about it. You’ll have some say in the matter in any case and if you don’t like it, there’s always Miss Elowen.”
“Will I…” Vanora began.
“I don’t think so,” Heden said. “I think you’re cured. I think it’s permanent. But if it’s not, I can show you how to brew the stuff yourself. Miss Elowen would be happy to take you back knowing you’re well again.”
“You said there was some magic,” Vanora said, ignoring his comment about her Madam. “You said: ‘there’s a little magic involved, not much.’” She quoted him exactly.
Heden finished his drink, put the glass down, and got up. “That’s true. Priestly magic. A prayer. Whatever else you decide to do, I don’t think the clergy is in your future. You may have to depend on me for it.”
She couldn’t tell if he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. Heden cleared the table off, disappeared behind a door Vanora presumed went into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later. He didn’t say goodbye, he just walked toward the door, adjusting the fit of his clothes, opened the door and then stood there and looked back.
“I have to go talk to…my boss,” he said, for some reason wanting to avoid mentioning the bishop after his story. “Try to keep out of the cat’s way. Balli earns her keep and at the moment you do not.”
Vanora couldn’t tell if he was joking. She just looked at him as he left her alone in the empty tavern.
Chapter Eight
“Knights must die all the time.”
It was a small room and the bishop’s writing desk took up most of it. The ornate wood paneling on the walls had at some point been covered over with expensive tapestries. They absorbed sound and Heden felt like he was packed in cotton every time he came in here. It was dark, lit with the steady golden light of four candles in sconces on the walls. Heden was dressed in his ill-fitting plain wool, but the bishop was wearing nearly his full regalia. All in blue and silver and black, the ceremonial colors of the largest church of Cavall.
“Are you sure you…,” the bishop indicated an untouched tray of biscuits.
Heden raised a hand. “Please, your Grace, no. I’ve been eating or drinking or watching people eat or drink all day.
The bishop smiled. His thin, angular face was, to Heden’s way of thinking, the iconic bishop’s face. Bishop Conmonoc was tall and gaunt with a hawkish face. His rheumy eyes betrayed his age. Conmonoc had ascended to the hierarch’s position when Heden was a boy and though he remembered his father talking about the previous bishop, and he knew there would be one after, Conmonoc would always be ‘the’ bishop to Heden. The archetype. Heden found it difficult to judge the man as a result.
“Gwiddon didn’t think you’d come,” the bishop said, his lips curling at one corner.
“He’s known me a long time,” Heden said. Giving a non-answer to a non-question.
“But you’re here,” the bishop said. Heden wondered if he was going to congratulate himself on being right. “I’ve asked Gwiddon for your service…perhaps three times in the last year and in each instance you refused.”
Heden squirmed a little in his chair.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
The bishop made a discreet flourish with one hand, encouraging Heden to elaborate.
“I just didn’t think I’d be any use to you.”
“That may be,” Bishop Conmonoc conceded. “But don’t you think that’s for me to decide?”
“If you believed that,” Heden said, looking straight at him, “you wouldn’t have let me say no.”
The bishop seemed to find that answer amusing. “We both know that’s not true. What made you change your mind?”
Heden shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. He said the first thing that came into his mind. “I didn’t want to disappoint…” he wasn’t sure how that sentence was going to end and for some reason didn’t want to follow the thought. “Anyone,” he said.
The bishop studied him for a moment.
“Will I…” Vanora began.
“I don’t think so,” Heden said. “I think you’re cured. I think it’s permanent. But if it’s not, I can show you how to brew the stuff yourself. Miss Elowen would be happy to take you back knowing you’re well again.”
“You said there was some magic,” Vanora said, ignoring his comment about her Madam. “You said: ‘there’s a little magic involved, not much.’” She quoted him exactly.
Heden finished his drink, put the glass down, and got up. “That’s true. Priestly magic. A prayer. Whatever else you decide to do, I don’t think the clergy is in your future. You may have to depend on me for it.”
She couldn’t tell if he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. Heden cleared the table off, disappeared behind a door Vanora presumed went into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later. He didn’t say goodbye, he just walked toward the door, adjusting the fit of his clothes, opened the door and then stood there and looked back.
“I have to go talk to…my boss,” he said, for some reason wanting to avoid mentioning the bishop after his story. “Try to keep out of the cat’s way. Balli earns her keep and at the moment you do not.”
Vanora couldn’t tell if he was joking. She just looked at him as he left her alone in the empty tavern.
Chapter Eight
“Knights must die all the time.”
It was a small room and the bishop’s writing desk took up most of it. The ornate wood paneling on the walls had at some point been covered over with expensive tapestries. They absorbed sound and Heden felt like he was packed in cotton every time he came in here. It was dark, lit with the steady golden light of four candles in sconces on the walls. Heden was dressed in his ill-fitting plain wool, but the bishop was wearing nearly his full regalia. All in blue and silver and black, the ceremonial colors of the largest church of Cavall.
“Are you sure you…,” the bishop indicated an untouched tray of biscuits.
Heden raised a hand. “Please, your Grace, no. I’ve been eating or drinking or watching people eat or drink all day.
The bishop smiled. His thin, angular face was, to Heden’s way of thinking, the iconic bishop’s face. Bishop Conmonoc was tall and gaunt with a hawkish face. His rheumy eyes betrayed his age. Conmonoc had ascended to the hierarch’s position when Heden was a boy and though he remembered his father talking about the previous bishop, and he knew there would be one after, Conmonoc would always be ‘the’ bishop to Heden. The archetype. Heden found it difficult to judge the man as a result.
“Gwiddon didn’t think you’d come,” the bishop said, his lips curling at one corner.
“He’s known me a long time,” Heden said. Giving a non-answer to a non-question.
“But you’re here,” the bishop said. Heden wondered if he was going to congratulate himself on being right. “I’ve asked Gwiddon for your service…perhaps three times in the last year and in each instance you refused.”
Heden squirmed a little in his chair.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
The bishop made a discreet flourish with one hand, encouraging Heden to elaborate.
“I just didn’t think I’d be any use to you.”
“That may be,” Bishop Conmonoc conceded. “But don’t you think that’s for me to decide?”
“If you believed that,” Heden said, looking straight at him, “you wouldn’t have let me say no.”
The bishop seemed to find that answer amusing. “We both know that’s not true. What made you change your mind?”
Heden shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. He said the first thing that came into his mind. “I didn’t want to disappoint…” he wasn’t sure how that sentence was going to end and for some reason didn’t want to follow the thought. “Anyone,” he said.
The bishop studied him for a moment.
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