Heartland

into a penitential prayer. 'You came for the Grail.'

I swallowed some of the bile backing up into my throat. 'I did.'

'You threatened to break into the Archives, to carve your way in with one of the old relics. Do you think you would have been successful?'

'No. I wanted to get your attention.'

'Were you trying to impress me?'

A short laugh rattled in my throat. 'No. I have a feeling you're far too cynical for me to woo you with a method as unsubtle as that.' The worst sort of bull.

'Woo me?' Her hands unclasped and moved to her thighs. 'Well, yes, 'wooing' me with the threat of violence is certainly the least effective way to grab my attention.'

'Is that why you sicced Nuriye on me?'

She hesitated for a second. 'There are two lines of thought suggested by your statement, M. Markham. Both of which are offensive to me and to Nuriye. Would you care to try again?'

I swallowed the rest of the rage, and took a deep breath. Her tone had gotten brittle, and it didn't take the Chorus to read an elevation in her stress level. She was right-it had been an indelicate question-but her protestation of affront was partially a cover. There was some validity to the question.

'Fine,' I said, letting go of my indignation and moving on. We had gotten off-track once before, and I knew I could keep pressing her, but what would it gain me? Moral satisfaction? It would be satisfying, but it wasn't what I came for. I actually did need her help in this instance, and her permission.

'One must be invited into the sanctuary in order to approach the Grail,' I said. 'I know that. Just as I also know that I can't 'steal' the Grail; it has to be offered to me.'

'And why would I offer it to you?'

'Because you're supposed to.'

She stood and walked away; she walked back to the basin and looked down at the glowing light. 'Is that right?' she said finally.

'All this bullshit about Hildegard and destinies aside-this endless argument of Free Will versus Determinism that is the topic on everyone's mind-we were talking about coincidences. You tried to distract me, but it's not coincidental that a Visionary died yesterday to put me on this path, that I had to take the Spear from a Mason, and that a Scryer asked me to bring the Grail to him. It's all part of Philippe's grand fucking plan to re-create the world: it's the cosmological re-creation of the original meeting between the twelfth-century trinity.'

'You're reading too much into recent events,' she said.

'That's a hollow sounding excuse,' I continued. 'Bernard du Guyon thought he was playing at God with his little soul harvester, but he's like a kid with his first magic trick compared to Philippe, isn't he?'

Vivienne shrugged. 'I wouldn't know.'

'Your father wasn't part of the plan, was he? He was a casualty in this war. He wasn't supposed to die.' I paused for a second, making sure I had the right answer before I took the next step. Who thought he had Seen his victorious ascension into the role? Who wanted it the most? Who wanted to be Hierarch?

'What did he promise you?' I asked.

'Who?' Vivienne tried.

'Husserl.'

'The Preceptor?' Vivienne shook her head. 'Why would he promise me anything?' She wouldn't look at me. Her lie-the Preceptor-was so transparent that I wondered why she had bothered.

'Did he promise to free you?'

'No.' I detected a note of sorrow in her voice. The expected outrage was there, as was defiance at being cast in the role of victim. But underneath all that, a hint of sadness. A resigned exhalation, an acceptance of some weight that she was to carry for the rest of her life.

'No, of course not.' I said, as if I realized the error of my question. 'Marielle was the one who dangled that carrot.'

She tried to hide her reaction, but she knew I had already heard the sudden intake of breath. She knew I had seen her hands tighten on the rim of the basin. Vivienne laughed, a hollow sound devoid of any warmth or humor. 'She has a great deal of faith in the blind devotion of her suitors. How many did she promise the Crown to?'

It was something Husserl had said at Notre-Dame-sous-Terre when I had asked him about Marielle. I won't try to convince you that she came willingly, because you won't believe me. I had been too distracted to listen closely to what he had been saying, but there had been time during the drive to reflect on everything. And the more I thought about the situation, the more it started to make sense.

Marielle had been frantic to get to Mont-Saint-Michel, not for Antoine's sake-though he was just as useful a tool as I-but to secure the Spear. When I had joined her in the grotto and the others had arrived, it had been my job to go fight them, and I had gone willingly. But, the more I replayed events in my head, the more I realized how eager we all were to fight for her. Even at the safe house where Lafoutain had died. Delacroix had practically thrown himself at her feet in an effort to please her.

The winner gets the prize. And they all knew it. She didn't care, or maybe she did-it was hard to tell anymore-and besides there was no end of suitable suitors. How many?

Me? Just one more in an endless line of suckers.

My bluster deflated, like a balloon with a sudden leak. The question of how many-how many others had been tasked before me? — revealed my indignation as the empty posturing that it was. Like the anonymous voices in the Chorus, I was just a face in the crowd. An able body who had been tasked with serving the whim of the Hierarch's Daughter.

Vivienne hadn't escaped Marielle's grasp either. The light from the basin only highlighted the bloodless resignation in Vivienne's face. We had all been used.

'Vivienne Lafoutain, Chief among the Archivists of the Secrets of La Societe Lumineuse, I ask a boon of you. I ask that you give me leave to bear the Grail to the Coronation ceremony.' I didn't bother trying to hide my bitterness. Just get it done. Just finish the task assigned you. Receive your pat on the head like a good soldier-my ever dutiful wolf-and go sit in the corner and wait to be called again.

Vivienne grimaced at my words, similar thoughts running through her head. 'Landis Michael Markham, solute frater and willing Quester for the office of Hierarch, I grant you leave to approach and take up the Grail.' She stepped back from the basin, indicating it with a wave of her hand. 'Should it find you worthy,' she added, her words equally caustic.

I stood, and approached the basin. I looked in, but nothing had changed. There was nothing there but the gold lining. Nevertheless, I put my hand in the water.

The gold plating shivered, and at first I thought it was the water itself that was rippling and then I realized the motion was coming from the gold. It lifted free of the stone, crumpling and twisting into a smaller shape. I held my hand still, and the gold brushed across my fingers, wrapping and unwrapping itself across my flesh, and a tingling sensation like a mild electric current ran up my arm. I felt parts of my body twitch and itch. All the gashes and cuts and bruises sustained over the last few days were burning. As the gold Cup formed itself in the water of the basin, its touch healed me, including the cut in my arm from the Spear; the Grail healed all of my wounds, except for the one in my soul.

Nuriye was waiting for us as we stepped out of the tapestry, a long cloth of maroon and midnight in her hands. I wrapped the fabric around the Grail, and its light was strong enough that the gold threads in the fabric glowed, hidden veins of light. I carried it in the crook of my arm, almost as if I were cradling a child.

Nuriye fell in step with Vivienne, and they both fell back a few steps, herding me toward the foyer of the Archives. The route back was shorter; the Archives hadn't reconfigured themselves when we had been in the inner chapel, the daughters simply wanted me gone and guided me along the shortest route.

The script on the guardian wall glowed gold as we approached-not silver as it had the last time I had left the Archives-and the wall faded away when I raised the cloth-covered Grail.

The foyer was empty; there was no sign of Antoine.

'Where did he go?' I asked the women behind me.

Nuriye shrugged as she took two steps back. The shadow of a stack fell on her and her face became unreadable.