Stone of Tears

She rose slowly out of her chair. This time it was her eyes that went wide. Two days,” she whispered. “Are you sure? Two days?”

The other shrugged. “I am only telling you what the book said. I’m sure of what it said. I’m not sure it is true. I don’t see how it could be.”

She sank back into her chair. “Two days.” She stared at her desk. The sooner we get a Rada’Han around his neck, the better.”

“Even the Sisters of the Light would agree with you about that. There was a message sent back. From the Prelate.”

She lifted an eyebrow. The Prelate herself sent orders?”

The other nodded. “Yes.” Under her breath, she added, “I wish I knew if she was with us, or against us.”

She ignored the comment. “What did she say?”

That if he refuses the third offer, Sister Verna is to kill him herself. Have you ever heard of such an order? If he is really this strong, and he refuses the third time, he would be dead in a few weeks anyway. Why would she give such an order?”

“Have you ever heard of anyone refusing the first offer?”

“Well, no, I guess I haven’t.”

“It is one of the rules. If one with the gift refuses all three offers, they are to be killed, to spare them the suffering at the end, the madness. You have never seen such an order before because you have never heard of anyone refusing the first offer.

“I have spent time in the archives, looking through the prophecies. That is where I saw reference to the rule. The Prelate knows all the obscure rules, the old rules. And she is afraid; she has read the prophecies too.”

“Afraid?” she asked, wide-eyed. The Prelate? I have never seen her afraid of anything.”

She nodded up at the woman. “she is afraid now. Either way suits our purposes. Either he is collared, or he is dead. If he is collared, we will deal with him, in our way, as we have always done. If he is dead, we won’t have to. Maybe better he were dead. Maybe better he were dead before the Sisters of the Light find out what he is, if they don’t already know.”

The other leaned over the desk again, lowering her voice. “If they know, or find out, there are those among the Sisters of the Light who would kill him.”

She studied the violet flecks a moment. “Indeed there are.” A smile spread across her face. “What a dangerous dilemma for them. What a glorious opportunity for us.” Her smile faded. “What of the other matter?”

The woman straightened. “Ranson and Weber are waiting where you wanted them.” She folded her arms beneath hei breasts. They were pretty cocky, because they have passed all the tests, and tomorrow are to be released.” A sadistic grin came to her thin lips and flecked eyes. “I gave them a little reminder that they still wear the collar. I’m surprised we can’t hear their knees knocking together all the way up here.”

She ignored the other’s smile. “I have lessons to give. You will go in my place. Tell them I had reports to work on. I’ll go see to our two friends. They may have passed all the Prelate’s tests, but they have not yet passed all of mine. One has an oath to give. And the other…”

She leaned halfway over the desk, hunger in her flecked eyes. “Which one? Which one are you going to… Oh, I so wish I could watch. Or help. Promise me you will tell me everything?”

She smiled at the other’s eagerness. “Everything. I promise. From beginning to end. Every last scream. Now go see to my lessons for me.”

The woman danced through the doorway like a giddy schoolgirl. She was too eager. That kind of eagerness was dangerous. That kind of lust made one forget to be careful, made one take chances. She pulled a knife from a drawer, and made a mental note to use her less in the future, and keep an eye on her.

She tested the edge gingerly with a thumb and, satisfied it was razor sharp, tucked the knife up her sleeve, the sleeve without the dacra. She plucked a small, dusty statue from the shelf, and slipped it into a pocket. Before she was around the desk and through the door, she remembered one more item, and turned back to pick up the stout rod leaning against the side of her desk.

It was late, and the halls were quiet and mostly empty. Despite the heat, she pulled her short, thin, blue cotton cloak tighter across her shoulders. Thoughts of this new one with the gift gave her a chill. Grown. A man.

She shook her head as she walked silently over the long carpets, past lamps set in wall brackets centered in the raised cherry paneling, past tables set with dried flowers, and past heavily draped windows looking out over the bailey and courtyard below. Lights of the city in the distance twinkled like a carpet of stars. Slightly rank air drifted in the windows. Must be near low tide, she thought.

The cleaning staff, polishing a chair-rail molding here, or a banister there, dropped into deep curtsies as she swept past. She hardly noticed them, and certainly didn’t acknowledge them. They were beneath her attention.

Grown. Into a man.