanted his heart to beat again. But never again. “Why, Jonas?” The first tears fell, soaking the dry mud on his face. “They're close.” Uncle Artur's low words stabbed him. "'It will be hard for him to accept." Annyn turned to face the people who were looking at her with disdain and pity. "How did my brother die?" Are Wulfrith's doubts imagined? "It happened in Lincoln."

He gasps. Yesterday they had received word of a bloody battle between the self-proclaimed armies of the English king Stephen and the young Henry, the grandson of the deceased King Henry and the rightful heir to the throne. Despite numerous skirmishes, raids, and deaths, it is said that no one can claim victory at Lincoln. Jonas can't either. “Your sister's after me. He was cut down while delivering a spear to the field. ” Although she was trembling, Annyn held back Wulfrith's gaze. "What dropped it?" Something changed in his sharp eyes.

"An arrow to the heart." All for Stephen's defense of his false claims to England. He buried his nails in his palm. How painful it was for Jonas to stand on the side of the usurper when it was Henry that he supported. And of course he's not alone in that. Regardless of whose claim to the throne was supported, the nobles competed to place their sons in Wulfen Castle. True, Wulfrith was Stephen's men, but it was said that there was nothing better to train a knight who would one day become king. If it wasn't for this silver-haired Lucifer and his thief king, Jonas would be alive.

"He died an honorable death, Lady Annyn." He took a step towards Wulfrit. “'Was for Stephen he died. Tell me, Lord Wulfrith, what does that man have to do with honor?” As anger flared in his eyes, Uncle Artur groaned. Although Uncle also sided with Stephen, he realized his nephew's loyalty to Henry. This, then —his hope to turn Jonas into Stephen—among the reasons for sending his nephew to Wulfrith