NINETEEN
Confession
Restoration
The Gal Vorbak
The Blessed Lady knew who it was even before the door opened.
She sat comfortably on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, clad in her layered priestess’s robe of cream and grey. Her sightless eyes turned to him as he entered, following the sounds of his bare feet. She heard the swish of robes rather than the thrum of active armour, and the novelty brought a smile to her lips.
‘Hello, captain,’ she said.
‘Confessor,’ he replied.
It took considerable poise to hide her shock. His voice had changed from the months of privation, sounding dryer as it left his throat. And there was something else... Something more: a new resonance despite the current weakness.
She’d heard the rumours, of course. If the talk was true, they’d resorted to killing one another and drinking their brothers’ blood.
‘I thought you’d have come to me before now.’
‘Forgive the delay. I have been with the primarch since my return.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘The weakness will fade.’ Argel Tal sat on the floor by her bed, taking his customary position. He’d last sat there only three nights before, though for the Word Bearer, almost a year had passed.
‘I missed you,’ he told her. ‘But I am glad you were not with us.’
Cyrene wasn’t sure how to begin. ‘I heard... things,’ she said.
Argel Tal smiled. ‘They are likely all true.’
‘The human crew?’
‘Dead, to a man. That is why I am glad you were not on board with us.’
‘And you suffered as the rumours say?’
The Word Bearer chuckled. ‘That depends what the rumours say.’
His casual stoicism charmed her, as it always did. The hint of another smile tickled the corners of her lips.
‘Come here. Kneel, and let me see you.’
He complied, bringing his face before her and holding her wrists in a gentle grip as he led her hands. She brushed her fingertips along his skin, tracing the contours of his diminished features.
‘I have always wondered if you were handsome. It is so hard to tell with only touch to rely on.’
The thought hadn’t really crossed his mind before. He was bred above such matters. He told her so now, with an amused addendum: ‘Whether I was or not, I have looked better than I do now.’
Cyrene lowered her hands. ‘You are very gaunt,’ she noted.
‘Sustenance was in short supply. As I said, the rumours were true.’
When silence reached out between them, she found it awkward and unsettling. Never before had they struggled for words to share. Cyrene toyed with a lock of her hair, which her maid had painstakingly arranged only half an hour ago.
‘I have come for confession,’ he said, breaking the silence at last. Rather than soothe her, it sent her heart racing faster. She wasn’t certain she wished to know what depredations had occurred on the
But Cyrene, above all else, was loyal to her Legion. Hers was a cherished role, and she was honoured to perform it.
‘Speak, warrior.’ A friendly formality came over her voice. ‘Confess your sins.’
She expected him to relate how he’d butchered his brothers and supped their blood to survive. She expected tales of horror from the warp storm – a storm she’d never seen herself and had only the poorly-worded descriptions of other crew members to rely on.
The captain spoke slowly, clearly. ‘I have spent decades of my life waging war in the name of a lie. I have rendered worlds compliant to a false society. I need forgiveness. My Legion needs forgiveness.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He began to describe the last year of his life for Cyrene, just as he had for his father. She interrupted a great deal less often, and once the retelling was complete, she focused not on the greater ramifications, but the moment that she’d heard Argel Tal’s voice wavering more than any other.
