Submission and Subordination

As the ex-arbiter removed her hood, Stoneshade noted the visible changes in Voah. No longer did she seem like some teasing, delicate blossom whose petals were waiting to be plucked, instead a hardened beauty, statuesque and a bit weathered, but no less elegant. That previous underlying confidence, haughtiness, and sense of immunity had been laid low. The Duke knew then that Arcadia had finally claimed its pound of flesh from her, as it did from most who stayed there long enough. He couldn’t help but wonder if the cold, stoic Purger was impervious to such internal changes. Still, Voah held onto a sense of regalness in her resolve and newfound humility.

The warmth of the fire barely touched Voah’s face as she took in the vast hall. This was the same space where she had once been welcomed as an arbiter of the faith, now she returned as a branded heretic.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of the Purger, yet she didn’t let it show on her face. His eyes gleamed with that same cold fury and judgment she remembered all too well. He had once been a symbol of respect to her, but since meeting him in Bootlegger’s Peer, he unsettled her, as he did for many. She thought her life was to end on the beach before she fled, but he had spared her. Facing him once again, and in this setting, with her life and future on the line again, he was the living embodiment of Zin, whose embrace she had narrowly avoided so many times before. Here was death…waiting just a few sword lengths out of reach. The Duke was the executioner, and Margrave Otho was the willing blade at his hand.

Voah breathed deeply, steadying herself. She could not falter. Not now. She had endured too much, faced down too many demons, to let fear undo her now. Sir Zane’s words, spoken moments before, echoed in her mind: The Moon Mother is with us. And she clung to that hope, to the divine presence she had felt in her return to the city—even under guise among a sprawl that would she her put to the sword.

Still, the weight of the moment was overwhelming. She felt her every move scrutinized, every breath analyzed for weakness. The Purger was waiting for a reason to strike her down, to prove her guilt before all. Yet there was something in the Duke’s demeanor, something more measured and thoughtful, that gave her the smallest glimmer of hope.

Voah’s voice, when she spoke, was steady, though laced with the tension of the unknown. “My Lord,” she made sure to address him as something that would appeal to her subservience before him, bowing her head toward the Duke. “I stand before you, not as the woman I once was, but as one who has walked a path I could not foresee. One that thank warned me of those many moons ago. I have learned much from my time in Arcadia and from the Road to Salvation. For those gifts I thank you.” She glanced at the Purger, feeling the burn of his gaze upon her, before returning her focus to the Duke. “I make no excuses to defend my acts of cowardice. But I do implore your mercy, Your Grace, in considering not only my mistakes, but my past deeds under your service and those deeds a may yet do for this city…for our people.”

Her words hung frozen in the air, and though the fire crackled softly nearby, it did little to warm the mood.