For Shannon/Shayan's reaction:16a. Shayan
As she experienced, for minutes almost becoming, each of the Sealed men, Cortin's appreciation of them grew. Tony's quiet, unobtrusive competence, Ivan's culture and dry humor, the Prince's devotion to his wife and the Systems, the others' varying individualities—and all of them loving her, she returning it. The full unity proved to be only between man and woman, which she found out when Princess Ursula suckled while Edward was merging with her—but she felt Ursula through him, knew the Princess shared her through him as well, sharing love with both.
Later, it was Tiny and Sis who joined her, Tiny's seed still filling the nun's womb though Cortin smiled, trying to project her delight that its work was done. The fourth person in this union was unformed as yet, but undeniably there, conceived in their unity and bathed in all three's when she and Tiny merged, erupting into each other.
When the unity faded, Cortin kissed both of them. "Congratulations—what're you going to name him?"
"Name who?" Powell asked.
Cortin glanced at Chang, got a nod, and called, "Gather 'round, people!" When they did, she said, "Don't ask me how I know, because I can't tell you—but it's my honor and pleasure to tell you all that Sis is pregnant. The child's a boy, and Tiny's the father."
There was a tumult of congratulations until Pritchett interrupted, looking stunned. "But I'm sterile!"
"You were, legally," Chang said with a serene smile. "That is defined, of course, as a class three or lower sperm count and motility rating—but as long as sperm are present at all, there is a chance of conception, however remote. Since we did conceive, that definition no longer applies; you are demonstrably fertile."
Pritchett hugged both women, then disentangled himself from Cortin to give his full attention to the mother of his child. Cortin stretched, catlike, then stood. Once with each of them had been enough to satisfy her need—though it had also left her with a nagging apprehension. Could a team so emotionally involved with each other, and especially with its CO, continue to function properly?
At least they were gathered around the expectant parents, not her, and seemed to be coming to rapid agreement on something. Of the others, the Prince and Princess looked wistful, and Bradford and Illyanov were approaching her. Bradford seemed worried, Illyanov buoyant. "Problem, Brad?" Cortin asked.
"Maybe, depending on what His Majesty decides to do about two fertile Strike Force troopers, the waivered one of whom is pregnant." Bradford frowned. "Normally, you know, she'd be transferred to base duty or discharged at her option and he'd be transferred to the regulars—but I happen to think moving either of them would be a mistake. So I'm going to recommend waivering both of them as long as you're willing to keep them on Azrael."
"Which will be as long as they're willing to stay," Cortin said. "Thanks, Brad, but that's not the only problem. We also have a Team Leader who's just found out she's in love with her entire team—as well as Their Highnesses and the two of you." She sighed deeply. "I wouldn't want to change a bit of it, but this does put us in one horrendous mess, and if we can manage to salvage anything we've planned, it'll be a major miracle."
"I see no serious problems," Illyanov said cheerfully. "After the miracles we have just experienced, how can you doubt that God will continue to help us?"
His confidence was reassuring; Cortin found herself able to grin. "I don't doubt it a bit. Just remember that we can't count on Him until we've done all we can do for ourselves."
"I am fully aware of that," Illyanov said with a smile. "And I believe you can do more than either you or Colonel Bradford have allowed yourself to realize." He turned, gesturing a request to the Royal couple to join them. When they did, he bowed. "Your Highnesses, what limitations are applicable to a Strike Force Team Leader who is also an Inquisitor?"
"No treason or regicide," Prince Edward said promptly. "Anything else they do, as long as it's directed toward stopping the terrorists—or done in the Kingdoms' interests, a proviso I persuaded my father to get the other Sovereigns to agree to a few days ago—is covered by their Writs of Immunity."
"An excellent addition, Your Highness," Illyanov said. "And if such an Inquisitor/Team Leader's opinion of what is in the Kingdoms' best interest happens not to coincide with current canon or civil law?"
The Prince frowned. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I was at all the Strike Force planning conferences, and I don't remember that possibility ever being discussed."
Illyanov turned to Bradford. "The same question, My Lord Bishop. As Strike Force commander, you must know the answer."
Bradford shook his head. "His Highness is right—the possibility was never brought up. I know it never occurred to me; now that you bring it up, it frightens me."
"It should reassure you instead," Illyanov said. "If it occurred to none of those charged with the Kingdoms' protection, I think it safe to assume it will not occur to any in a position and with a desire to harm them." He turned back to Cortin. "I would suggest, beloved, that you take your Writ at face value and do whatever you think best."
Odeon had left the team group to listen; now he nodded. "I second that, Joanie. The best way to make a change is to do it—and Sis has agreed to marry us. Will you perform the ceremony?"
"Wait a minute!" Cortin protested. "Are you all telling me that His Holiness and Their Majesties gave us more power than they have themselves?"
"It would appear so," Illyanov said, "since they must obey the law, and you need not if you believe disobeying to be in the Kingdoms' best interest."
Cortin felt a sudden brief hysteria. Standing here naked and sweaty, in definite need of a bath—and they were telling her, with absolute seriousness, that she was more powerful than King or Pope! That was a frightening idea—but Mike was right, making changes required action. Still— "I … let me clean up and think about it. It's too tempting—sounds too easy."
"We do all need baths," Illyanov agreed, putting his arm around her waist and starting to urge her toward her rooms. "It will be far less easy than it sounds, beloved; this merely makes it possible. But we will all help you."
Before, that sort of presumption would have irritated her, or worse—she might not have wanted to bathe with him, maybe not with anyone. Now, though, she realized that she did want company, specifically Ivan's, and she slid her arm around his waist.
They were silent as the tub filled, Illyanov respecting Cortin's need to think. He'd had no trouble accepting her as the Protector, unlike a couple of the others, but he did have the advantage of Dmitrian traditional prophecies and a mother who'd been matter-of-factly certain her eldest son would meet the Promised One and fulfill those prophecies with Her. He'd guessed it might be Joan when she fulfilled part of them by becoming an Inquisitor who assured herself of her subjects' guilt, had thought it highly probable when she'd fulfilled another part by celebrating her restored sexuality with all of them, and had become positive when Michael told him she knew nothing of her mission, also as prophesied. Becoming one with her hadn't been necessary to his belief in her, though he admitted to himself that it was good to know rather than simply believe. The awesome vastness of even the body-limited part of her Self was both humbling and a promise of what humanity in the Systems could become under her protection and guidance. The permanent Protector's later, of course—but most definitely Joan's for now.
Cortin stirred the rising water with her foot, watching the ripples, comforted by the man sitting on the edge of the tub with her, his arm around her shoulders. Taken at face value, her Writ did give her almost unlimited power, and she'd like nothing better than to use it to give those she loved the first expanded Family. Most of them, anyway … the royals would have to find other spouses at their own level, Ivan and Brad already had families and intentions of expanding them with friends/lovers, and she … well, she knew perfectly well she couldn't be part of the marriage. She'd give them a nice Nuptial Mass, though.
The thought of Mass made her think of Communion, the rapturous absorption in Divinity she experienced sharing Jeshua's Body and Blood. And had experienced earlier today, first drinking from Mike, then in union. It was confusing that three such different experiences could affect her the same way …
"Shall we get in before the water gets cold?"
"Huh?" Cortin glanced at her companion, seeing amused sympathy on his face. "Sorry, Ivan. I was thinking about something else."
"Are you trying to teach your instructor to suck eggs?" Illyanov asked, one eyebrow raised. He slid into the thigh-deep water, turned to help her in. "Have you decided?"
"Decided? Oh—yes. I've got to make the effort; I'll marry them whenever they want. And pray the Pope or someone doesn't annul it." She frowned. "I wouldn't be too worried if it was still Pope Anthony—but Lucius is as conservative as they come. I'm not sure what he'll do … and for no reason I can pinpoint, I don't trust him."
In that case, Illyanov thought, neither did he—but he kept to the primary subject. "A valid marriage cannot be annulled, and that will be one, under the provisions of your Writ." Illyanov picked up the shampoo, began washing her hair. "It seems to me a good idea to marry them as early as possible, although—like your suspicion of Pope Lucius—I have no specific reason for the idea." He paused, then went on. "I am also concerned with what will happen when he and the Sovereigns realize the power they gave you and those like you. Ex post facto laws are invalid, so they will be unable to negate what you do—but it would not surprise me if they act quickly to restrict those powers."
"How quickly is quickly?" Cortin returned the favor, grabbing the soap and lathering her companion.
"All were involved in issuing the Writs, so all must agree on their modification. I am astonished that Prince Edward's modification was accepted so rapidly, though it was relatively minor; this is major, so it should take a Sovereign's Conference. Even with preparations made as fast as possible, I would be surprised if it could convene in less than a month. Most, you know, take a year or more to arrange."
"I never thought I'd be grateful for bureaucratic delays," Cortin said, "but this time I am." She thought of something, frowned. "Wait—I can't use the Writ yet! Not until we're activated, and who knows how long that'll be? If they catch on before then, either modify the Writs or simply never activate us, I won't be able to do anything!"
"Not true," Illyanov said. "You simply cannot use it openly until then." He grinned. "You are too straightforward for politics, beloved—one of the reasons I love you. Your Writ has been valid since it was issued, as is whatever you have done or will do under it. Marry the team, then lay the groundwork, bring together the rest of those you need for what you must accomplish, let the public—through a reporter, of course—see you at prayer and play as well as work, continue giving out the blessed cartridges."
"Play?" Cortin cocked her head, looking up at him.
"Not this kind, of course." Illyanov returned the look, affectionately stroking her breast. "As Michael said, this can truly be shared only with those we love. I had in mind perhaps a pair of kittens?"
Cortin gaped at him, then grinned and splashed water on his chest. "You learned that about me during unity, while I only get feeling? That doesn't seem quite fair—not that I can complain about what I do get!"
"You know better than to jump at conclusions," Illyanov chided. "Anthony, who has seen you with them, is not the only one who is aware of your fondness for the young of all species, particularly the feline one—a knowledge I got, not from your men, but from your reactions to things like calendar pictures."
"Oops—not thinking too clearly at the moment, I guess. Too many distractions. Sorry, Ivan." Cortin ducked under the water to rinse her hair, but more to hide embarrassment. She did know better than that; her only excuse was the shock of finding she loved—and was loved by—so many people. She'd get over the shock—probably very soon, as nice as it felt—but right now she was almost as much of a mess as the situation they were all in.
"No apologies necessary," Illyanov said when she surfaced. "The … total involvement shocked all of us. You may believe me suffering from an excess of my ancestral Russian mysticism, but I felt I was one with God. Turn around, I need to get your back.—You do realize that Eleanor and Joseph's baby is the first human since the Blessed Virgin to be conceived free of Original Sin?"
Cortin turned her head to stare at him. "Is that more of your Russian mysticism?"
"Simple logic, beloved. A child conceived by parents incapable of sin must share that protection, at least until it reaches the age of reason and must decide for itself."
Cortin thought for a moment, then nodded. "That does make sense. I haven't figured out all the implications of not being able to sin, yet."
"None of us have," Illyanov said. "It is possible we will receive some surprises as to what is and is not sinful, as well. While God is infallible, human interpretation of His Will is not." He smiled. "I also have a feeling that we other Sealed Inquisitors will have to imitate you in assuring ourselves of a subject's guilt before going beyond the first stage of interrogation. I pray we are given truthsense to do so accurately, lest we release those who will harm the ones we are sworn to protect."
"That would have to be a part of it," Cortin agreed. "Try some test questions on me. I'll try to lie on one of them; if you've got the same kind of truthsense now that I do, you'll be able to feel which one."
"Questions I do not know the answers to. Having been your instructor, I know you well enough for that to be difficult; let me think."
He had finished bathing her and was being bathed in turn before he was able to think of any. As he'd told her, he knew too much about her for most conventional questions to be evidential, and the unconventional ones he really wanted to ask would tell her too much. "Do you believe the Protector's appearance will make our profession obsolete?"
"No," Cortin said promptly. "We'll be just as necessary, though not always in the same way, I'm sure." She grinned. "Not everyone's going to be willing to give up even the little free will we did, either to be sure of Heaven or to avoid Hell. Criminals still won't give up their information without a fight, and they'll still need mortal punishment; there'll definitely be a place for Inquisitors!"
"That is good to know. Ah … let me see. I do not remember that we ever went into your pre-Academy background, with the exception of your family being a farming one; if the subject would not be too painful, that might be a possible area of evidence."
"My adoptive family," Cortin corrected him. "But I can't say my childhood was any more painful than average, so go ahead."
"Do you remember your biological parents at all?"
"No. As far as I know, I never saw either of them; I was the classic orphan left in a basket on someone's front porch."
"What about siblings?"
"One, an older brother. Though Mother and Father would have dearly loved more; I remember regular Masses for that intention."
"And how did they feel when you went into Enforcement?"
"As surprised as I was, and I think a little disappointed, though they tried not to show it. We … lost touch … not long after I went to the Academy."
"Not a close family, then."
"Not particularly," Cortin agreed. "When I gave up farming, we had no interests in common any longer, so I suppose it was natural to lose contact. It was my fault as much as theirs; I got so absorbed in my studies that I took longer and longer answering letters, and when I did, it was about the Academy and my classmates. Also … I didn't mention it, but I'm sure they knew I was using our dispensation, and they didn't approve."
"Fortunate for us, though not for them." That seemed to close that subject; Illyanov sought for another. "Ah … assuming the Protector defeats Shayan and we are able to expand beyond the Systems' present limits, do you believe we will be able to avoid contact with the Empire?"
"I think so, for another couple of centuries at least."
Illyanov quirked an eyebrow. "And that, beloved, is true only as a hope, not a conviction. So we have proven two things."
"That at least under test circumstances lying isn't sinful," Cortin agreed, "and that you—by extension, Dave and Brad too—have a reliable truthsense."
"And we will find out more as we go." Illyanov studied her for a moment. "What do you truly believe about the Empire, beloved?"
Cortin rubbed the back of her neck in a gesture she'd picked up from Odeon. "I'm afraid of them," she admitted slowly. "I can't say it's a totally justified fear—there's been no contact since the Flight, after all, and all the comm intercepts I've heard confirm their non-interference claims. But that's hard to believe of any government."
Illyanov nodded. "I share that particular reservation, though not strongly. I believe contact will be traumatic, but ultimately beneficial. Like your fear, my optimism is not totally justified. It is stronger than a mere hunch, however, and I confess I would like to meet some of them face to face."
Cortin looked at him quizzically. "Even the non-human ones?"
"Perhaps especially those," Illyanov admitted, smiling. "But I fear I am monopolizing your time; perhaps we should rejoin the others." He helped her finish rinsing him, then got out of the tub and gave her a hand up.
Clean and dressed—someone had thoughtfully laid Illyanov's uniform out on Cortin's bed—the two returned to the common-room. The rest were already back, and Brady was serving herb tea and small cakes. Cortin took one, though she wasn't really hungry, and nibbled at it until Brady left. Then she got the group's attention and said, "Ivan came up with an idea a few minutes ago. I don't particularly like it, but I can definitely see where it could be useful: let a reporter spend some time with us, enough to get to know us as people instead of symbols."
That got a mixed reaction, from Degas' wince to Odeon's thoughtful nod. "Personally," her Team-second said after a moment's thought, "I don't like it any better than you do … but otherwise, it sounds good. And we can handle anything, for a short enough time."
"A week should be about right," Bradford said. "And I think I know the ideal reporter to invite."
Cortin cocked her head. "That expression says you're up to something, Brad. Just who is this ideal reporter?"
"Sara Blackfeather, of the New Roman Times."
Cortin stared at him in shocked disbelief. "Are you feeling all right? She not only despises Enforcement, rumor has it she's Pope Lucius' mistress!"
"Not just rumor," Bradford said. "You have to remember, though, that in that part of this world, an unmarried man is almost required to have a mistress. If he's faithful to her—and everything I've heard says he is, from the time he acknowledged her when he was Cardinal McHenry—it's only a venial sin. As for her being hostile, what would it prove if, say, Patrick James did a series? He's always been an Enforcement supporter. But if you can turn Blackfeather into a friend—even a neutral—she'd sway a lot of her followers. Even her worst enemies can't argue her honesty; if she does change her opinion, she'll say so."
"True," Cortin agreed. "She's done it before, two or three times that I know of. All right, as soon as I decide on a good time, I'll send her an invitation. And while we're on that subject—Dave, have you asked Betty yet if she and the children want to move here?"
"No—until this morning, I didn't understand how you really felt." Bain smiled. "I'll call her after Mass."
"Why wait?" Cortin returned the smile. "Call now, so we'll all know. It's a good time to move—nice weather, and the children'll have time to make friends before school starts. And if they do come, I'd like to have them here when Blackfeather arrives—I have a feeling I'm going to need the kind of atmosphere only children can create."
"Besides which," Bain said, "your secret's out, to us—you just plain like children." He went to the phone, dialed, and moments later was speaking to his sister-in-law. He explained the new family structure and his part in the first one being formed, then went into the advantages for the children even if she chose not to marry into the group—then he grinned, giving the group around him the thumbs-up, and began discussing logistic details.
"Good!" Cortin exclaimed. "Sis, Mike—we'll need a playground, and the third floor set up for children, and—a nanny, do you think, or—"
"Next weekend be okay?" Bain interrupted to ask.
"The sooner the better," Cortin said. If they could move in that quickly, it might not be a bad idea to invite that reporter for the week around the Brothers' attack on the convent. If she'd never been to a fresh raid scene, she could only have a rough, second-hand idea of the suffering a raid caused. Seeing that might jar her enough to let her really look at what Enforcement did, and why—including the necessity for Inquisitors and the methods it took to stop the terrorists. Cortin wasn't sure it would, but with Blackfeather's reputation for honesty, it seemed to be worth the gamble. "If they'll need help, fly out with whoever you need."
Bain spoke into the phone again, then hung up and turned to the rest. "Two of us will be more than enough, she says. Who wants to be the other?"
Pritchett raised his hand quickly. "I've always been good with kids."
"I would also like to go," Chang said.
Cortin shook her head. "Sorry, Sis. Even if you weren't pregnant, it'd be too dangerous. I know you're no more worried about yourself than any other Strike Team officer would be, but with you at the top of the Brothers' wipe list, if they tried for you, the Bains would get caught in the crossfire."
"I had not thought of that," Chang said. "I would not wish to endanger others, of course. Dave and Tiny, then?"
"Right. On permissive TDY—and," she turned to the designated ones, "with orders to call me if the Transportation Office gives you any static about storing whatever she can't or doesn't want to bring along. Not that that's likely, with both of you members of the King's Own."
"True." Bain grinned. "I kind of hope they do, though. You cannot believe how much I'd like to see their faces if Her Excellency the King's Inquisitor had to talk to them."
"Oh, I'd believe, all right," Cortin said. "I've had all the usualexperiences with them myself, which is why I'm kind of hoping you have to call."
Prince Edward tapped on the King's half-open office door. "Good news, Father."
The King looked up from the papers he was working on. "Come in and close the door." When Edward had obeyed and seated himself, the King asked, "How good?"
"Colonel Cortin's just turned Strike Team Azrael into a family, and Lieutenant Chang is pregnant with Lieutenant Pritchett's son. I don't know what the new family name will be, yet."
"That's excellent news," the King said, smiling widely. "I was hoping she'd do something like that, and of course she'd take care of her own people first. Let's see—Chang was waivered with undetermined fertility, but Pritchett definitely tested sterile, so I think that can safely be classed as a miracle. Most gratifying."
"You're not surprised?" Edward asked, a little disappointed.
"I had some information you didn't," the King said drily. "Remember at the Sovereigns' Conference, Pope Anthony called Czar Nicholas and myself to a private audience?"
"Yes, of course."
"His Holiness told us that he'd be murdered soon, and that we should take that as evidence for the rest of what he had to say. He was, and we did. I don't think I need to tell you what the 'rest' was."
"Not if it's that this is the time of the Final Coming," Edward said cautiously.
"And that the Royal Inquisitor either Nicholas or I would choose would be, without knowing it, the Protector. From what we know of Colonels Cortin and Stepanov, she's the one. Is that true?"
Edward hesitated, trying to absorb the idea that Cortin's true identity was known—or at least suspected—outside her immediate circle. On the other hand, Pope Anthony had been holy in fact as well as title; it shouldn't be that much of a surprise that God would lay the same sort of groundwork, through him, that Shayan had undoubtedly laid for himself. "Acting Protector, yes, until the real one manifests," Edward said at last. "Ursula and I are Sealed to him through her, along with all of Team Azrael, Colonel Bradford, and Major Illyanov. Captain Odeon and Lieutenant Chang are her priests, as well." He paused, went on. "She's worried about what you'll do with Pritchett and Chang now that they're going to be parents. And what Pope Lucius will do about the marriage."
"I'm certainly not going to take her people away from her," the King said. "Team Azrael isn't subject to the conventional Strike Team dangers, so I can justify exempting them from the sterility rules. The dangers they—and you—will face are of an entirely different nature. One no mortal, I'm afraid, can do anything to protect you against. As for Pope Lucius acting against the marriage—" the King smiled, grimly. "I'm sure he'll try, but considering the celebrant, I doubt very much he'll get very far. 'Whom therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.' The marriage is valid under His—" He paused, with a bemused expression, then went on, "or Her—Law. Though I admit it would be helpful if it were also valid under some temporal laws as well, which I'm working on. I don't suppose she's part of this family she's just created?"
"Not yet—but Captain Odeon is working on a way to correct that."
"Very good. Let me know as soon as he does; if this is going to work, she'll have to have heirs."
"Of course, Father. Uh … what about additional spouses for Ursula and myself?"
"I'm working on that, too. God willing, arrangements will be complete for you a new husband and wife by the time I activate the Strike Force, and she'll perform the ceremony."
When Cortin got to the breakfast table after Mass, she was amused to find a heated discussion in progress, about what the family name should be. It seemed an odd subject, she thought as she helped herself from the hot-table rather than calling an order to the kitchen—but on second thought, it did make sense. Women were used to giving up maiden-family names on marriage, though a professional with an established reputation would often hyphenate it with her husband's, but the men didn't think too highly of the idea. She listened without interfering; it was their Family, using a new system, so it seemed reasonable to let them determine how it should be identified. If their method looked as if it would work out well, she'd recommend it to His Majesty for general implementation.
It didn't take them long to decide hyphenating all the names together alphabetically was much too unwieldy to work. Hyphenation was fine, they agreed, but more than two names was excessive—the problem now was which two. Cortin favored Odeon's thinking, that everyone take the name of the senior spouse at the Family's founding, with the other spouses hyphenating their surnames, and that argument seemed to be winning, with the focus changing to whether seniority should be in age or rank. The debate was getting intense when Powell raised both hands. "Since I don't class as senior either way, and Joan's interest seems to be purely academic or she'd have said something before now, why not ask her opinion?"
"Good idea," Odeon said, after looking around at the rest and getting their agreement. "What do you think, Joanie?"
"Senior in rank seems most reasonable to me," Cortin said. "After all, this is going to apply to nobles and royalty, as well as commoners, and you can't expect a monarch or fief-holder to change names. As an alternative you didn't mention, at least for commoners, pick a name the initial spouses can all agree on, since it only has to be established once."
"Now that idea I like even better," Odeon said. "People?"
There was momentary puzzlement, then what he was suggesting dawned on his spouses, and he got nods and murmurs of agreement from the rest. "That's settled, then," he said, turning to Cortin. "Subject to Your Excellency's veto, of course, this will be Family Cortin. With you at its head, equally of course."
Cortin stared at him, then found herself unable to hold back a wide, delighted smile. "No veto, Mike. That's the nicest present I could ever get! Thanks, all of you!"
"No need for thanks," Chang said. "The honor and pleasure are ours. On St. Ignatius, we would now be entitled to call you Mother; is that true here?"
"You've made me head of your—our—family, and I'm a female," Cortin said, "so I suppose that is the proper title. And that means I'll be grandmother to your children!" She smiled again, thoroughly pleased. "Though I hope you'll keep calling me Joan or Joanie, too, and of course we'll have to observe correct protocol in public."
"Of course, Excellency," Chang said with a perfectly straight face.
The news was just too good to keep to herself, and Cortin knew His Majesty had to be the first to know about the Family and her new status in it—though it would surprise her if Prince Edward hadn't already told him about the first part. She was nervous about the result, enough so that she was reluctant to call at all—certainly not before His Majesty could reasonably be expected to have been to Mass, had breakfast, and gotten his morning briefing from his chief advisors. God willing, there'd be nothing in the briefing to upset him—maybe even some news to put him in a good mood.
In the meantime, she told herself she really ought to brief Matthew to expect new residents and a visitor, then write the invitation to Blackfeather. And there was all that mail and paperwork that had been accumulating in her main-floor office; she should at least go through it enough to sort what had to be taken care of from what could be thrown out.
She had alerted Brady, who proved enthusiastic about having children in the house once she assured him they'd be kept very strictly out of her profession, written the invitation, and was starting to work her way through the stack of mail when Powell looked in the open door. "Need some help? I'm pretty good at that sort of thing."
Cortin looked up at him gratefully. "I sincerely hope so, because this is the one part of my job I really don't like. Pull up a chair and see what you can do."
Powell did so, taking a stack of mail, opening and going through it with considerable assurance and more speed than Cortin herself was managing. After a few minutes, she discovered she was doing more watching than working—and being impressed. When he finished with the stack, she took it and scrutinized his work.
That was even more impressive than watching him, because he had dealt with every piece exactly as she would have. Impressive, and a little frightening—but she wasn't about to question a gift from God. "What do you do during the day, Chuck?"
Powell flushed. "Not much, I'm afraid. Read, mostly, between Mass and supper—and entertain myself, of course. It's fun, but I'd like to do something more … productive."
"Productive as in?"
"This sort of thing. I'm pretty good at it, I think, and you don't like it—maybe I could be your secretary, or aide, or whatever you'd want to call it?"
Cortin chuckled. "'Great minds' … You're more than pretty good, you're incredible—almost as if you were reading my mind. The job's all yours, with my thanks."
Powell flushed again. "It's easy—when we were so close to being one person, you wanted me—maybe all of us—to know you as well as we could. I can sort of put myself in your place, at least enough to handle routine things the way you would. And I enjoy doing it."
"As I said, it's all yours." Cortin handed him the invitation to Blackfeather. "I thought I ought to write this myself, and I'm never sure when I'll have time free, but I don't want it going out until we can be sure she'll get it after the Bains arrive. Can you handle that?"
"No problem." Powell took the paper. "They'll be arriving a week from Saturday, right?"
"That's what I understand, yes."
"Mail it a week from today, then." Powell clipped a note to the invitation and put it in the middle basket of her stack. "Okay, anything else?"
Cortin glanced at the clock and winced. "I have to call His Majesty and tell him about the Family—stick around and give me moral support?"
"Of course."
"Thanks." Cortin made the call, almost wishing the King wouldn't answer. When he did and she identified herself, though, she could hear a smile in his voice.
"Good work, Colonel. Our congratulations to the newlyweds—please bring them to the Palace when you're free, to accept them in person."
"My pleasure, Your Majesty—but there's more." Cortin took a deep breath, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. "They've adopted me as mother, and taken Cortin as the Family name."
"Outstanding," the King said with obvious satisfaction. "A slight change, then. Bring them all over as soon as possible—Edward will be waiting to bring you to the Throne Room."
"But what—" Cortin cut herself off. She'd find out soon enough; this was just another example of His Majesty keeping his own counsel. Good thing Dave and Tiny hadn't left yet … "Yes, Sire. Ten minutes, unless you want us in dress uniform."
"Service uniform is fine. Ten minutes, then."
As promised, Prince Edward was waiting when they got to the Palace. All except Cortin left their weapons with the armorer, then the Prince led them to the Throne Room. His Majesty was seated on the Throne, in everyday clothes but wearing the Crown and holding the Sword of State, and the rest of the Sealed ones and Her Majesty the Queen were in attendance. It looked like an informal Grand Audience, Cortin thought, but that was a contradiction in terms—yet she'd never heard of Crown and Sword being used at the same time except at a Coronation or Grand Audience, and this certainly wasn't a Coronation!
The King smiled. "Thank you for your promptness, gentles. We congratulate you on your marriage and your choice of a Family head, and We offer Our best wishes for a long and happy Family life."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." His congratulations and good wishes were welcome, Cortin thought, but hardly call for ceremonial …
"Neither your marriage nor what We will shortly do must be made public until after the Strike Force is activated, but since it will require you to make major changes in your lives, We have chosen to give you some time to adapt in private." The King stood, descended from the dais to stand in front of the Throne. "Joan Cortin, approach Us and kneel."
Cortin obeyed, puzzled. Whatever was going on certainly wasn't normal! When she knelt, the King said, "We believe your extended family structure to be in the best interest of Our realm and subjects. To demonstrate Our support and approval and to give you temporal power to assist in establishing more such Families, We hereby name Joan Cortin and her heirs to head the Northwest Territory, now the Archduchy of High Teton, as long as this Kingdom shall stand." He touched both her shoulders with the flat of the Sword. "Rise, Your Grace."
Too stunned for immediate reaction, Cortin did as she was told. She'd barely gotten used to being King's Inquisitor; now she was suddenly Arch-duchess as well. Granted that His Majesty was close-mouthed about his plans until he acted on them, he could have given her some warning!
Not long afterward the group was in the Sable Room, a large version of Harmony Lodge's common-room, having hot drinks and cinnamon-cake. Cortin was starting to recover, and realizing it was probably a good thing His Majesty had surprised her. If he'd asked, she would have turned it down; now, it was too late. But—"Your Majesty, I don't see how I can do both jobs properly."
"You can't, of course, and I don't expect you to. I assume you want to keep on as Royal Inquisitor?"
"I think I can do more good in that position, yes, Sire. At least until the Brotherhood is eliminated."
"I agree," the King said, surprising her. "And I have no intention of separating you from your Family, though under normal circumstances your heir would act as your regent while you carry out Royal responsibilities. My son has agreed to act in that capacity until you feel free to relinquish your Inquisitorial duties, or until you want your heir to take over." He paused. "And who is your heir, Your Grace? Since you do not and cannot have children, I must require you to designate your successor."
"I've hardly had time to think about that, Sire." He was absolutely right, she did have that responsibility to her new lieges—and she dared not waste any time fulfilling it. She was still positive she'd have to face Shannon, and that whatever restraints held him back now were unlikely in the extreme to do so then. Whether he was just Shayan's tool, or Shayan himself, it was the Hell-King's power she'd be facing then, and that was power no mortal could match. She'd probably be killed outright; if not, she could only pray that God would be merciful and not leave her subject to Shayan's torture. At least she had the certainty of dying in a state of grace …
"In that case," the King's voice interrupted her thoughts, "might I suggest that the next-senior Family member would be a reasonable choice? That would logically be Captain Cortin-Odeon, true?"
"True, Your Majesty." Cortin glanced at Mike, savoring the sound of his Family name. He was the logical choice—and designating him would have an extra benefit, as far as she was concerned. Once all this was made public and he was openly heir to a major fief, he'd be kept out of unusually difficult situations. He might not particularly like that, but it would certainly be easier for her, not having to worry about him. The same would be true of the rest, though to a lesser degree, as members of the nobility. Yes, it was just as well His Majesty hadn't given her an opportunity to refuse! "An excellent suggestion; I so designate him."
"Designation confirmed," the King said promptly. "As heir to an Archduchess, that makes him a Duke and his spouses … hmm." The King frowned, smiling at the same time. "I can see where we need some new terminology to fit the new Families. Calling a man 'Duchess'—or the equivalent for lower ranks—could lead to all sorts of confusion, even though it was the proper term for the spouse in a conventional family. And 'Duke-spouse' is clumsy. Suggestions, anyone?"
There was silence for a while, then Powell raised a tentative hand.
"Yes, my Lord?" the King said.
Powell looked startled, an emotion Cortin echoed until it made her grin instead. She wasn't the only one who'd have some adjusting to do! Then Powell gathered himself and went on. "It's a made-up word, but what about something like 'Dukida'? It's neutral sexually, and in zoology '-ida' is used in forming family names …"
"Sounds odd," the King said thoughtfully, "but then new words usually do. And the suffix fits with the other titles of nobility, takes a classical plural … Very well, so be it. Thank you, my Lord."
"I'm honored to be of service, Your Majesty."
"Now that we have that settled," the King said, "I understand Family Cortin is expecting its first child?"
"Yes, Sire," Cortin said. "And I hope soon becoming step-parents to three more." She explained about Betty and the children.
"Excellent. That makes me wish even more that I could forbid this entire Family from going into action, but that would defeat one of the new structure's purposes." The King frowned, addressing the entire group. "I have forbidden Colonel Cortin to go into danger except against those who personally harmed her, a ban that will also apply to Duke Michael after the convent raid and to Dukida Eleanor for the duration of her pregnancy. Unfortunately, I have to let the rest of you set an example. Just for God's sake, be careful!"
Odeon glanced at Cortin, then looked at the King. "For the Protector's sake, Your Majesty," he said quietly, "you can be sure we'll all be as careful as humanly possible."
The week and a half between Family Cortin's sudden promotion and the Bains' arrival was one of the busiest Cortin could remember. Besides her regular work, she tried to spend a couple of hours a day helping get the Lodge ready, then in the evenings the rest of the Sealed group came to help the Family get used to its new status and prepare for the responsibilities involved in running a new Archduchy, and after that for the Protector's Communion.
And the first Friday evening, Illyanov startled Cortin by announcing that he'd asked for discharge from St. Dmitri Enforcement, which he expected would be formally granted within two weeks, and that his wife and children would be moving to St. Thomas as soon as travel arrangements could be made.
Cortin stared at him in shock. "Ivan, why?"
"Because I cannot serve in two forces at once. Your Grace is going to require an Archducal Enforcement Service, and I wish to help establish it." He smiled. "I also wish to establish a Family, a desire both my wife and my mistress share. That will be difficult anywhere except in High Teton for some time."
"For anyone except the nobility, at least," Bradford agreed. "Which is why, with Your Grace's permission, I would like to move Strike Force Operations there as soon as practical."
"Granted." That was something she hadn't really considered, but she could see why it would be true; her new fief had a small population, which made it seem safe to assume its inhabitants would be in favor of a change that would allow them to expand. "Have we had enough practice for one night?"
"I'd say so," Bradford replied. "You only slipped once, when Ivan gave you what I admit was a shock."
"Good!" Cortin unfastened the collar of her tunic, sighing with relief. "It certainly was, even though I suppose I should have expected it. He's certainly hinted about moving to this world."
"He won't be the only one," Edward said. "From what I've heard, High Teton is going to have quite an influx of people wanting Families—a large percentage of them Enforcement, with their various Sovereigns' backing. Not all permanent, though."
"They'll be welcome," Cortin said. "I'm glad of the Sovereigns' reaction—but I'm still worried about Pope Lucius', when we go public. I simply cannot see him giving Church approval. I'm a little surprised that he hasn't revoked the Enforcement dispensation, in fact."
"Such a revocation would have little effect," Chang said. "Those I speak to during my work at the hospital have made that clear."
Cortin frowned. "They'd disobey the Pope? I wouldn't, even if I didn't agree with him."
"On the contrary," Illyanov said. "If his decrees conflict with what you think right, or what Michael and Eleanor tell us of the Protector's will, you will have no choice but to disobey. Which is true of all of us who are Sealed, and thus guided directly. We must prepare the Protector's way, and also encourage devotion to all three Aspects of the Triune—they are, after all, complementary—in hopes of protecting as many people as possible from Shayan and his deceits."
Chang nodded. "There is a certain protection available even to those not yet Sealed. I refer, of course, to the cartridges Joan has blessed."
"Oh?" Illyanov cocked his head. "I know they are growing in popularity, with civilians as well as troopers, but I am unaware of any special protection they might offer."
"I cannot say they truly do," Chang cautioned, "but many troopers, of late, refuse to go into the field without them. It is said that those who wear cartridges suffer fewer and less serious wounds than those who do not. More importantly, not one person with such a cartridge is known to have died under the shadow of mortal sin. There is growing belief that if Colonel Cortin is not the Protector herself, she must be the Protector's Herald."
"To the best of my knowledge, I'm neither one," Cortin said. "I don't want to mislead people, even by omission—but what if that misdirected belief helps pave the Protector's way? Should I say something, or should I keep silent?"
They were getting onto shaky ground, Odeon thought. Their belief wasn't misdirected; it was only Joanie who was unable to believe the truth, and he wondered if she'd noticed the phrasing of her denial. "If it were me," he said slowly, "I'd keep my mouth shut. No one's being hurt by that belief, and it may help. That Brother said piety was necessary, in both senses of the word—this could be what he was talking about. Piety the person, and a pious faith and hope—belief, if you will—in the Protector and His or Her imminent appearance."
"In which case," Illyanov said, "it is a belief worth promoting." He turned to Cortin. "If the idea makes you uncomfortable, beloved, I would suggest you ask Michael and Eleanor to dedicate this evening's service to your guidance, and pray that it be revealed while you sleep. I am sure God will not deny such help to one who has given herself to His service."
"Sounds reasonable," Odeon said. "We'll do it."