Blood of the Fold

"Look, Verna, I think you've been cooped up it here too long and need a little fresh air. Why don't we go for a walk."

"A walk? Warren, I don't have time — "

"Prelate, you've been sitting in here too long. You need a little activity." He canted his head while rolling his eyes in an exaggerated gesture toward the door. "How about it?"

Vema glanced toward the door. If Sister Dulcinia did as she was told, then only Sister Phoebe would be in the outer office. Phoebe was her friend. She reminded herself that she could trust no one.

"Well.. yes, I guess I would like a bit of a walk."

Warren marched around the desk and lifted her by the arm. "Oh, good, then. Shall we go?"

Verna pulled her arm away from his grip and shot him a murderous glare. She gritted her teeth as she spoke in a singsong voice. "Why yes, why don't we."

At the sound of the door, Sister Phoebe hastily stood to bow. "Prelate… do you need something? Perhaps a bit of soup? Some tea?"

"Phoebe, I've told you a dozen times now that you don't need to bow every time you lay eyes on me."

Phoebe bowed again. "Yes, Prelate." Her round face flushed red. "I mean… I'm sorry, Prelate. Forgive me."

Verna gathered her patience with a sigh. "Sister Phoebe, we've known each other since we were novices. How many times were we sent to the kitchens together to scrub pots for. .?" Verna glanced to Warren. "Well, I can't remember for what, but the point is that we're old friends. Please try to remember that?"

Phoebe's cheeks plumped with a smile. "Of course… Verna." She winced at calling the Prelate «Verna» even if it was under order.

Out in the hall Warren asked why they were sent to scrub pots.

"I said I don't remember," she snapped as she glanced back down the empty hall, "What's this about?"

Warren shrugged. "Just a walk." He checked the hall himself, and then flashed her another meaningful look. "I thought that maybe the Prelate would like to visit Sister Simona."

Verna missed a step. Sister Simona had been in a deranged state for weeks — something about dreams — and had been kept in a shielded room so she couldn't hurt herself, or some innocent.

Warren leaned close and whispered. "I went to visit her earlier."

"Why?"

Warren jabbed his finger up and down, pointing at the floor. The vaults. He meant the vaults. She frowned at him.

"And how was poor Simona?"

Warren checked the corridor to the right and left when they reached an intersection, then looked behind again. "They wouldn't let me see her," he whispered.

Outside, the rain roared in a downpour. Verna pulled her shawl over her head and dove into the deluge, dancing over puddles, trying to tiptoe across the step-pingstones set in the soggy grass. Yellow light from windows flickered in the pools of standing water. The guards at the gates to the Prelate's compound bowed as she and Warren trotted by, making for a covered walkway.

Inside, under the low roof, she shook the water from her shawl and draped it across her shoulders as the two of them caught their breath. Warren shook rain from his robes. The walkway's arched sides were protected only by open lattice thick with vines, but the rain wasn't driven by wind, so it was dry enough. She peered into the darkness, but couldn't see anyone. It was quite a ways to the next building: the squat infirmary.

Verna slumped down on a stone bench. Warren had been ready to be off, but when she sat, he did, too. It was cold and the heat of him right next to her felt good. The pungent smell of rain and wet dirt was refreshing after being inside for so long. Verna was not used to being inside so much. She liked the out-of-doors, thought the ground made a fine bed, the trees and fields a fine office, but that part of her life was over now. There was a garden just outside the Prelate's office, but she hadn't had time to put her head out to see it.

In the distance, the incessant drums thundered on, like the heartbeat of doom.

"I used my Han," he said at last. "I don't feel the presence of anyone else near."

"And you can feel the presence of one with Subtractive Magic, yes?" she whispered.

He glanced up in the dark. "I never thought of that."

"What's this about, Warren?"

"Do you think we're alone?"

"How should I know?" she snapped.

He looked around again and swallowed. "Well, I've been doing a lot of reading lately." He pointed again toward the vaults. "I just thought we should go see Sister Simona."

"You already said that. You still haven't told me why."

"Some of the things I've been reading have been about dreams," he said cryptically.

She tried to gaze into his eyes, but she could only see the dark shape of him. "Simona has been having dreams."

His thigh was pressed against hers. He was shaking with the cold. At least she thought it was the cold. Before she realized what she was doing, she had put her arm around him and pulled his head to her shoulder.