She shot to her feet. The Primale was standing in the temple’s doorway, dressed in whites, the medallion of his station around his neck.
“Verily…” She could go no further. She wanted to rush forward and put her arms around him and hold on. She’d seen him dead. She’d seen him…
“Why are you here?” he asked, looking around the barren room. “All by yourself.”
“I’m sequestered.” She cleared her throat. “As I said I would be.”
“So I’m not supposed to be here?”
“You’re the Primale. You can be anywhere.”
As he walked around the room, she had so many questions, none of which she had any right to ask.
He looked over at her. “No one else is allowed in here?”
“Not unless one of my sisters joins me as a sequestered scribe. Although the Directrix may come in if she is granted leave by me.”
“Why is the sequestering necessary?”
“In addition to recording the races’s general history, we… I see the things the Scribe Virgin wishes to keep… private.” As the Primale’s yellow eyes narrowed, she knew what he was thinking. “Yes, I’ve seen what you did. In that bathroom.”
The curse he let out echoed up to the white ceiling.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you going to be okay here? All by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He stared at her. Long and hard. The sorrow was in his face, in its deep grooves of pain and regret.
“You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “When we were together, you didn’t hurt me. I know you think you did, but you didn’t.”
“I wish… things were different.”
Cormia laughed sadly, and on a whim murmured, “You’re the Primale. Change them.”
“Your grace?” the Directrix appeared in the open doorway, looking confused. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Seeing Cormia.”
“Oh, but…” Amalya seemed to shake herself, as if remembering that the Primale could go wherever he chose and see whomever he wished, as sequestered was a term that restricted all but him. “But of course, your grace. Ah… the Chosen Layla is prepared for you and in your temple?”
Cormia looked down at the bowl in front of her. As Chosen had very short fertility cycles here on this side, it was very likely Layla was either fertile or about to become fertile. No doubt there would be words of the pregnancy to record very soon.
“Time for you to go,” she said, glancing up at the Primale.
His eyes positively bored into hers. “Cormia-”
“Your grace?” the Directrix cut in.
In a hard voice, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll be there when I’m good and damned ready.”
“Oh, please forgive me, your grace, I didn’t mean to-”
“That’s all right,” he said wearily. “Just tell her… I’ll be there.”
The Directrix quickly ducked out, and the door shut.
The Primale’s eyes refocused on Cormia, locking in. And then he came across the room with a grave expression on his face.
As he sank down on his knees in front of her, she was shocked. “Your grace, you shouldn’t-”
“Phury. You call me Phury. Never ‘your grace’ or ‘Primale. ’ Starting now, I don’t want to hear anything but my real name from you.”
“But-”
“No buts.”
Cormia shook her head. “All right, except you shouldn’t be on your knees. Ever.”
“In front of you, I should only be on my knees.” He put his hands lightly on her arms. “In front of you… I always should be bowed.” He looked over her face and her hair. “Listen, Cormia, I need you to know something.”
As she looked down at him, his eyes were the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, hypnotic, the color of citrines in firelight. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
Her heart clenched. “What?”
“I love you.” He shook his head and eased back so he was sitting cross-legged. “Oh, Christ… I’ve made such a mess out of everything. But I love you. I wanted you to know it because… well, shit, because it matters, and because it means I can’t be with the other Chosen. I can’t be with them, Cormia. It’s you or it’s nobody.”
Her heart sang. For a split second, her heart was flying in her chest, soaring on gusts of joy. This was what she had wanted, this pledge, this reality-
Her brilliant happiness dimmed as quickly as it flared.
She thought of the images of the fallen, of the tortured, of the cruelly killed. And the fact that there were now how many fighting Brothers left? Four. Just four.
Centuries ago their numbers had been in the twenties and thirties.
Cormia glanced at the bowl in front of her and then at the quill she’d used. There was a very real possibility that at some point in the not-too-distant future there would be no more history to write.
“You need to go to her, to Layla,” she said in a voice that was flat as the parchment she was going to write on. “And you need to go to them.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yes. I did. But this is bigger than you and me.” She stood up, because if she didn’t move around she was going to go mad. “I’m not a Chosen anymore, not in my heart. But I’ve seen what’s happening. The race is not going to survive like this.”
The Primale rubbed his eyes with a grimace. “I want you.”
“I know.”
“If I’m with the others, can you handle that? I’m not sure I can.”
“I’m afraid… I can’t. That’s why I chose this.” She swept her hand around the room. “Here I can have peace.”
“I can come see you, though. Can’t I?”
“You’re the Primale. You can do anything.” She paused by one of the candles. Staring into the flame, she asked, “Why did you do what you did?”
“About becoming the Primale? I-”
“No. The drug. In the bathroom. You almost died.” When there was no response, she looked over at him. “I want to know why.”
There was a long silence. And then he said, “I’m an addict.”
“An addict?”
“Yeah. I’m proof positive you can come from the aristocracy and have money and position and you can still be a junkie.” His yellow eyes were brutally clear. “And the truth is, I want to be a male of worth and tell you I can stop, but I just don’t know. I’ve made promises to myself and to others before. My words… they don’t hold water any longer with anyone, including myself.”
His word…
She thought of Layla waiting, the Chosen waiting, the whole of the race waiting. Waiting for him.
“Phury… my dearest beloved Phury, live up to one of your promises now. Go and take Layla and bind yourself to us. Give us history to write and to live and to prosper in. Be the strength of the race, as you should be.” As he opened his mouth, she held up her hand to stop him. “You know this is right. You know I am right.”
After a tense moment, Phury got to his feet. He was pale and unsteady as he straightened his robe. “I want you to know… if I’m with anyone else, it’s you in my heart.”
She closed her eyes. She had been taught all her life to share, but letting him go to another female was like throwing something precious on the ground and stomping it to dust.
“Go in peace,” she said softly. “And come back with the same. Even if I cannot be with you, I will never deny your company.”
Phury walked up the knoll to the Primale’s Temple with a foot that felt like it was wrapped in chains. Chains and barbed wire.
God, along with feeling weighed down, his real foot and ankle were burning like he’d stepped into a bucket of battery acid. He’d never thought he’d be glad he was missing half a leg, but at least he didn’t have to feel that shit in stereo.
The double doors to the Primale Temple were closed, and as he opened one side, he caught the scent of herbs and flowers. Stepping inside, he stood in the vestibule, sensing Layla in the main room beyond. He knew she would be as Cormia had been: lying on the bed with bolts of white cloth falling from the ceiling and pooling at her throat so that only her body was visible.