A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(73)

His mind is clean and clear. He likes this work. He likes this place.

He stretches his back and examines the fruits of his labor.

The platform is much smaller than a stage, but it’s big enough that six adults could lie comfortably on it. There’s enough room between it and the altar that all six of them could easily congregate in front of the grassy mound, and there’s enough room between the platform and the front of the chapel that they can still safely build a fire inside.

It will be warmer than laying in the mud.

It occurs to him, as he walks around the platform examining it for flaws, that this is the first project he’s ever finished. The first idea sparked in his mind that he didn’t eventually snuff out with his inevitable indifference or doubt. He had the idea for the platform last night as he lay awake in bed, thinking of Proserpina’s kiss, of her hand on his erection, of the curve of her breast in his hand before he ruined everything. He wanted to say sorry and he wanted to atone and he also wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she admitted that he was right and she was better off without him.

He wanted to explain somehow that his entire life was defined by one moment, by one cowardly moment, and he’d never forgive himself for it and no one else should either. He wanted to explain that he’d once done the worst thing one person can do to another, and in the process, had scorched the inside of his soul beyond all redemption.

He wanted to explain to Proserpina that she scorched him all over again, but in the best way. In a way that made him feel like he wasn’t such a fuck-up, that he could be good, that maybe being scorched clean actually meant that everything unnecessary had been burned away to make room for something better.

Maybe he’d been purified.

So he got up at dawn and went to Augie’s workshop and started working on the platform. Not because it was a substitute for explanation—as much as he wanted to, St. Sebastian couldn’t delude himself into that—but because he wanted the night to be the kind of night that lent itself to explanations. He wanted the night to be perfect, perfect for Proserpina in particular even if she wasn’t chosen as the bride, and then after the perfection, he’d offer her all his imperfections.

He’s done pushing her away. He’s done fighting himself. She might belong with Auden in the eyes of the village—hell, even in his own eyes sometimes—but he doesn’t care anymore. Auden is engaged, after all, about to marry Delphine, and so it seems the village is going to be out of luck regardless of what St. Sebastian does.

And St. Sebastian is going to tell Proserpina that he’s falling in love with her and he’s terrified. He’s going to ask her to forgive him and then he’s going to offer her his scorched heart and then he’s going to pray, even though he doesn’t believe in prayer.

He’s going to pray that she takes it.

He’s going to pray that she offers her heart back to him in return.





Becket hangs up his vestments in the sacristy, and then finishes closing up the church for the night. There’s no need to leave the side door unlocked since he’ll be with St. Sebastian tonight in the thorn chapel, as they watch the fire burn against the sky and two of his friends consecrate themselves with thorns and sex.

Or it could be you that’s consecrated, a voice whispers in his mind.

He thinks about this as he gathers his things in the rectory and then gets in the car to drive to Thornchapel. If by some random chance the others think he should be one of the people up at the altar, should he say no? Can a Catholic priest still claim anthropological distance when he’s fucking someone in the mud?

No. No, he doesn’t think so.

If he does this thing, he can’t pretend to himself that he’s doing it as a priest, or at least as a Catholic priest, since in a way, they’ll all be priests tonight. Priests for each other, priests for themselves. Priests for Thornchapel.

By the vows he’s taken, by every creed and doctrine of the church he’s sworn his life to, tonight is wrong. Immoral and unfaithful to a jealous God. That can’t be denied. But the zeal can’t be denied either, and the zeal is demanding mud under his fingernails and the heat of a fire against his face. The zeal is demanding thorns and blood and worship.

Primal, ancient worship.

Isn’t all worship primal? Isn’t all worship ancient?

Why should the zeal see a difference between muddy earth and cold stone floors? Between a bonfire and tall white candles? Between ale and wine?

Between consummation and communion?

He knows tonight can’t be undone. Whatever happens tonight will stay with him for the rest of his life. It will mark him, and whether that mark will bar him from heaven, he doesn’t know, but he also doesn’t know if he can afford to care what the rules are anymore.

What are rules when God Himself has filled him with holy fire?

Because the other thing he knows is that tonight is holy. And he is a holy man.

With a short prayer and a long exhale, Becket puts the car into drive and starts down the road for Thornchapel.





It’s almost dark when Rebecca gets to the center of the maze, but it’s not late, it’s not time for them to gather together and go to the ruins yet. Which is why Rebecca had the time to follow Delphine when she saw her going into the maze.

She didn’t want Delphine to get lost and delay their ceremony. That’s why she followed her, and definitely not for any other reason.