For a Precious Person (6)

How was she supposed to understand this?

Rastain tried to think calmly. Her thoughts refused to obey her, just as her expression did. Her mouth remained slightly open, her eyes wide with disbelief.

The man standing before her was looking directly at her face.

At me? He can see me?

Apart from the Pope, who had laid the curse upon her, almost no one could look at the saintess's face.

The divine art inscribed upon Rastain's heart, the Light of Heaven, varied its brilliance according to the darkness in another person's heart. The more evil a person harbored, the brighter the light. The purer the heart, the fainter the glare.

That was why it was perfectly ordinary for people to be unable to see her face.

People were never wholly good. Even those who practiced kindness had selfish or cruel thoughts. Even devout priests, faithful throughout their lives, could not cast off every trace of self-interest.

Surely Theorad Deharem, however beloved by the people of his lands, was an ordinary man who thought of himself as well.

She had assumed as much.

“Saintess? Are you feeling unwell? You don't look quite yourself.”

Light-brown eyes regarded Rastain with an ease she had never seen directed toward her. They were steady and clear as a still lake.

But was he truly seeing her? Some people strained to look her way merely to demonstrate courtesy. She had been disappointed by such efforts before.

Rastain steadied her breathing.

“Are you looking at me?”

Theorad paused, puzzled.

“Yes. If it makes you uncomfortable, I—”

“What do I look like to you, Viscount Theorad?”

He fell silent. The questions were increasingly strange, but he could hardly refuse to answer the saintess herself.

He looked at her more closely. A pale radiance still lay across her features, yet it was nowhere near strong enough to conceal them.

“Your hair is a lovely pink, with the sheen of silk.”

Her uncut hair, tinged with rose-red, reached her feet. It looked exquisitely cared for. The blind girls who attended her must tend it with great patience each day.

“And your eyes are blue, like a clear sea.”

Their color was striking, and the gentle downward turn at their corners made her expression seem all the kinder.

“The little beauty mark below your eye is lovely, too.”

The dark point beneath her eye gave an unexpected charm to an otherwise innocent face. She was beautiful enough that Theorad found himself wondering what effect she might have had on admirers had she never entered religious life.

He offered a somewhat awkward smile. Discussing the appearance of a saintess he revered felt presumptuous, even when she had specifically asked.

“Was that of any help?”

Rastain did not answer immediately.

No one standing in the hallway understood the exchange—not the servants, knights and paladins, nor Roylen. They had all bowed their heads against the brilliance. Theorad alone stood upright and described what the light was supposed to hide.

For a moment, the sight of him seemed almost sacred.

“It was…”

Rastain took a careful breath.

She had never troubled to control her facial expressions before. No one was able to see them. Now that someone could, she felt as exposed as though she had walked into the street without clothing.

Heat rose to her cheeks. She fought the urge to look away, mastered her expression, and cleared her throat.

“It was helpful.”

She made herself speak with her usual composure.

“More importantly, I am glad you appear to be recovering. When I heard that assassins had attacked you, I was very worried.”

“I am sorry to have caused you concern, Saintess. As you can see, I am well. But…”

“But?”

Theorad hesitated. There was nothing easy about recounting what had happened.

Roylen stepped in before he had to.

“I can explain the circumstances. Would you care to hear them in the drawing room?”

Roylen kept his eyes lowered against the radiance.

Rastain looked between them. The shadow that had fallen over Theorad's face told her there was more to the attack than his wounds.

“Very well. Let us talk inside.”

“Thank you. This way, please.”

Roylen bowed and led the saintess through the villa.

The main sitting room had been hurriedly arranged for an important guest. A great carpet bearing a white lion covered the floor. Oak tables and luxurious chairs stood among sofas placed around the room. Ash lay in the fireplace, unused for some time.

It was not an elaborate formal reception room, but its quiet air was agreeable.

Rastain came to the central table, where the paladins pulled out a chair for her. She thanked them with a nod and sat.

Then she turned toward the blind girls who had been carrying and tending her long hair.

“You may rest.”

The girls readily made their way to a sofa in the corner. Theorad and the knights also withdrew respectfully to give her room.

While servants prepared refreshments, one of the two escorting paladins took a folded silk screen from a bag. Together they opened it and held it in place.

The fine, white material shielded Roylen from the saintess's radiance. At last he was able to raise his head.

Even now she was thinking of the comfort of those who came before her.

Roylen straightened his posture.

“First, I cannot thank you enough for visiting such a humble place—”

“You needn't trouble yourself with ceremony. What happened to Viscount Theorad?”

The presence behind the silk was gentle, but the question left no room for evasion.

“I don't know every detail of the attack,” Roylen admitted. “What I can say is that the Viscount survived, but a maid he holds dear was caught in the phenomenon called the Quarantined Night.”

Rastain's expression darkened.

“How terrible. To be alive and yet as good as dead…”

“Yes. And so…”

Roylen faltered. He knew what he was about to ask.

“Might you be able to help him? Your knowledge of astrology is unrivaled in the Empire.”

“What?”

Rastain frowned behind the screen. The request was far more reckless than she had expected.

“To save someone trapped in the Quarantined Night, you must open the depths of the patient's consciousness. That means entering and interfering with memories of the past. One mistake during the procedure could place both lives in mortal danger.”

“I know,” Roylen said. “I know why the Empire has forbidden such treatment. I warned Viscount Theorad of its consequences. But…”

He sighed.

“He has no intention of giving up. If there is even a chance of a cure, he will pursue it.”

“Danger does not cease being danger! You ask me to stake a person's life on this?”

“You are right, Saintess. Refusing would be entirely natural. The problem is that the Viscount will not stop merely because you refuse.”

Roylen remembered the determination with which Theorad had pleaded for help for the elf. Persuasion would not make those eyes waver.

“If you say no, he will accept your answer respectfully. He will apologize for troubling you, too.”

Roylen knew what would follow.

“Then he will seek out another astrologer, no matter how capable they must be or how much of his family's fortune he has to spend. He would risk himself for any chance of saving someone dear to him. That is the path Viscount Theorad will choose.”

Rastain fell silent.

A nobleman willing to put his life at risk for a maid sounded like a bard's fanciful song.

And yet… this was Theorad Deharem.

This was the man who could look into her face despite the Light of Heaven. Perhaps he truly would go so far.

If she refused, he might entrust himself to someone less capable. Would agreeing to help him not be the safer kindness?

A child's delighted laugh reached her.

Rastain turned toward the sofa.

Theorad was there with the blind girls. He had seated them comfortably and lowered himself on one knee to the dusty floor, smiling as he told them amusing stories. The girls held one another's small hands and listened, no longer seeming frightened or shy.

Children so reserved had taken to him in no time at all.

Watching, Rastain felt the last of her resistance give way.

“Very well. If Viscount Theorad truly cannot be dissuaded…”

Perhaps the rumors that the God of Light favored him were not so far-fetched.

She looked toward Roylen and offered a faint, rueful smile.

“I will help with the treatment for the Quarantined Night.”