Warren sighed out in exasperation. "Stop saying that. You're qualified to be Prelate, perhaps more qualified than any of the other Sisters; besides experience, the Prelate must be one with exceptional power." He looked away when she lifted an eyebrow. "I have unlimited access to anything in the vaults. I've read the reports." His gaze relumed. "When you captured Richard, the other two Sisters died, and in so doing passed their power on to you. You have the power, die Han, of three Sisters."

"That is scarcely the only requirement, Warren."

He leaned forward. "As I said, I've unlimited access to the books. I know the requirements. There is nothing dial would disqualify you; you fit all the requirements. You should be elated to be Prelate. This is the best thing that could happen."

Sister Verna sighed. "Have you lost your wits along with your collar? What possible reason would I have for wanting to be Prelate?"

"Now we can ferret out the Sisters of the Dark." Warren smiled confidentially. "You will have the authority to do what must be done." His blue eyes sparkled. "Like I said, this is the best possible thing that could happen."

She threw her hands up. "Warren, my becoming Prelate is the worst possible thing that could happen. The mantle of authority is as restricting as the collar you're so happy to be rid of."

Warren frowned. "What do you mean?"

She smoothed back her curly brown hair. "Warren, the Prelate is a prisoner of her authority. Did you often see Prelate Annalina? No. And why not? Because she was in her office, overseeing the administration of the Palace of the Prophets. She had a thousand things to attend to, a thousand questions that demanded her attention, hundreds of Sisters and young men that needed to be overseen, including the constant dilemma of Nathan. You don't know the kind of trouble that man could cause. He had to be kept under constant guard.

"The Prelate can never drop in to visit a Sister, or a young man in training; they would be in a panic, wondering what they had done wrong, what the Prelate had been told about them. The Prelate's conversations can never be casual, they are always charged with the perception of hidden meaning. It's not because she wants it that way — it's simply that she holds a position of sweeping authority and no one can ever forget that.

"When she ventures out of her complex she is immediately surrounded by the pomp and ceremony of her office. If she goes to the dining hail to have dinner, no one has the courage to carry on with their conversation; everyone sits silently and watches her, hoping she won't look their way or, worse yet, ask them to join her at her table."

Warren wilted a little. "I never thought about it that way."

"If your suspicions about the Sisters of the Dark are true, and I'm not saying they are, then being Prelate would hinder my discovering who they are."

"It didn't hinder Prelate Annalina."

"Do you know that? Maybe if she wasn't Prelate she would have discovered them ages ago, when she would have been able to do something about it. She might have been able to eradicate them before they began killing our boys and stealing their Han, and became so powerful. As it was, her discovery came too late, and only resulted in her death."

"But they may fear your knowledge and reveal themselves in some way."

"If there are Sisters of the Dark in the palace, then they know of my involvement in discovering the six who escaped, and if anything, they will be glad to have me be Prelate so as to tie my hands and keep me out of the way."

Warren touched a finger to his lip. "But, it must be of some help to have you be Prelate."

"It will only prove a hindrance in stopping the Sisters of the Dark. Warren, you have to help me. You know the books; there must be something that can get me out of this."

"Prelate — "

"Stop calling me that!"

Warren winced in frustration. "But that's who you are. I can call you no less."

She sighed. "The Prelate, Prelate Annalina, asked her friends to call her Ann. If I am the Prelate now, then I ask you to address me as Verna."

Warren thought it over with a frown. "Well… I guess we are friends."

"Warren, we are more than friends; you are the only one I can trust. There is no one else, now."

He nodded. "Verna, then." He twisted his mouth as he thought. "Verna, you're right: I know the books. I know the requirements, and you fit them all. You're young, for a Prelate, but only by precedent; there's no prohibition in law about age. More than that, you have the Han of three Sisters. There is no Sister, no Sister of the Light, anyway, who is your equal. That in itself makes you more than qualified; power, the command of Han, is a prime consideration to be Prelate."

"Warren, there has to be something. Think."

His blue eyes reflected the depth of his knowledge, and regret. "Verna, I know the books. They're explicit. Once lawfully named, they specifically forbid the Prelate from abandoning her duty. Only in death may she cede the calling. Short of Annalina Aldurren coming back to life, and reclaiming her office, there is no way for you to disqualify yourself, or to resign. You are Prelate."

Verna could think of no solution. She was trapped. "That woman has been twisting my life for as long as I can remember. She keyed that spell to me, I know she did. She trapped me into this. I wish I could strangle her!"

Warren laid a gentle hand to her arm. "Verna, would you ever allow a Sister of the Dark to become Prelate?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think Ann would?"

"No, but I don't see — "

"Verna, you said you can trust none but me. Think of Ann. She was trapped, too. She couldn't allow the chance of one of them becoming Prelate. She was dying. She did the only thing she could. She could trust no one but you."

Verna stared into his eyes as his words echoed in her mind, and then she slumped down on a smooth, dark rock beside the water. Her face sank into her hands. "Dear Creator," she whispered, "am I this selfish?"

Warren sat down beside her. "Selfish? Stubborn, at times, but never selfish."

"Oh Warren, she must have been so lonely. At least she had Nathan there with her… at the end."

Warren nodded. After a moment, he glanced over at her. "We're in a lot of trouble, aren't we, Verna."

"A whole palace full of it. Warren, all wrapped up nice and neat with a gold ring."

CHAPTER 7

Richard covered his mouth as he yawned. He was so tired from not getting any sleep the night before, or much, for that matter, in the last two weeks, to say nothing of the fight with the mriswith, that it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. The smells ran from foul to fragrant and back again seemingly every few paces as he progressed through the convoluted maze of streets, staying close to the buildings and out of the thickest of the commotion while trying his best to follow the directions Mistress Sanderholt had given him. He hoped he wasn't lost.

Always knowing where he was, and how he was going to get to where he was going, was a matter of honor for a guide, but since Richard had been a woods guide, he guessed it could be pardoned if he did became lost in a great city. Besides, he was no longer a woods guide, nor did he expect he would ever be one again.

He knew where the sun was, though, and no matter what the streets and buildings did in their efforts to confuse him with their teeming thoroughfares, dark alleys, and warrens of narrow, twisting side streets among ancient, windowless buildings laid out to no design, southeast was still southeast. He simply used taller buildings as landmarks, instead of monarch trees or prominent terrain, and tried not to worry about the exact streets he was supposed to follow.