incident. Could he? What was going on here?
“Let’s ignore for the moment the symbolic power of such an act. Let’s ignore the vast power you added to his arsenal, by making a voluntary sacrifice of your own flesh. Let’s ignore even the channel it established between you, which by definition cuts through the heart of your defenses and makes you vulnerable to all his sorcery. Thus making the Church vulnerable, through you.”
Was this another nightmare that Tarrant was feeding him, in order to make him afraid? If so, it was working. How the hell did the Patriarch know such details of his travels, when his reports had made no hint of them? He found that he was trembling, and hoped that the Holy Father couldn’t see it.
“Yes or no,” the Patriarch said icily.
Did he really know, or was he only guessing? Why would one guess a thing like that? Feverishly he tried to work out how to minimize the damage. If the Patriarch’s source of information was unreliable—
“Yes or no!” he demanded.
Nightmare. It was a scene out of nightmare. How many times had Damien dreamed this scene, or its equivalent? And yet those dreams had no emotive power at all compared to this, the real thing.
Where the hell had the Patriarch gotten his information?
“Yes or no.”
He looked up into the Patriarch’s ice-cold eyes, and suddenly knew the futility of denial. If the Patriarch had such detailed information as this, then there was no point in dissembling; the man had damned Vryce long ago, and long ago decided his punishment. Lying to him now would only make things worse.
He said it quietly, trying not to sound either guilty or defiant. “Yes.”
A strange shiver seemed to pass through the Holy Father’s frame. Had he expected some other answer? Damien felt as if he were being tested somehow, but not in any manner he could understand.
“You conversed with demons.” There was no hesitation in the Patriarch’s manner now; whatever confirmation he had required from Damien, he was clearly satisfied that he had it. “You countenanced the slaughter of numerous innocents, in order that the Hunter might be fed.”
It took all his strength not to snap back a sharp response; the fae was beating at his will, battering his self-control. “It was necessary,” he forced out between gritted teeth. “If you would read my report—”
“You gave in to corruption. ” The very air seemed to shiver with the power of the Patriarch’s condemnation.
“You fell into the Prophet’s own trap, justifying your sins by the very scriptures that damned you.” He paused, then demanded, “Must I deal with each transgression individually?” he demanded. “Or will you simply accept that I know them all? That I pass judgment on you not only for one sin, or several, but for nearly two years of continual defiance?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Your Holiness, if you would only let me explain—”
“In good time, Reverend Vryce. I’ll read your report. I may even listen to what you have to say. After I’ve made my position perfectly clear.”
He paced a few steps toward the far wall and back again. “If you were one of my own I wouldn’t hesitate to demote you, maybe even cast you out of the priesthood entirely. Because allowing you to serve the Church is one thing, but allowing you to represent it is another matter entirely. If I had ordained you—if any of my people had—I might free you here and now of all your Church obligations, so that you could spend your years warring with demons and gambling for human souls without any concern for my interference. I suspect you would be happier that way.
“But you aren’t mine. You’re a guest from a foreign autarchy, with different traditions. Different beliefs regarding our faith. For all that we venerate unity, it would be unjust of me not to recognize that fact. Or to allow for it in my judgment.”
Shaking, he struggled to voice some neutral respose. “I thank you,
“Let’s ignore for the moment the symbolic power of such an act. Let’s ignore the vast power you added to his arsenal, by making a voluntary sacrifice of your own flesh. Let’s ignore even the channel it established between you, which by definition cuts through the heart of your defenses and makes you vulnerable to all his sorcery. Thus making the Church vulnerable, through you.”
Was this another nightmare that Tarrant was feeding him, in order to make him afraid? If so, it was working. How the hell did the Patriarch know such details of his travels, when his reports had made no hint of them? He found that he was trembling, and hoped that the Holy Father couldn’t see it.
“Yes or no,” the Patriarch said icily.
Did he really know, or was he only guessing? Why would one guess a thing like that? Feverishly he tried to work out how to minimize the damage. If the Patriarch’s source of information was unreliable—
“Yes or no!” he demanded.
Nightmare. It was a scene out of nightmare. How many times had Damien dreamed this scene, or its equivalent? And yet those dreams had no emotive power at all compared to this, the real thing.
Where the hell had the Patriarch gotten his information?
“Yes or no.”
He looked up into the Patriarch’s ice-cold eyes, and suddenly knew the futility of denial. If the Patriarch had such detailed information as this, then there was no point in dissembling; the man had damned Vryce long ago, and long ago decided his punishment. Lying to him now would only make things worse.
He said it quietly, trying not to sound either guilty or defiant. “Yes.”
A strange shiver seemed to pass through the Holy Father’s frame. Had he expected some other answer? Damien felt as if he were being tested somehow, but not in any manner he could understand.
“You conversed with demons.” There was no hesitation in the Patriarch’s manner now; whatever confirmation he had required from Damien, he was clearly satisfied that he had it. “You countenanced the slaughter of numerous innocents, in order that the Hunter might be fed.”
It took all his strength not to snap back a sharp response; the fae was beating at his will, battering his self-control. “It was necessary,” he forced out between gritted teeth. “If you would read my report—”
“You gave in to corruption. ” The very air seemed to shiver with the power of the Patriarch’s condemnation.
“You fell into the Prophet’s own trap, justifying your sins by the very scriptures that damned you.” He paused, then demanded, “Must I deal with each transgression individually?” he demanded. “Or will you simply accept that I know them all? That I pass judgment on you not only for one sin, or several, but for nearly two years of continual defiance?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Your Holiness, if you would only let me explain—”
“In good time, Reverend Vryce. I’ll read your report. I may even listen to what you have to say. After I’ve made my position perfectly clear.”
He paced a few steps toward the far wall and back again. “If you were one of my own I wouldn’t hesitate to demote you, maybe even cast you out of the priesthood entirely. Because allowing you to serve the Church is one thing, but allowing you to represent it is another matter entirely. If I had ordained you—if any of my people had—I might free you here and now of all your Church obligations, so that you could spend your years warring with demons and gambling for human souls without any concern for my interference. I suspect you would be happier that way.
“But you aren’t mine. You’re a guest from a foreign autarchy, with different traditions. Different beliefs regarding our faith. For all that we venerate unity, it would be unjust of me not to recognize that fact. Or to allow for it in my judgment.”
Shaking, he struggled to voice some neutral respose. “I thank you,
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