Cortin knew in a remote way that she was dreaming, even though it seemed real enough—the clean smell of the mountain air, the sun-warmth, her Family surrounding her with the Archducal Palace behind them. All were in white Enforcement uniforms, like none she'd ever seen, but that seemed right somehow, and she was buoyed by the love she felt from all of them.
In the distance she saw a bright glow. As it grew, she saw it was a man, also in a white Enforcement uniform, his rank insignia a single silver star. When his feet touched the ground in front of her, he hugged her and gave her a thorough, highly enjoyable kiss. When he released her, he smiled. "You asked for help, Joanie; I'm here to give it. The first order of business, though, is to tell you that you're doing as well as anyone could, under these circumstances."
"Thanks—that's good to know." Cortin was calmer than she thought she had any right to be, with the certainty it was Jeshua Himself talking to her—probably His influence, she thought. "You know the problem; what should I do? Or not do?"
"Don't deny the beliefs that concern you," he said promptly. "They're natural ones, since you're fulfilling the prophecies that show the Protector's about to appear."
"But they're supposed to apply to the Protector or His Herald—and both of them are men!"
"Not in anything I've said." Jeshua chuckled. "That's a human assumption I allowed to stand, as harmless. Those with enough power can choose what sex to appear as—see?" With that, he became a woman, wearing the field habit of a Blue Sister. After a few seconds, he changed back. "I'm not exactly what you believe me to be, Joanie, but then neither are most people or things. That isn't particularly significant in this instance, any more than my looks are—or than the Herald's or Protector's sex."
Cortin couldn't help it; she grinned at that before continuing. "I'm certain I'm not the Protector, but you say I'm fulfilling prophecies I never heard of. That sounds like I'm being used as a decoy—or am I the Herald?"
The man returned her smile. "In part, yes. Get Ivan to tell you about the prophecies some day; he grew up with the accurate ones. In the meantime, you shouldn't worry about them. Mike and Sis will guide you, and your Family will support you, as will the rest of the Sealed ones." At this point it would be counterproductive, he thought, telling her she was also acting Protector; she would simply reject the idea. He wouldn't lie to her, but he also saw no point in burdening her unnecessarily, since she could use the aspects of her borrowed powers that she'd need without accepting that temporary part of her identity. And he had no doubt the true Protector would grant her her fondest wish when he arrived.
In part? Cortin wondered, but she decided against going into that; it sounded like something likely to make her uncomfortable if she investigated too closely. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "Am I … really going to have to face Shayan?"
"Yes, though not until after the Protector manifests fully, and it probably won't be as you expect."
"Is Shannon Shayan?"
"Yes."
Cortin was getting a little irritated. He was answering her questions, true, but he certainly wasn't being very responsive! What else did she need to know? "You sound like you approve of the Families, but I can't believe Pope Lucius will." She shook her head, bewildered. "And how can your Worldly Vicar oppose you?" She paused, a frightening thought forming. "Unless the Pope's somehow Shannon, as well."
Jeshua sighed. "Pope Lucius is indeed Lawrence Shannon in different physical form. I can't explain to you exactly what's going on; you don't need, or really want, to know. Suffice it to say that his hatred and basic opposition are intact, but his powers, in that position at this time, do serve my purposes."
That was a shock, but Cortin was aware he was shielding her from most of the impact, and she was extremely grateful for the protection. Dear God, Shayan the Pope!
"It's not a desirable situation, true, but as I said, it is necessary, and I promise you as much of an explanation as you can understand when this stage is complete." He gave her a brief smile. "It may help you to know he has no spiritual authority over those who are Sealed, as Ivan told you—and it's Mike and Sis who have that authority over those who are devoted to the Protector. Pass on to them, would you, that the time has come to institute the bread and milk Communion of Promise? It'll give limited protection to those who want to be Sealed but can't until the Protector manifests fully."
"Of course I will."
"Then except for two small personal items, I've done all that is appropriate at this point. Let Mike and Sis guide you, accept the support of the others who are or want to be Sealed, and work for the Protector's objectives." He smiled at her. "The first personal item is to reclaim the symbol Shayan stole and marked you with. You belong to me, not him—as do the other Sealed. Please remove your gloves."
Cortin obeyed, finding as she did that the circled triangles no longer disturbed her. And they didn't look like burns any more; instead they seemed to glow with blue light, somehow comforting. "Will … the others have these?"
"If you and they want, yes. It isn't a requirement; being openly Sealed will mark them for Shayan's personal torture if his people capture them, and he needs no supernatural powers to make that weeks of agony. His millennia of practice are enough."
"My team would never forgive me if I left them out of anything, even if it was risky. They'll want these marks, but I don't know about the others—I can't choose for them."
"True. If they want them when they see yours, they'll get them. The other item is a trade, if you wish. Your back pain for the Stigmata, which will show you act with my approval. To compensate for the inconvenience of bleeding periodically, they won't cause you any pain."
"I could hardly refuse anything you offer—I'll make the trade." She hesitated. "Uh, what about the cartridges? Was Sis right about them?"
"She was indeed, so long as the wearer doesn't commit a mortal sin deliberately. You'll forget about the symbols and trade both until the latter takes effect." He kissed her again, in a brotherly way this time, and vanished as he had appeared.
Cortin woke with a feeling of imminent disaster. It had seemed like a nightmare, especially Shayan on the Papal Throne … Still, Jeshua had said there was a purpose to it, and he'd outlined what sounded like the only reasonable thing for her to do. She got up, but instead of dressing—the message she'd been asked to pass along sounded like one that shouldn't wait—she put on a robe and went to Odeon's room.
He'd apparently had a quieter night than she; when he called for her to come in he was still in bed, stretched out in a way that reminded her of a large and perfectly contented cat. "Join me?" he invited.
"Uh-huh." Cortin slipped the robe off and slid under the covers, comforted by his warm strength. "I'm not sure how much help it was, but I did have a visitor last night. He asked me to tell you it was time to institute the Communion of Promise, and I got the impression he meant today."
"Good—I've been waiting for word I could. What about what you wanted to know?"
"I found out, sort of. He said I'm the Herald, 'in part'—I was too chicken to ask what he meant by that—and that I shouldn't deny what I'm being called, even if it's the Protector." Cortin shivered, huddling against his chest. "I found out a couple of other things, too. You know the Protector could be a woman? And that Pope Lucius is Shayan, and you and Sis're the Protector's version of a Pope?"
"The last I'd guessed, the rest I knew, yes."
"And that we're on our own now?"
"I thought that was getting close." Odeon kissed her, holding her snugly and stroking her back. "We need two more people, Ivan says, then we'll be in position to hold the fort till the Protector's ready to surface. I expect Betty'll be one of them, but I don't think we've met the other yet."
To her surprise, Cortin found herself becoming aroused. That didn't seem possible, much less appropriate, after her vision—but it was happening. "Mike—"
"What better way to put what you've just been through into perspective? It took a shelter party to straighten Sis and me out, but I don't think you need anything that extreme." He raised himself as if to get out of bed. "Of course, if you think otherwise …"
"I don't, even if a shelter party does sound nice." Cortin shook her head, bewildered. "Shouldn't we be getting ready for Mass, though?"
"Is it your conscience or habit asking that?" Odeon stroked her hair, then caressed a breast. "Trust your feelings, Joanie. You can't sin, remember?"
"I remember." And Jeshua had been specific about telling her to follow Mike and Sis' guidance … She closed her eyes, trying to analyze what she actually felt. That was complicated by Mike's continuing caresses, but it did seem her feelings said this was the right thing to be doing now. Mass was important, yes, but she shouldn't go to it in the mood she'd had when she wakened, of impending doom; this was the Protector's way of comfort and reassurance.
Cortin kissed Odeon one last time before getting up. "Thanks, Mike—I'm feeling human again, and I'm in fit condition to say Mass."
"I could tell." Odeon smiled at her. "Glad I could help."
"So'm I. Mind if I use your tub before I go get dressed?"
"Only if you're willing to have company," Odeon replied with a grin.
"I was hoping you'd say that. Come on."
They bathed in comfortable near-silence, then Cortin went to her room to dress. She was feeling better, and it surprised her. The circumstances hadn't changed, the odds against her and her team were still bad, she was still sure she wouldn't survive her next meeting with Shannon—but Mike was obviously a sovereign remedy for what had ailed her. It was hard to believe he wasn't the Protector, but that couldn't be, if the Protector might be a woman. Sis, maybe? Jeshua had appeared in a Blue Sister's habit …
She forced herself to stop that line of speculation; the Protector's identity would be revealed at the proper time. In the meantime, speculation was pointless; she'd have enough to occupy her doing whatever the Herald was supposed to do without having instructions. Follow her instincts and Mike's guidance, she supposed.
When she opened the vestry door to approach the altar, she was surprised to see the entire team—except Bain and Pritchett, who were probably at Betty's by now—waiting, along with the rest of the Sealed ones, Their Majesties, and some others of the Household, who normally attended Mass at the Cathedral. Her surprise didn't last, though; as usual, when she approached the altar her mind had no room for anything except the ceremony.
That went normally until the Consecration. When she raised the Host and the bell rang, the pain in her back vanished, and she remembered the trade she'd agreed to. As she raised the Chalice, she felt warm wetness circling her head, and on her wrists, back, side, and feet. Her absorption in the Mass was complete enough she couldn't spare real thought, but she was able to include a wordless prayer of thanks with the Remembrance and other prayers before Communion.
The rest of the Mass went normally—the bleeding stopped as soon as she'd administered Communion to the last of those who wanted it—until the after-Mass prayers were finished. Then she was able to notice a small table had been set up just inside the altar rail—a table like the altar in the common-room—and she knew this was the beginning of the Communion of Promise. But … should she give it, or should Mike or Sis? She glanced at them, got the thumbs-up from Mike, and took a deep breath.
Addressing the entire congregation, she gave a brief explanation of the Protector—what she understood, at least—and the Families. She could see doubt on several of the Householders' faces as she described them, mixed with revulsion at her bloody state. She could understand that, from civilians; the Enforcement people, to her relief, seemed more intrigued and willing to believe her. "All of my team, myself included—and a few others—are Sealed to the Protector, with Captain Odeon and Lieutenant Chang as His or Her chief priests." She paused, cocked her head, then smiled. "To simplify things, I'm going to use the male pronoun; just remember the actuality could be either."
She paused again, sobering. "Under their authority as His representatives, I invite those of you who wish to support Him, giving up the ability to sin when He comes into the open and you can be Sealed, to come forward and take His Communion of Promise."
She was pleased that all the Enforcement people did so, followed by the King and Queen. More slowly, a few of the civilian Household followed suit, though most held back. That was too bad, Cortin thought, but she'd known not everyone would accept the Protector fully—some not at all. And she had to admit her condition wasn't the most reassuring; it was entirely possible they'd respond better to another celebrant.
When it was clear that everyone who wanted the Communion of Promise had taken it, she dismissed the congregation and returned to the vestry, where she began removing her bloody uniform. If this was going to happen every time she said Mass, she'd have to have a shower installed here—and get something to wear that wouldn't be ruined, or that didn't matter. Whatever her position, she didn't care to ruin either a uniform or a set of vestments every day!
There was a knock on the door, then Odeon's voice. "Need some help, Colonel?"
"Yes—come in, please."
He did, along with Chang. "That was a little more spectacular than anything we'd guessed at," he said quietly. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," Cortin said. "No pain at all, even in my back. I just look like a mess." She grinned at them. "Jeshua said this trade would help, and I think it did, with the Enforcement troops—but it looks to me more like it scared most of the civs in the congregation."
"Sure it did," Odeon said. "Here, let me give you a hand with that tunic— What would you expect, the first time? We're trained to cope with the unexpected, they aren't—and I've got to admit I was shocked. Next time everyone'll expect it, and it will help. But—why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't remember till it happened." Cortin pulled herself free of the sticky tunic, looking at it in dismay. "Sis, could you ask someone to get me a fresh uniform? And I'm going to need some help with sponge baths until I can get a shower put in— Oh, dear God." Her memory of the other "little thing" Jeshua had mentioned was triggered. "Mike, Sis—take off your gloves." She pulled off her own; yes, the burned-on symbols were now smooth pale-blue flesh.
"What in God's Name!" Odeon exclaimed, examining his hands and the symbols that matched Cortin's. Chang's reaction was less emphatic; she merely smiled, then went to pass along Cortin's request for clean clothes.
When Sis returned, Cortin answered Odeon's question. "Was I wrong?" she asked when she finished. "I was sure, but—"
"And you were right; if you'd left us out, you'd've had a major morale problem. We were marked the minute we put on Special Ops patches, if you remember." He studied the marks on the backs of his hands again, smiling this time. "It's a difference in degree, not in kind."
"But it's a big degree," Cortin pointed out. "I got the impression that Shayan's skill is to mine as mine is to a first-year recruit's. And that's without using any of his powers—if he does use them, he could make it last for … years, maybe, knowing you'd be free of him as soon as you died."
"True, but years is still better than forever. And if playing with us keeps his attention away from civs … well, that's why we all joined the Service, isn't it?"
"Yes—though I doubt any of us thought, then, that it was Shayan himself we'd be diverting. I know I didn't."
"Not directly, no," Odeon agreed. "But some of the ones under his influence aren't much of an improvement." He paused, changed the subject. "You did a nice job with the Communion of Promise."
"Thanks." Cortin tested the water temperature in the vestry's small sink, then began washing blood off her arms. The wounds on her wrists were as painless as she'd been promised, and looked freshly healed, though she was certain they'd be open again every time she said Mass. "Word of these and the Communion of Promise should reach Rome in three or four hours, which means Pope Lucius will guess—or know—I'm the Herald. He'll have to take some sort of action, even if it's not a direct physical assault." She turned to Odeon, her expression grim. "Much as I don't want it to, Mike, I'm afraid this is going to tear the Church apart."
"So did the Great Revival, back in the 1500s," Odeon said. "It came out of that stronger and healthier than ever—it'll do the same this time, if the Protector wins."
"And if not, Shayan destroys humanity, at least in the Kingdoms."
Being acknowledged as the Protector's Herald—even "in part," whatever that meant; she still wasn't sure she wanted to know—was a relief, Cortin decided. At least also "in part", since she hadn't wanted that kind of responsibility and wasn't at all sure she was up to it—but if nothing else, it did explain why so many things had happened to her so fast. She'd do her best to live up to the position she'd been given, whatever her doubts; as Mike had said, God would test you to the absolute limits of your endurance, but not beyond them.
And she had help. Not only the Sealed ones, but civilians, which had been proven over the last week of getting ready for the Bains, especially the children. She'd expected help from the team and servants; it had astonished her to have the ladies from the New Eden joyhouse show up, several with children, to make the third floor—to quote Madame Bernadette—"a proper place to raise healthy, happy children."
Since the children who'd come along were obviously both, Cortin wasn't at all reluctant to defer to someone who clearly knew what she was doing. While they worked, Cortin got to know several of the ladies, discovering that their enthusiasm for the new family structure shouldn't have surprised her; in spite of the fact they were paid for sex, what they had was more like a Family than she would have thought possible. Most of the men were regulars, and it was common for them to visit for other than the obvious reason—mostly to play with the children. Many contributed to their support, some quite generously. And it wasn't unusual for working wives to board their children at the New Eden during the day. After all, as one of the ladies pointed out, where else would they get more adult supervision? Or, with so many Enforcement troopers as clients and supporters, better protection?
Cortin had to agree. She still hadn't been able to work out a way to provide for unmarried women who wanted—or had—children; the Families were almost certain to face enough popular resistance without their main proponent advocating the legitimizing of prostitution as well. In spite of that, she had to agree there was considerable validity to the ladies' arguments that they performed a public service and should have the same sort of dispensation Enforcement did. Before the satyr virus' appearance, she might not have thought that way; since it was a fact, it had to be considered, and there were times people would be away from even a large Family. Something would have to be done to accommodate them, male and female both. That would have to wait, though; establishing the Families had to come first.
In the meantime, she extended a standing invitation to the New Eden ladies: they would be welcome at Harmony Lodge, with or without their children, whenever they cared to visit. Prostitutes were becoming more respectable; having the High King's Inquisitor/Protector's Herald welcome them shouldn't hurt the process.
Despite the help, though, she was keyed up when the Family gathered in the downstairs ballroom after Mass to wait for the Bains' arrival. There was no reason for her apprehension, she kept telling herself; she'd never had any trouble making friends with children or animals, and Betty had been married to an Inquisitor's brother; she wouldn't be afraid of one, and the children were too young to have any real idea what an Inquisitor was. Her position as Herald wasn't anything to frighten them, either, and word of her stigmata had hit the news hours after they'd appeared; even those wouldn't come as a surprise. So what in the Protector's Name did she have to be worried about?
Certainly not the Bains' reactions, she discovered as soon as they came into the room and Dave started introducing them around. The two she'd sent to help had obviously given them a thorough briefing; they fit in as if they'd been part of the group for months, leaving Cortin with no doubt that Betty'd be marrying in fairly soon.
She was the last to be introduced, and she saw concern on the two men's faces as they approached. Bain made the introductions, then said, "We heard what's started happening to you at Mass. Does it … Are you all right?"
"It's painless, and I'm fine. Once I get cleaned up, anyway. What about you?"
Pritchett looked at his gloved hands, then at hers. "No pain—but what do they mean?"
Cortin explained as she had to the others earlier, then went on to tell them the rest of her vision, pleased to see their expressions go from worry to satisfaction.
"What about the others?" Pritchett asked.
"Brad and Ivan yes, Edward and Ursula I don't know; I haven't seen them since."
"Doesn't seem right, somehow, to keep them covered," Pritchett said slowly. "Now I know what they mean, I think they should be seen."
Cortin looked at him in momentary puzzlement, then shook her head ruefully and removed her gloves, tucking them in the back of her belt. "You're absolutely right, Tiny—with the meaning changed, they should be. I suppose wearing gloves has gotten to be so much of a habit it simply never occurred to me not to."
The older boy tugged on her sleeve. "Can I see, Gramma Joan?"
Cortin knelt, extending her hands to the three children. "Of course, Luke—and Kateri, and George. God willing, you'll have them yourselves some day."
"Pretty," Kateri stated unequivocally. "Want now."
"Sorry, sweetheart," Cortin said. "You can't have them till you're older—but I can offer you some milk and gingerbread our cook made special for you."
"Okay." With that, the three hurried unerringly toward the refreshment table and Cortin rose, chuckling.
"I apologize for their rudeness, Excellency," Betty said. "I am teaching them better manners than that—I'm afraid the trip and the excitement have taken their toll."
"I understand perfectly," Cortin said. "Despite what some people say, I was a child myself once. And Dave should have told you: in private, I'm Joan."
"He did—but I wasn't sure." Betty hesitated. "He and Tiny have told me so much about you and the team that I feel I've known you all for years. I don't know how to thank you for inviting us into your home, though. Or wanting us to be part of your family."
"No thanks necessary." Cortin gestured at the children, who were eagerly devouring milk and gingerbread. "They, and the child Sis is carrying, are the reason for families—or Families." She smiled. "I think I'm going to like being Gramma Joan. I gather you intend to accept their proposal, then."
"Yes—though I'm not at all sure about taking part in group sex."
Cortin raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to if you don't want to; Dave must have told you that. And who knows, you may get to like it."
"From Dave and Tiny's descriptions, I may; I'll try, at least."
"I think that's my cue," Odeon said. He bowed to Betty, extending his hands. "Elizabeth, would you do us the great honor of becoming our wife?"
"I would be delighted." Betty took his hands and kissed him, repeated the gesture with the rest of her spouses-to-be. "When?"
"That," Odeon said firmly, "is the bride's prerogative. Privately, at least; publicly, not for at least ten days."
"As soon as possible, then, once the children finish." Betty looked around, defensively. "Pete taught me never to put off anything important, and this is."
"He was absolutely right," Odeon agreed. A trooper's life was too risky to procrastinate; if you did, you were like as not to get killed before you did what you'd been putting off. That didn't mean rushing into things—but once you thought something through and made your decision, you did it—even if the decision was to wait. "We've all had the same training," he told her. "When the children are done, then."
Betty smiled at him. "Thanks—civilians think I'm being impatient, or even impetuous, when it's not that at all."
The children were upset at first about not being allowed on the "grown-up" floor except for meals, but got over that quickly when they were shown their floor. And Betty was pleased with her room, though she said it would take her a while to get used to the luxury. And to the servants, and living next door to the Palace, and— "Well, right now I'm just overwhelmed. Even though Dave and Tiny described it all, that's nothing like actually seeing it." She gestured, taking in the common-room where they'd finally settled.
"You'll get used to it," Cortin assured her, smiling. "The only part of Harmony Lodge that isn't luxurious is the dungeon level, but you won't be going there. And you'll get used to high-ranking visitors, too—though aside from Dave's and my colleagues from the Center, and the rest of the Sealed ones, we haven't had many guests."
"That may change now—" Odeon frowned. "Dave. Betty called Joan 'Excellency'—didn't you tell her about the promotion?"
"No—I was afraid I'd scare her off." Bain turned to their new wife. "Joanie's still Her Excellency the High King's Inquisitor, and you know about her being the Protector's Herald—well, she's also Archduchess of High Teton, what used to be the Northwest Territories." He went on to explain what had happened the morning he and Pritchett had left to pick her up.
"'Dukida Elizabeth'," Betty said slowly. "You wouldn't have scared me off, Dave, it's too good for the children—but if I'm one of those who can be Sealed this early, I think we'd better take care of that, too. I can see where I could be tempted into misusing a noble's power."
"You are," Odeon said. "I'll take care of it at this evening's ceremony."
Sara Blackfeather read the invitation for the third time, still not sure if it was real or a poor joke. Inquisitors were most emphatically not known for their hospitality, and it seemed incredible that the notorious Cortin, of all of them, would invite a journalist into her home for a week. Especially a journalist who made no secret of her antipathy for Inquisitors in general and Sovereigns' Inquisitors in particular.
It would be a professional triumph, of course, which was what made it an almost irresistible temptation. On the other hand, it could as easily be a trick, to find out if her stated sympathy for the Brotherhood hid actual membership in the organization—though it would seem more logical, if that were the case, not to bother with such niceties, simply have her picked up for questioning. Though, she thought a bit smugly, they weren't likely to be quite so blatant with a reporter!
Fortunately, she didn't have to depend purely on her own judgement, which could be flawed by considerations like professional glory; in something that had this much potential for benefit or harm, she could ask her patron for help. He'd be busy, of course, at this time of day, but she was free to interrupt him—on this, he'd be upset if she didn't!
So, minutes later, she was on the way to his home, the invitation tucked carefully in her purse.
Lucius studied the invitation, both amused and disturbed. So Cortin wanted Blackfeather to visit for a week, did she? That could be either good or bad, and he couldn't decide which. On the whole, though, he couldn't argue against the visit, since Sara had no valid—no believable, for that matter—reason to turn down such a professionally valuable invitation. "It should be safe enough," he said at last. "She wouldn't dream of hurting an invited guest unless you do something stupid, and you certainly know better than that. You can also find out for me just what the hell is going on."
Blackfeather nodded; he'd made no secret, from her, that he had to be extremely careful about using his "psychic gifts" where Cortin was concerned. "You don't think she knows I'm your mistress?"
"She must—I did acknowledge you as such." Lucius smiled. "By this time I'm sure she has guessed—or been told—my real identity, but that can make no difference to her publicly."
Blackfeather returned his smile. He claimed to be Shayan, and sometimes he used his gifts to assume some of the Hell-King's attributes, but she didn't believe he really was; he was too different from the Shayan she'd been told about while her parents were alive. Her first meeting with him was still vivid in her mind, though she tried to remember only the part where he'd rescued her—something the real Shayan never would have done.
Shannon smiled to himself, reading her thoughts. Rescuing Sara had been little more than an impulse triggered by his respect for courage; a five-year-old who killed one of the men trying to rape her was hardly usual. She'd interested him enough to keep her alive against his men's wishes, taking her home until he could decide what to do with her. She'd proven interesting to have around, and he'd almost immediately discovered that she also added a dimension to his McHenry identity, so he'd quickly decided to adopt her—a procedure his McHenry identity made both fast and simple.
But his then mistress hadn't wanted to be burdened with a child, and hadn't been worth the effort of reconditioning, so she'd left. He really should have replaced her; not doing so, and raising a child alone, had caused a minor scandal. Sara had claimed all his free time, though, and he'd been fascinated by the idea of making her his mistress. She'd agreed, a formality he insisted on from all his live-in partners—except Victor, who'd made himself the exception by his presumption—in spite of the fact that she couldn't possibly know what she was agreeing to. Some simple physical modifications had made her capable of accommodating him, and some judicious conditioning had insured she would enjoy, but never reveal, their "touching games". Even then he'd refrained until her birthday, wanting the first time to be special for her.
It had been, with him changing shapes and techniques to amuse her. She'd enjoyed all of them, not surprising since that was how he'd conditioned her—but he was surprised that she had decided she liked his "classical" shape and technique best, especially that early. And she'd kept that preference through the years. She'd become his mistress openly at 16, causing another minor scandal, but that had only amused her.
He came back to the present, reading her apprehension at the upcoming visit, and held out his arms.
Blackfeather clung to him. "I know you said she wouldn't hurt a guest—but I have a horrible feeling I'll never see you again."
"Don't be silly," Shannon said. "Of course you will—unless you decide Enforcement and Inquisitors are respectable after all, and stay with them. She can be quite persuasive." And, an unwelcome thought said, there was more to it than persuasion. Cortin had dissolved the compulsions he'd imposed on Chang without even knowing it; what if the same happened to Blackfeather? An even more unwelcome thought said that would be for the best, and he concealed a scowl. Sara was the first human he'd cared about as anything more than a plaything; did he really want her spending eternity in his realm, even as his Queen?
"Not that persuasive, I don't think." But Blackfeather's apprehension was still there, and she was reacting as she usually did before a dangerous assignment, with growing desire. "Could we, just in case?"
If she were that worried, Shannon thought, it wouldn't hurt to indulge her. Indulge both of them, rather, because the idea of letting the Enemy have her was becoming more attractive. Most humans were disgusting weak things, not fit to be more than toys for his minions, but Sara was different. She was strong, attractive—and she loved him. Part of that was the conditioning he'd given her, of course, but even at first that hadn't been all of it; she'd taken to him without any prompting, unless you counted the rescue itself. And he hadn't felt Cortin using her power, even unconsciously, for some time, so perhaps it wouldn't be too much of a risk using his own. It would take so little to transport them to his realm, and Cortin should be either asleep or too preoccupied to notice anyway. Giving in to temptation, he kissed Blackfoot hard, pulling her blouse open to grasp her breast as he set himself for the transfer.
Blackfeather gasped in startled joy as her lover's power surrounded them for the first time in months that seemed like years. She felt a sensation of movement, and they were standing before ruby thrones at one end of a great hall hung with rich dark draperies, brightly lit by flames that moved at random, without burning anything. This had to be an illusion, she told herself at more normal moments, because they could be here for hours, even days, with no time having passed when they returned—but it felt real, and while she was in it, she didn't question that reality. This was Hell's throne room, he its King, and she his Queen.
She remained herself, only her clothes changed; instead of a proper tailored suit, she now wore gold streamers generously sprinkled with rubies. They hid almost nothing even when they fell quietly from shoulders to feet; stirred as they usually were by her movements, they swirled open at random times and places.
But he changed completely, more spectacular in his nudity than even the most ornate robes could make him. Flame-red hair and amber slit-pupilled eyes emphasized alabaster skin, as did huge wings with gleaming jet-black feathers. This was her favorite of his forms—though it shocked her to see that for the first time, he wasn't erect. Taken aback, she stared at him. "Is something wrong, beloved?"
"That is." His wings spread, shadowing them. "I love you as well, you see, which is why I cannot continue to let you love me. It must be love, because I find your welfare more important to me than my pleasure, which is the classic definition. It is also an emotion I never felt before, in all my millennia, and one I find both unfitting and remarkably inconvenient."
Blackfoot started to speak, but he stopped her. "Let me finish. Despite your disbelief, I am Shayan, and I will prove it to you shortly. Although I am inclined to keep you here with me, your welfare demands otherwise. So you will go to Cortin, and you will become one of her followers, perhaps even—" He broke off. There was that possibility, yes, and if it worked it would guarantee her spiritual safety and happiness, though not her bodily survival.
"Perhaps even what?" Blackfeather was confused, a little hurt—though she could feel his harshness was because he had her welfare at heart.
He bent to her, brushed her forehead with his lips. "Let me concentrate, beloved. The Enemy has, by this time, undoubtedly given her a priest or priests to build her a personal staff equivalent to mine; there may still be a place on that staff for you."
"But …" Blackfoot was getting even more confused. "Even if there is a place, what makes you think they'd accept me? Or that I'd want it?"
"They would accept you because you know me and are almost sinless—and you will want it once the compulsions that have held you for over fifteen years have been dissolved. Now be silent; what I need to do will be dangerous, even without distractions."
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he reached out, searching for mental traces he'd never felt before but didn't think he could mistake. The Protector's priests should feel both free of sin and erotic, an unmistakable combination he'd kept from coming together for millennia … yes, there was one … another. One male, one female—Sister Mary Piety and Father Mike Odeon. Piety was no surprise, but he'd have thought it too early for Odeon's tempering, and he frowned at the timing. He'd expected perhaps another year; now, it seemed, contact and final testing would be within months. Part of him regretted that the speed would cut short his enjoyment of Odeon's suffering—at his hands, anyway; if Odeon survived the tempering and made the correct final decision, his foes in the wars to come would insure far more suffering than Shayan himself could hope to inflict. Well, time to begin the tempering, with a lesson his "student" would never forget. *Wake up, Priest!*
Odeon woke, a scream caught in his throat, pain knifing through his head. When it eased, he found himself gasping, staring around in the dark. "Who—"
*Do you always ask foolish questions, priest? You belong to the one you call Cortin; you should be able to sense who I am. And you need not speak aloud; survive, and this will be only your first taste of mental speech.*
*With that clue, I think I do know who you are.* Odeon braced himself, wondering what Shayan wanted with him.
*A service that will be to both my benefit and Cortin's—and so indirectly to yours. And you're right—I do not generally do things for others, especially enemies. Nor am I changing that policy; this is primarily for myself, if that will relieve your mind enough to listen.*
*Do I have any choice?* Odeon asked.
*About listening, yes, though only because I choose to give you the choice. About doing what I ask, the choice is totally yours. Will you listen?*
*In that case, I don't see any unavoidable danger; go ahead.*
*You're so kind. I gather you're one of Cortin's holy staff?*
*Of her core group, if that's what you mean,* Odeon replied cautiously.
*The same thing. Is the group complete?*
*No comment.*
*It isn't, then. So you have room for my protege, who will be arriving this coming Saturday.*
*What!* Odeon was startled, though only briefly. Because someone had served Shayan didn't mean that person was beyond redemption; theoretically, Shayan himself could be saved, as he'd once commented to Joanie. *I'll consider her when she gets here, but that's all I'll promise.*
*That'll be adequate—you'll be surprised, I think, at her spiritual state. She's committed few sins.*
That statement was almost as surprising as the Hell-King's peculiar-seeming chattiness. Odeon knew better than to relax his guard too much, but his investigator's curiosity was aroused. *That's hard to believe.*
*Nevertheless, it is true.* Shayan gave the impression of a sardonic smile. *I'm called the Father of Lies, priest, but that's to salve the feelings of those who don't want to believe me. The truth is a much more versatile and useful tool—and usually a far more painful one. Sara has acted under my compulsions most of her life, so most of what you'd call her sins are chargeable to me instead. And the fact that she's been taking the Sacraments from me doesn't alter their validity, which I find highly amusing.*
It was a good thing for the girl that was true, Odeon thought. *And will you remove those compulsions before sending her here?*
*I think not,* Shayan told him. *I could, easily—but if I have to lose her to you, you must be willing to pay my price. You will be the one to remove my compulsions, if you want her.*
*You know I don't have any choice,* Odeon replied. *You'll have to show me how—and tell me the price.*
*Showing you how is the price. Giving you that ability involves restructuring part of your mind, which I promise will make you pray you were enduring Inquisitor Cortin's professional attentions instead. I won't injure you—for reasons you do not and cannot now understand, that would not be to my benefit—but I can and will make you suffer. I'd suggest you find a place where you can't be heard screaming, and where you won't injure yourself. It might also be a good idea to use restraints.*
It went against Odeon's grain to take anything from Shayan willingly, but as he'd said, he didn't have a choice under the circumstances, either as law officer or as priest. He'd take the instruction—and the suggestions. *What about another of the team, to help?*
*If you wish. You'll feel me again when you're ready.*
Odeon shivered as he felt the contact snap. He'd known he'd have to face Shayan eventually, and he'd been sure it would be an unpleasant experience—but he hadn't expected it this soon, for even a remotely similar purpose, and he'd underestimated the unpleasantness. This definitely classified as something he'd much rather avoid, even though he knew he wouldn't. He prayed for the strength to do it right, then tried to decide who he should get to help.
Joanie was out for obvious reasons, he didn't care to have Sis see him screaming, and Chuck didn't have the experience to handle a situation like this promised to be. That left Tony, Dave, and Tiny—with Priest-Inquisitor Bain the most logical choice.