Noon had passed and still her blood failed to manifest. But if that man wasn't dead, the longer he resisted the worse the outcome once, inevitably, the curse took over. She would have to look for him again but for now, Joan's mind was elsewhere.
That cowardly priest was avoiding him.
She had returned to the ground floor, only to see him retreat in the bailey; and when she followed he took refuge in the barrack, from which he was promptly expelled.
It confused her enough that, rather than force the encounter, she kept watching him avoid her presence and only once she hid as a dog among the crowd did she find out why.
After finding paper and ink, brother Aymon had found a bench on which to work.
Looking for the right words to say.
She had chased him all the way there, only to realize how pointless it would be to engage with him. All she would get would be a string of hesitant mumbles.
And so two thoughts dawned on her at once: that he was just as much of a mystery to her as she was to others, but also that she had not chased after Corentin.
Had Abelard not suggested it, she would have found the notion laughable. But after all the priest had done she had suspected he would come after her, which he hadn't; and so she wondered if among humans the weak came crawling to the strong.
By now quite a few in the castle had caught glimpses of that stray dog that disappeared so quickly from sight. She found her spot to return to a human, brushed her skirtle and set her eyes on the keep.
There, a guard told her how sir Corentin was out to check the harvest, but she knew that was Abelard.
Corentin, for his part, was with soldiers on top of a tower.
They heard her arrive from the voices alone even before she climbed the ladder. The lady was holding the skirt with one hand and climbing with such ease that she didn't need the other.
"Leave us." The noble ordered his men.
Once they were gone he returned to his observation. The countryside looked quiet, heavy under a grey mass of clouds.
"What brings you here?" He asked.
"Looking for your company, milord." She bowed. "I have been neglecting you."
"Is that all? But please, show me all the warmth of your company."
"Will you go to the fair?" She asked. And since he would not answer: "If you do, I would like for you to take Ophelie with you."
He turned around, annoyed.
"What is this now?"
"You have been neglecting her as well."
"Haven't you heard his lordship? Ophelie will go to my brother. He can take them out there if he so wants. I already have enough on my plate."
"And that, sir Corentin, is something I absolutely cannot stand about you."
He finally seemed to acknowledge her presence, only to meet eyes angrier than his. She had let a mask he never knew she had slightly drop.
His heart had started to beat hard enough for her to notice.
"You pick on the weak easily enough, but when faced with strength you fold quite fast. Your father is ashamed of your cowardice."
"And you think I'll just let you talk like this?"
"Yes."
His anger had flared so suddenly as to leave him blind, but it was the fear, the threat he felt from her, akin to a wild beast that fueled it above all else.
She stepped forward and he found himself stepping back, his elbow touching the stone behind. Before he knew it his sword was drawn.
Before he knew it his sword had been pulled off his hands, sent flying in the air before she picked it up and for a moment they both paused, him from surprise and her at the thought of pushing it further.
She really, really wanted to see that human coughing blood at her feet.
Even with all she had to lose, the frustration and curse alike called to be done with weaklings, to let her nature speak.
To throw the blade away meant to keep this charade going, the shame, the submission.
It went tumbling, clanking on the floorboards. The noise made Corentin snap and punch, straight into her face with all the strength his fear had gathered.
Her body felt it, stumbled at the hit and then she came back to face him. He punched again, if only by reflex, too taken aback by the woman still standing before him. But like before, she simply faced him with the bruises on her eye and cheek.
"Take Ophelie to the fair. Dance, drink, find her some gift. She is your mistress, treat her as such. And when his lordship takes her from you, you defy him."
"Who the hell are you?"
Below them in the bailey the animals were calming down enough that the servants could bring them back to their pens.
"You think you are brave because you killed?" She kept going. "But you took a wife you loathe, you ignore the looks your brother gives me, you cater to your father and folded to a priest."
He grabbed her at the neckline, only got her to frown and look at that impotent hold.
His next jab never reached her. He found himself on his knees, out of breath, his stomach burning him and lady joan stepping back to reach the sword with her boot and sliding it back to him.
Corentin struggled to get back up.
"Well?" She impatiently asked. "If not to others, will you at least stand up to me?"
He pointed his blade at her nose, only got her to look down and then up at him again, not even flinching at the sight.
"I guess not."
"I can always find another Joan of Cormoran."
"And how many Ophelie can you get?"
"Has she even told you why she is there?!" He yelled.
But to see her troubled by his words did not alleviate his anger.
"Father picked her for me after Abelard found Adele! I didn't choose her anymore than I chose you! She was always just the consolation prize from people who thought I needed one!"
"You don't love her?" Joan faltered.
"I will put you in chains, send you to the church of Cormoran under escort, you can spend time there with your lover and see me for the two minutes our wedding will take! And after that, saintess willing, you are exiled or dead."
Her only reaction was to pick his sword again, so quickly that he could not react, to throw it away once more and walk to the parapet.
She stood there, her back to him even after he had picked up his weapon. She only spoke once he opened the trap to go back down.
"Your mother hoped she would be your wife."
"My mother is used to disillusion."
After he was gone, she stayed there waiting for guards to come and put those chains on her.
She wasn't mad, nor even sad, just at ease. It would make dealing with the spread a bit harder, that was all. Once the church of Cormoran would be dead, she would give that family their wedding, then leave.
It was, to her, as simple as that.
From the tower she could see the two mistresses come back to work on the patch of flowers.
The guards never came.