truth.
“I have a mission. The Abbot has assigned me a temporary partner. I leave tomorrow.” She said it quickly.
Kolya’s brow furrowed a little. Most husbands and partners would have been outraged, but he only shrugged a bit. “I am sure he knows what’s best.”
She cleared her throat, feeling her hands growing clammy. “I imagine so, but it means that I must leave you alone.”
“That’s what we do, Sorcha.” As always, it was like pushing against nothing, struggling to get any reaction. Perhaps getting away was a good idea after all.
Pushing her copper hair out of her eyes, she rocked back on the stool. “I should be here with you,” she murmured, sounding unconvincing to her ears.
Brother Elies shuffled to the other side of the bed. He had a small bowl of something foul-smelling in one hand. “We need to . . .”
Sorcha hastily stood up. She didn’t want to see what they were doing to Kolya, didn’t want to hear him in pain. Even their Bond felt faint and half-broken by what had been done to him—like their marriage. “That’s all right . . . I . . . I have to pack.”
Words that usually came so easily to her lips had somehow dried up. “Be safe,” Kolya whispered from the bed.
Leaning over, she dropped a kiss onto his pale forehead, holding back all those feelings that had been bubbling up in her for months. “I will try,” she whispered in return.
The Arch Abbot may have done her a favor—but it had only put off the inevitable.
Cleaning up after his new partner before he had even met her was not, Deacon Merrick Chambers decided, a good sign. He stood alone in the bustling Artisan Quarter of Vermillion and opened his Center wide. Presbyter Rictun had demanded that every Sensitive in residence at the Mother Abbey scour the streets for any sign of the geist that had attacked Deacons Faris and Petav.
Around the young Deacon, the bustle of Vermillion went on as if the confrontation at the gates of the palace had never happened—at least to normal eyes and ears. Merrick, however, was not normal.
He saw a huddle of women at the corner of the street by the coopers’ yard and could hear their agitated conversation as sharply as if he were among them. Interesting. They were talking of the near riot—with no mention of the geist’s involvement. It was not his place to question the Order, but Merrick found the use of magical cantrips and misinformation to hide the truth distasteful. This, along with the fact that Presbyter Rictun had not shared the exact nature of the geist they now sought, left Merrick feeling deeply unsettled. Still, he had not trained for years to throw it all away now; not on the very cusp of acceptance.
Overhead an Imperial blimp passed, its weirstone engines giving off a low hum, the weak winter sun gleaming on its brass fittings. The new airships were still a rarity anywhere outside of the capital city—especially in the countryside where Merrick’s family lived. Merrick glanced up at it in fascination. Maybe if he was lucky, one day his missions as a Deacon would take him aboard one.
For now he had to banish all those blue-sky thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do. Pushing his dark hair out of his eyes and turning slowly, Merrick opened his Center wider—searching for the trace of geist among the living.
A humming, soft but insistent, began behind his eyes. People, rats, horses, dogs, cats, even the smallest insect burned in his mind like tiny pinpricks of light. His senses raced over stone roofs, spread out along the streets dedicated to craft and art, and delved below into the sewers. The essence of every living creature, dark or light, was revealed. Nothing escaped Merrick’s notice.
Finally he was satisfied. He had done his duty and cleared the section of street he’d been assigned. It was time to get back anyway.
Crossing the Farewell Bridge, Merrick paused for a moment. The Imperial capital was beautiful this early. The sun gleamed on the icy canals and reflected off the faint snow on the rooftops. He loved the myriad bridges that led to the center and could name only half of them. This city was now home, and today he would confirm that. The young Deacon set forth with determination.
His path took him through the Merchant Quarter, packed with wagons, carts and stalls. The scents of exotic spices competed with the stench of horse and man for his attention. Stepping out of the way of haggling merchants and Tinkers, he dropped a shilling into the grubby hand of a tiny girl child who sat in misery near a stack of cartons.
She would be lucky to survive the winter. When she looked up at the young Deacon he tucked her fingers firmly around the silver. “At midday at the Abbey there is food and drink available for free, little one.”
When she tried to get to her feet, he realized she wouldn’t make it on her own. So tucking the little bird fingers around his neck, he carried her with him. Silently the girl dropped her head on his shoulder and sighed.
Most likely Presbyter Rictun would think a Deacon carrying a filthy orphan into the heart of the Empire unbecoming, but Merrick knew the true meaning of the Order even if his superiors had forgotten.
Together, then, the Deacon and the child passed through the granite gates and into the Civic Center that lay at the very heart of Vermillion.
The houses here were magnificent, belonging to the most aristocratic families; those who could afford to live close to the Emperor. Carriages rattled past full of finely dressed lords and ladies, and his heightened Sensitive smell caught alternating waves of perfume and wig powder. These treelined streets were far quieter and more elegant than the less salubrious sections of the city. However, Merrick, despite having been raised an aristocrat, found them stifling and too pretentious.
He hurried through these parts, until the level ground began to slope upward toward the palace and the Abbey. His pace quickened further as he murmured words of comfort to the little girl.
Once beyond the gates he found Melisande Troupe, Presbyter of the Young, and gave the waif into her gentle care. Only then did he race up the stairs to his cell to prepare.
It was one of many narrow rooms in the dormitory with only a small bed and a pine dresser in it. Though members of the Order had few possessions, the top of his was scattered with tiny cogs and tools. Merrick had always been fascinated by mechanics, and in fact as a child he had dreamed of being a Tinker’s apprentice—that was, until his father’s death.
Now he pushed this little project of his away. Today was the beginning of his new dream.
After washing his face and neck and combing his hair, Deacon Merrick Chambers wiped his palms down the length of his tunic for what felt like the fifth time in as many minutes. Then he stepped out of his chamber.
Despite the season, he was sweating as if it were high summer. His little errand had put off this moment, but now the stress and terror came rushing back full force. The cause of it was his new partner; She Who Must Be Obeyed. The one time Merrick had met her as an adult, his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth; speechless was not the young Deacon’s normal state.
As he adjusted his badge of rank and prepared for their second meeting, he remembered those sharp blue eyes. The most famous Active in the Order would have been a good target to fall in love with—beautiful, powerful and unattainable—but for Merrick that wasn’t an option. Deacon Sorcha Faris scared the shit out of him.
Unlike many of her fellow Deacons, Merrick had seen her power unleashed to its fullest. He was also one of the few who had lived to remember the experience. Usually he managed to forget that night, but today as he checked his uniform in the mirror at the top of the stairs, it was unavoidable. The scars were still evident in the ancient stone of his family’s castle. The place where his father had died was marked at the top of the grand staircase by five long gouges.
“And now she’s your new partner.” Merrick took a deep breath. She couldn’t know; he’d made sure the Abbey would never find out his real name, and it was unlikely she’d recognize him. He’d been only seven and not allowed to meet the explosive young Deacon come to test his father. Yet he had seen it all, hidden in the chamber above.
Taking the spiral staircase down, Merrick practiced keeping his Center still. As long as he did, Deacon Faris was too weak a Sensitive to catch any stray thoughts. He didn’t anticipate their partnership lasting long enough for them to actually build any sort of deep Bond.
