herself about her immortal elven heritage.
She was surprised at herself, not just at the emotion she felt but at the very fact that she was feeling emotion at all. Jealousy was foreign to her; the hot, angry thoughts that flooded her now were disturbing. But she could not express her feelings. It would be too dangerous for Sam. And for her.
'You will let him live?'
The Lady gave a slight shrug. 'Your arguments have some small merit, but I must also consider how it will look. My word is law in the court and you disobeyed orders.'
'Only to serve you better. Such disobedience is no crime in the eyes of a wise ruler.''
Deigh regarded her sidewise. 'As long as the servant is wise as well.'
'I believe that I have done nothing to compromise you. And I have my own reputation to consider.'
'Ah, reputation. Such a strange master and servant,' the lady said wistfully. 'You have staked more than your reputation here. Do you think you know me so well that you can rely on my forgiveness?'
Hart knew that the wrong answer to the question could be dangerous. Had she read the Lady wrong? Hoping that Deigh was just playing games, Hart steadied her nerves and spoke.
'I spent weeks in the court before you sent me after the Hidden Circle. I listened to your subjects. Even before I took your contract, I researched you as well as I could, I know you for a strict disciplinarian. But I also know you for an intelligent woman and ruler. You would not throw away an advantage, especially so potentially useful an advantage, over such a small matter as the interpretation of orders. Only your loyal Bambatu and I know the wording of your orders. I have nothing to gain by talking and he has even less. You have something to gain and nothing to lose by accepting the situation as stands.'
'I do not stand in need of a lecture,' the Lady snapped in sudden anger. She turned on her heel and strode toward the space from which she had entered. The rectangle of light appeared before her. On its threshold she spun and faced Hart again. 'And if there is a problem?'
'I guarantee my work,' Hart said, looking directly into the Lady's eyes.
Lady Deigh smiled coldly. 'Work such as yours is only guaranteed with lives, Hart. Yours shall stand for his.'
Hart lowered her gaze. 'I understand.'
'I don't think you do, but I accept your guarantee.
He shall live for now. On my terms.'
Lady Deigh gestured; the bier on which Sam lay lifted from the ground and floated away from Hart into the darkness that surrounded the clearing. Hart's elven eyes couldn't pierce the gloom beyond the first few meters. Even shifting to astral senses only revealed the hulking spirits carrying the bier. She watched anxiously as the gloom hid Sam from her sight. When Hart looked toward the doorway, the Lady was gone as well.
Had she done the right thing?
Sam awoke to the gentle whisper of someone praying.
He tried to sit up, but the sudden flash of pain in his head doomed his eifort. His return to the horizontal wasn't fast enough to satisfy his stomach; it lurched and heaved. Sam rolled onto his side just in time to spew the contents mostly onto the floor rather than himself.
He groaned.
'Ah, you are awake.'
A man in dark clothing appeared at Sam's side. The man had a ceramic bowl in one hand and some towels in the other. Without asking, he started to help Sam clean himself off.
Sam let the man take over the job. His head still hurt, almost as bad as after a long session in the Matrix. That was an old familiar pain. It would pass. His belly felt acid-scorched and his muscles ached. He felt like drek. Through the wool that seemed impacted around his teeth and tongue, he asked, 'What happened?'
'That I cannot tell you. My first sight of you was when the servants brought you here. From your condition, I'd say you had been drugged.'
Hart. In his memory, Sam could see her saddened face hovering over the muzzle of her Crusader. He saw the muzzle flash and felt the slug hit. But it couldn't have been a slug. If it had, he would have been dead. She must have loaded her weapon with tranquillizer bullets. Why? What was going on?
Sam looked around. There wasn't much to see. Rough stone walls defined a circular chamber about three meters in diameter. A small alcove held a pool of water. The walls were beaded with moisture and spotted with patches of luminous lichen. Puzzled that he couldn't feel the humidity or smell the mold, Sam shifted briefly to astral senses. The change in sensory input disoriented him; there seemed to be a severe fuzziness to his perceptions, but he learned that the walls' appearance was an illusion. He and the stranger were being held in a modern cell. The illusory lichens hid lighting panels; the real walls were concrete and embedded with some kind of high-tech circuitry which frustrated his attempts to penetrate with his astral vision. He felt too weak to press the issue, and returned to his mundane senses. If the man with the cloths had noticed Sam's absence, he gave no sign. 'Where are we?' Sam asked. 'In general, somewhere south and west of Dublin.
In specific, a holding cell in the stronghold of the Seelie Court.'
'Dublin?' Sam was stunned. His mind didn't want to work. 'Dublin, Ireland?'
'Yes.' The man tossed the dirty cloths into the bowl. 'You seem surprised.'
'Confused would be a better word. You'd be, too. I was shot in London.'
'Shot?' The man's eyes grew concerned as he began to search Sam for a wound. Sam was too spaced to do anything. 'Ah, the drug. You were shot with a tranquilizer gun, then.' Sam thought he nodded in the affirmative. 'It would seem that you have not slept too long, judging from the condition of your last meal. Who shot you and why?'
He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. Hart had shot him down. Why? Without a word of explanation, she had shot him. Then, he had awoken a captive. Had the bitch sold him to his enemies? They had been lovers; he hadn't thought she could be so cold. He had loved her. He really didn't want to think about it. 'I don't want to talk about it.' 'Then we shall not speak of it. Perhaps though, it would not trouble your memories to recall when you were shot. I no longer have a timepiece, and I have lost track of the days here. The light, you see, doesn't change and the meals are irregular. There is no way to measure the passage of the time here.'
Time? Sam realized he had lost track of time himself. The long days of tracking down the Hidden Circle had all blended into one another. He had barely noted the passage of Christmas and the coming of the new year. The last date he recalled clearly was the Solstice; the Man of Light's words had burned the date into his mind.
'It was late January, the twenty-ninth, I think.'
'The twenty-ninth.' The man sighed. 'It's been over a week and the others have not found me. If the elves' magics are so strong that I have not heard from them by now, I fear I never will. These elves do the devil's work.'
Sam's head was slowly clearing. He listened to the man's words, but they only made partial sense. 'Who are you?''
'I? I am a sinner who answers to the name Pietro Rinaldi. I am also a priest of the Order of St. Sylvester, and, for the sin of inattention, a captive like yourself.'
'You're a priest? But this is Ireland. I thought all the priests had been kicked out when the Shidhe took over.''
'I am but lately come to these shores.'
'Not a very good start for your missionary work.'
'Missionary work is not my calling. Although it is the task of all priests to aid souls toward salvation, the Order of St. Sylvester has another mandate. I am part of an investigative team. While my fellows concentrated on England, I came to Ireland seeking information. I had assumed that the diplomatic pass from His Holiness would have been better respected. Alas, the arrogant leaders of this state seem to have no concept of any authority higher than their own.'
'So, you showed up at the airport, and they took one look at your Vatican passport and chucked you in this hole.''
'Quite the contrary. I was admitted without any trouble at all. It was not until after I had begun my inquiries that I attracted the attention of the Lady Deign.'
'Who?'
