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.