Sir Beathan moved first.

He had been standing a half-pace behind the kneeling Abbot for most of the proceedings with his hand resting easily on the pommel of his sword and his eyes growing darker and darker the more he learned about the truth underneath the mask of the frontier’s Inquisitors. Percivus’s actions against Lady Jocelynn had already shaken the faith of the Blackwell Templar, but Recared’s nearly extinguished it.

Only now, as he stood on the cusp of breaking his vows as a Templar to pledge his sword to the Blackwell sisters, he saw something even more unbelievable... One of the ladies he’d been preparing to serve, burning with the brilliance of the sun and a flaming sword of justice in her hand.

So when Lady Ashlynn asked him to seize Abbot Recared, Beathan moved without so much as a heartbeat of hesitation, and his grip on the Abbot’s arm as he dragged him to his feet was as solid and sure as a blacksmith’s vice.

A heartbeat later, Ignatious appeared at the Abbot’s opposite side, taking hold of him in a grip that appeared gentle while being every bit as unyielding as the Blackwell Templar’s.

The Abbot’s good eye went wide as he was hauled to his feet between them. The bruise that had kept his other eye shut for most of the evening had turned a brilliant shade of purple, fully revealed by the flickering light of the burning blade and a trickle of fresh blood flowed down his chin from where he’d bitten his lip as Beathan manhandled him.

The abbot’s robes, which had been the deep crimson of his office at the start of the evening, were dark and stiff with dried blood and the dust of the floor. He had been an imposing figure four hours ago, even after Lord Owain had chastised him during Bors Lothian’s funeral.

He was a small, broken thing now, held upright by two men because his own legs had lost the strength to stand.

Ashlynn descended the last step of the dais and came to stand before him with the burning blade held easily at her side.

"Saintess," Recared rasped.

The flame on the Holy Flame Blade brightened at the word, and the air around Ashlynn grew hot enough for sweat to form on Recared’s brow, though whether that was entirely because of the heat or something else was debatable.

"Saintess, forgive me," Recared gasped. "I did not see. By the Holy Lord of Light, I swear, I did not understand. Your, your humble servant, he, he did not know..."

The more recared groveled, the brighter the flaming sword grew, and the more intense the heat around Ashlynn became.

Several of the noblemen and women standing on the dias drew back unconsciously, the same way they would step back from an oven when its door opened. Kneeling on the hard stone of the dais, Lady Tosha took the heat as a test, holding herself firmly in place as she clasped her hands in prayer.

Among the Inquisitors and Acolytes who had been given a year’s reprieve, several raised their hands, shielding their eyes or their injuries against the fury of a saintess who had to be convinced to spare their lives.

"I’ll, I’ll obey you," Recared stammered, the words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. "Whatever you ask. The Inquisition will serve you. The Abbey at Maeril, the men, the wealth I’ve gathered, they’re yours, all yours," he promised.

"I’ll bend my knee and that of every Inquisitor who answers to me," he added when he didn’t see a change in her hardened expression or the reflection of the flame in her piercing, emerald eyes. "I, I s-swear it on the Holy Lord of Light Himself..."

The flame in Ashlynn’s hands brightened again, sending out another pulse of warmth as she stood face to face with one of the most contemptible men she’d ever met, and it took every ounce of her strength and focus to keep the flame in check.

The fury in her heart wanted to spread along with the sword’s golden flames. It wanted to find all the men in this hall who had washed their hands in the blood of the innocent in the endless quest for power and wealth, all while speaking of righteousness and service to their faith.

More than anything, it wanted to leap from the blade in her hand and find every man who had laid his hand on her sister’s people and played a role, no matter how small, in her cousin Eleanor’s death. The flame along the blade was responding to that desire. It was straining, like a boat against its anchors, begging her to cut it free and allow the winds of her rage to fuel its flight across the great hall.

"And if I told you to ride south and burn the abbey to the ground tonight," Ashlynn said quietly, as she struggled against the surging desire to destroy far more than just the Inquisition that grew in her heart, pulsing in time with the growing flame of the sword in her hand. "Would you do it? Would you burn it all down to the ground for me?"

It wasn’t a real offer; it was only buying her time to bring the sword’s sorcery under control, but Recared seized on it like a shipwrecked man clinging to an oar.

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, Saintess, anything. The abbey, the men, whatever you require! And, and the records too. I have records you have not yet seen, names you do not yet know — Lord Tybal’s vassals, Baron Iriso’s estranged uncle, and, and there is a knight among Baron Dunn’s vassals who is married to the sister of an acolyte..."

"I can b-be useful to you, Ho-Holiness," he stammered, once again debasing himself like a dog. When he’d groveled to Owain this morning, he’d done it because he thought enduring a few months of humiliation would allow him to return to his position of strength, influence, and power when the Holy Warriors from across the sea arrived in the spring and summer.

Those men would be grateful to him for paving their way to glory and riches, and their gratitude and loyalty would wash away the stain of a few months spent cowering to placate a fledgling Marquis in the backwaters of the frontier.

This time, however, when Recared groveled before Ashlynn, he threw away all that was left of his pride and prepared to sacrifice anything, and everything if need be, in order to preserve his own life.

"Please, your Holiness," Recared pleaded. "I, I know I’ve strayed. Help me," he begged, hoping to find the same weakness in her heart that High Inquisitor Ignatious had exploited to save the remainder of his men. "Help me find my way..."