Here is an excerpt from Altered Vows, available February 1:

Chapter One

“Your grace, it is the only possibility.”

“I know. So you have said. But the injustice to the boy!” Kendrick, Bishop of Paturis, buried his head in his hands. 

Archon, his chief advisor, continued. “The greater injustice would be to deprive the people of Paturis of your leadership. You know that the city looks to you. The king is a figurehead.” Archon waited, knowing what he would hear.

“Archon! You must not speak so, even to me. You, of all people. Remember your Order. My office will not usurp royal power. If the city looks to me for spiritual direction, that is one thing. But I will not stand as a rival against a godly king.” 

The Bishop scowled at his advisor through puffy eyelids. “Nor should one of the Order even begin to suggest such a thing. You are sworn to advise, to serve, and not to seek power for yourself. Have you forgotten?”

Archon bowed his head in deference. “Of course, your grace. I do not intend rivalry.”

The bishop’s face softened. He leaned toward his chief advisor and rested a gentle hand on Archon’s shoulder. “You are a good man, Archon. I have so often depended on your advice, and I need you now more than ever.”

Archon kept his eyes on the floor. “Thank you, your grace. You are most kind.” 

The bishop shook his head and sighed. “I have been so weak, my friend. I don’t know how I have strayed so far.” He frowned up at Archon again. “But we must not speak ill of the royal household, even between ourselves.”

Archon measured his words and his tone. “When the king, however good his character, is less than fully capable, to whom should the people look? It remains to be seen whether the prince will become a leader. The princess is a strong woman, but she is away. The prince is too young, and the king too old.” 

The bishop took a deep breath as if to object, but Archon continued earnestly. “The people trust you. You are their spiritual leader. And part of their faith is loyalty to the state. If they learn of this scandal, what will happen? They will be like sparrows in a thunderstorm, your grace. This must not become known. You must stand firm. Mishal would choose this suffering gladly if he understood what was at stake.”

Bishop Kendrick heard the lie but failed to understand its depth. He put his hands over his face and spoke slowly. 

“Do it. Do it, Archon. Only do not let me see her again. I haven’t the strength of will.”

Archon raised one graying eyebrow. “As you wish, your grace. Leave them to me. It will be settled within two days.”

The warm scent of the beeswax candles rose as the procession swept forward. Mishal savored the odor that always reminded him of sunshine and open fields. The rich smell of candles was slowly overpowered by the smoky incense from the procession. For Mishal, the rustling of robes and shuffling feet, cool water droplets on his forehead, even the cantor’s rich tenor were background to the smells. 

The acolyte bearing incense ascended the seven steps before the gilded altar of the cathedral. All the professors of the seminary followed, eldest first. Then another acolyte bore a gilt-edged Bible. Bishop Kendrick came last in his flowing red robe, the staff of his office in hand. 

Finally all were in place. The cantor, Thomas Gant, stepped forward and intoned, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” The congregation, including Mishal, sang the “Amen.”

The choir intoned the psalm. “Judica me Deus–” The chant rang from the stone walls, and a dozen fur-clad men strode forward from the rear of the sanctuary. Their hair was tangled; their untrimmed beards hung over their broad chests. 

Mishal and his best friend Del watched from the balcony. Del leaned over to Mishal and whispered in his ear. “See the one in the wolfskin robes? There in the front.” Mishal nodded. “That’s Iggat, king of the Harda tribes. He’s the first one of that tribe to be baptized.” 

Mishal nodded again, but said nothing. With a sideways glance at his friend, Del continued. “It’s a great day for him and his people, hm?”

“I heard he wanted to sell furs to the traders in Paturis,” Mishal finally whispered back. “The bishop, or maybe Archon, told the king and the Trader’s Guild that trading with one of those stinking heathens was a cardinal sin. So Iggat is getting baptized.”

Del frowned for a moment, then smiled brightly. “See, it’s like I said. A great day for him and his people. They get to sell their furs.”

Mishal snorted.

Now Iggat strode up the steps to the altar platform as the acolyte brought a bowl of water to Bishop Kendrick. Archon stood behind the bishop, and Thomas Gant stepped forward for the examination. A wispy old tribesman climbed up and stood next to Iggat. The other tribesmen waited at the bottom of the steps.

Thomas Gant’s voice boomed. “Do you renounce the devil?”

The wispy old man repeated the question to the chieftain in a language full of gutturals and clicks. Iggat replied one word. The old man spoke to Thomas Gant. “Iggat say yes.”

“Do you reject the worship of the devil, in all its forms?”

Again, Iggat waited for the translation, then replied. His translator turned to the cantor, and spoke again. “Iggat say yes.”

In the balcony, Del leaned over to Mishal and asked, “Do you think the people of his village will be baptized?”

Mishal’s eyes never left the chieftain as he answered. “They say when Milla was king, two hundred years ago, he conquered the Bith tribes southwest of here. Milla’s soldiers drove the women and children through the river at spearpoint while the priests stood on the bank and said the baptismal liturgy. Sure enough, they were baptized.”

Del looked hard at Mishal. “It’s no wonder Archon hates you,” he finally whispered. “You’re too honest for your own good.”

Chapter Two

Mishal climbed the steps to Archon’s spacious office. The small tower that housed Archon’s quarters stood south of the seminary, a short walk from the bishop’s own residence. Mishal heard muted voices from the office, hesitated a moment, then knocked at the oak door. 

“Yes.” Archon himself opened the door rather than the secretary Mishal had expected. Archon turned and walked behind his ponderous desk, but remained standing. Mishal glanced at a young woman standing in the corner to his left. She wore a long brown robe. Her hands were clasped over her belly, arms tight to her sides. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. 

Archon spoke impatiently. “Come in, Mishal. Please. Shut the door.” Archon stared, unblinking, while Mishal latched the door and stepped to the center of the room.

“Let me speak plainly. The bishop is an understanding man. He makes allowances for priests, especially young ones. But there are limits. The Church must not become fodder for gossip.” Archon paused, glanced at the young woman in the corner, and continued. “She is three months pregnant. Did you think you could hide something like this? She will be sent north, to one of the trading towns. You will be ordained, then assigned outside Paturis. She will be well cared for, you need not worry about that. But you will not see her again.”

Mishal’s heart pounded. He took a deep breath and looked again at the young woman. Still in her teens, probably. Pretty, with long straight hair pulled back behind her shoulders. A hint of puffiness to her eyes and cheeks.

Mishal turned to Archon. “I have never heard of you playing tricks, Archon. You are convincing. Whose jest is this?”

Archon’s eyes narrowed. “It is no jest, Mishal.” He turned to the woman. “Is this the man whose child you carry?”

Her eyes never left the floor. “Yes.” It was a whisper, caught in her throat. “Yes. That’s him.”

Archon turned back to Mishal. “You have completed your studies, or would within a few days. Rather than deprive the Church of such an intelligent young priest, the Bishop will consider your posting this afternoon. See me here after vespers tonight and be prepared to leave before noon the day after tomorrow. That is all.”

Mishal stood for a moment, staring at Archon. He felt a churning in his stomach, and his heart continued to beat against his ribs. Archon met his gaze. The seconds ticked by. 

Finally Mishal spoke. “Archon, we have been at odds before. But if this is something you have conjured for spite–”

Archon’s face flushed purple and he leaned forward, hands on the desktop. “I have conjured? This is your doing, Mishal. Yours. I will not hear your dissimulations. Have the decency to face your sin. To your quarters, or I will see you put out of the Church. Go!”

Mishal hesitated. The girl glanced up at him, then quickly looked back to the floor. Archon stood glaring. Slowly, Mishal turned toward the door. His feet felt like lead. Three steps, and he closed the oak door firmly behind him. He managed to get to the bottom of the steps before he began to shake.