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They could not see that. Of course not. Only Lord Arnmigal did, along with the Instrumentalities who would deliver the genocide.

Much as he anticipated Helspeth’s advent, so did Hecht dread it. Having his lover in camp, with no privacy to be had … They would do something stupid. It was sure to happen.

He reddened, remembering Katrin. That humiliation returned.

* * *

Almost the first thing Helspeth said, following the ceremony attendant on her arrival, was, “I brought that candle you like, Lord Arnmigal.”

Hecht’s eyes widened. He had forgotten the time candle. Last he had seen it, it had been in his quarters in the Still-Patter house. He recalled several instances when it would have been handy to have.

“Thank you so much, Majesty. That was thoughtful of you.”

“And selfish.” Lady Hilda had accompanied her empress, clearly without enthusiasm. She wanted nothing to do with this rude end of the world but she was entertained at the moment. “Perhaps you could take that candle along and pray together tonight.”

Helspeth gave her friend the darkest possible look.

“Just trying to help,” Daedel grumbled. “The old Chaldarean church here, Saint Eules, is famous.”

True. The chapel’s foundations dated from Aaron’s own time. Much early history of the faith involved the site. Lord Arnmigal had been startled by its small size when first he saw it.

Unprepossessing size had saved it from being converted to a Praman place of worship.

Frustration bedeviled the lovers. There were no moments free from the petitions of swarms of natives of local and crusader origin, come to beg peace, to pledge eternal fealty (till the next shift in the wind of war), to wheedle some advantage, or to complain about someone else.

Capture of the invincible city, by a lesser fraction of the Righteous, left an impression. And so did the cruelty of the fall of the citadel.

An opportunity to visit St. Eules did come three evenings after Helspeth’s arrival. Lord Arnmigal and the Empress did not go alone. A score of notables escorted them. A hundred other folk crowded into the church. The nearest they came to privacy was in approaching the altar as just they two. Lord Arnmigal whispered, “Probably as well they don’t give us time. I’m exhausted. I’m not getting enough sleep.”

Mirth edged Helspeth’s voice as she murmured, “Nor am I. Much as I yearn for your touch … I’d fall asleep, for sure.”

“This won’t last forever.”

A priest of St. Eules blessed them as the new masters of Shartelle. He was Antast Chaldarean but the Brothen Episcopals of the Holy Lands were not caviling about doctrinal trivia. Yet.

That would come. But no one, after hearing what had befallen the garrison of the citadel, wanted to irk the Righteous or their Commander.

Following the blessing the Empress rose and stepped up to light a votive candle. She had brought one of her own. Lord Arnmigal joined her but only for a quick touch and pant and reaffirmation. “Not in this place. Not now,” he said. “But soon. I promise.”

“Don’t disappoint your Empress.”

Hecht sensed an oddness. Helspeth had changed, in a small way, while they were apart. It seemed a huge strain for her to be responsible right now, not stealing hours from the world. He watched her light another candle, bow her head, and shiver. He retreated to his place of kneeling. Helspeth extinguished the time candle after just seconds, made it disappear inside her clothing.

She rejoined the Commander of the Righteous, without kneeling.

The priest, puzzled, commenced his final benediction.

Hecht noticed Lady Hilda’s smirk. She winked. This time he was sure that Daedel was playing her own game, not Helspeth’s.

The Adversary scattered temptations everywhere.

From St. Eules Lord Arnmigal went to make his acquaintance with the full facts of the latest bad news.

* * *

During the final hours of the siege a brave courier from Shamramdi, having escaped that city and having survived a passage through crusader lands, had reached the coast of the White Sea. Evading every danger he had come to Shartelle, where he swam the harbor by night, slipped into the city, stole to the citadel, then entered that by scaling its exterior wall. That all added up to an effort worthy of a saga. But …

The hero found the garrison all dead, torn up like rats ripped apart by dogs. The stench was overwhelming. Those men had been dead for days. Evil had overtaken them almost as soon as they had locked themselves in.

The massacre left the courier in such despair that he just opened a sally port and surrendered to the first Chaldarean priest he could find.

The Commander of the Righteous knew Fastthal and Sprenghul must be responsible, thinking the effort would please him. Thinking it a nice surprise.

Indala was sure to be outraged. The Praman world would be.

Lord Arnmigal was not pleased. He had to impress upon Hourli the fact that he did not want such actions undertaken without prior approval.

He had to admit, though, that, despite the outrage, the average Praman would understand what the Choosers wanted to make plain. Attempts to thwart the Commander and Righteous would not profit them.

The massacre was sure to raise more questions amongst the Righteous. They and other crusaders would know that their own had not done that slaughter. Some would recall past strange events.

They would suspect that the slayers were Instrumentalities, and cruel Instrumentalities at that. Those who knew some folklore might even guess who those Instrumentalities must be.

“Hourli, darling, I need to see you.”

The Shining One appeared in the first instant that she could without being seen doing so. She said, “They have been admonished. They truly believed that they were giving you a precious gift. They are abashed and will not act again without asking.”

Hecht was surprised. She was ahead of him. “Assuming they don’t forget.”

“There is that about them. They do tend to exist in the moment.”

Ahead of him. That happened more than left him comfortable.

It was not just the Choosers who were thinking for themselves.

“What?” he asked. She had something on her mind.

“They may not have asked permission but I cannot find fault with their reasoning. Such ferocious destruction will be instructive to everyone inclined to be stubborn. Indala may be offended but Indala is your determined enemy already.”

He could not be pleased, despite all.

“You are too fond of your prerogatives, Commander. Even a god cannot manage every detail of every daily event.”

He started to protest that the massacre was no tiny detail.

“But it is. To immortals it is no more than overturning an annoying anthill. And it will be trivia to history. One paragraph in the record of the fall of Shartelle, after a dozen lauding the relative bloodlessness of the city’s capture. Consider what happened when the first crusaders took Vantrad.”

Yes. They had butchered people by the thousand, including Deves, Dainshaus, Chaldareans who failed to cleave to the Episcopal rite, and even some who did but who owned property somebody wanted to claim. The histories did not exaggerate much by saying that the blood ran ankle deep in the streets. It had taken decades for Vantrad’s economy to recover.

Hourli said, “With you it’s always about control.”

He had been told that often, and with some force, for some time, now. “I will concede the point. I may overdo it. But this is a case where…”

“I told you. They have been admonished. So. Allow yourself a week before you become more stressed. See what moral impact it really has. Send a message to Indala asking him not to compel you to do that again. He won’t listen but you can point to the request forever after and insist that you gave him a chance.”