This was the crown of Cormoran lying at the brother's feet. Yet it seemed the crowd had not realized it yet.
What did it mean, when a trinket was lost?
The brother was looking at it, fear churning in his stomach. Aymon could tell what artifact the noble had thrown but his eyes, still, were filled with disbelief.
He stepped back. Corentin stepped forth.
"Now tell me plain," his voice raised sensibly, "explain this treachery! I locked it myself, two days ago, and it was pristine! Metal doesn't rust so fast!"
The priest was crumbling under a cascade of his own muttering.
He had no answer. But for the villagers, for the men-at-arms, it was just another sign of damnation. And then one realized what those pieces had been.
The knight errant's eyes went wide.
"What have you done, tell me!"
Sir Corentin had seized the priest by the shoulder, fiercely enough to make him wince. It was taking both men incredible effort not to scream.
But at Joan's approach the noble released him. They watched her crouch and pick a piece.
Her instinct had been right. That white matter was not rust. This was mathras, a mushroom's spores. This one fed on copper, nothing more. And so, she considered, that saintess' mighty spell had been to shield the human territory of a nature's afflictions.
To her it explained nothing but she got up all the same.
"That's just a crown." She observed.
"Just a crown?! Just a... without a crown, a lord is nothing!"
It finally sank in for all those around what that metal had been. They didn't react to it the same as they had to a lost church; still some, even among the men, started to cry.
But Corentin was not done: "The whole point of this wedding was for me to wear that crown! Do you even understand what's going on?!"
His voice was getting strangled.
"I can't be lord! There won't be a lord! There won't be a bear in Cormoran! There might as well..."
And he stopped short of uttering that Cormoran was gone.
To the woman who stood before him, none of it made sense. Some stone burned, some metal broke, so the humans would have to restore whatever spell that saintess possessed. She was looking at him almost with irritation.
Above all she could not stand that he valued broken copper more than her.
But the twin's knight had turned to the guards.
"Get the horses, prepare the carriage. We are leaving."
"Hold it!"
And the knight turned to the noble.
"Milord, there is nothing left for you here. Come spring..."
"We are not leaving. Anyone who thinks they can deny this land from the Pivert is severely deluded."
"It's a fact! The saintess is gone, so has the bear, this is not a domain. There is nothing to claim, milord! Only wildlands soon to wilt!"
"This is our land your talking about!"
"Not yours, milord. With all due respect, my duties go to his lordship."
The knight meant lord Mercier. Sir Corentin could only order men around through the authority of his father and therefore, if his will strayed, those men could turn against him.
He was threatening to abandon the son to his fate.
And the son in turn, as fiery as his short hair, walked to the knight to face him.
"My father ordered for Cormoran to enter our family."
"Your father won't lose twenty men to scorched earth! Give it a month and not a soul will remain, and that's before winter starves the rest! This land is lost, sir Corentin, now be a man and take the loss."
A sword left its sheath to threaten the knight who, immediately, drew his to parry. Both weapons crossed almost symbolically.
Yet Corentin's blade had remained at his belt.
It was the oathless knight who had meddled in the dispute.
"Don't insult my new lord." He coldly warned.
Around him the men-at-arms were drawing their axes. They had no shield nor spear but counted a half-dozen plus sir Garnin.
"You dog," the knight mocked that lone warrior, "you should have died at the stream like the rest of your lot!"
But his opponent didn't bother to answer. His sharp blade made a good enough case.
"Stay out of this! Go back to picking flowers and chasing thugs!"
The louder the knight barked, the more he betrayed his own doubts. His hopes had now shifted from his men to sir Corentin who had yet to react at this intrusion.
It was a strange contrast, to see the oathless knight's worn down sword, its edges dulled by many fights, compare with the sharp, bright one from Pivert.
That was all Corentin was looking at.
"He has a point." The noble remarked. "Sir Frederic, how come you are still alive?"
"I was saved by the sisters, milord."
"I'm not your lord. Not yet. For now sir Corentin will have to do. Now tell me, your sword can kill but can it craft a crown?"
"Yes!"
That was brother Aymon who, almost immediately, regretted speaking out. Nearly everyone but the two knights turned to look at him.
The priest braced himself against that deluge. He forced himself to speak further.
"The saintess... the saintess will provide a new crown. Milord."
"There you have it, Garnin. Cormoran has a priest and a noble. Now which of our messages do you think lord Mercier will favor?"
Joan herself knew the answer. A man like Mercier would not let his prey for anything.
Still the knight kept brandishing his sword.
"You cannot expect us to risk damnation."
That made sir Corentin laugh.
"I wouldn't be able to feed your lot anyway! But you will keep the tower in place and the patrols going. Now scurry back to Pivert and tell father that his domain is secure."
It was sir Frederic who lowered his blade first to put it back at his side, forcing his foe to do the same. There was nothing to fight over now that the son had freed his men.
After all was said and done, there was no way to retain even a single one of them.
Nor would they leave the carriage behind, but took out the chest and left it with the carts still filled with what they had looted from the nearby farms.
The villagers watched that column of guards, led by horsemen, take the path back to Pivert.
"Wedding over," sir Corentin concluded, "time to eat! Feast all you can, you the damned and pariah! Feast while it lasts, tomorrow we rebuild the domain!"
He commanded to no one anymore, but the oathless knight moved forth, which pushed the crowd to obey. They unloaded the supplies to share them around. Some worked on breaking the planks to make firewood.
Out there, on the hill, Joan could feel the curse awaken.
Her fingers still scraped the white matter on that piece of crown. If it was just spores, she weighed, then she could deal with whatever curse those humans were talking about. But mathras, mathras had no reason to grow in this region.
Still, she could not lie. She felt satisfied. Those she deemed cowards had left and so, to her, only the brave remained.
It almost made her forget how she had failed those men at every step, including the most crucial one that had made her title likely lose all value. No one, not even her, would stand to bear the burden of a worthless maiden.
But for now, she could have the illusion to belong.