She let out a throaty laugh. "That tickles. Your tongue is rough."

He let her hand go, rousing from the intimate connection. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be silly. I didn't say I didn't like it." Her eyes found his. Lamplight glowed softly on one side of her face, firelight on the other. He envisioned raking his fingers through her hair. Her breaths were the mate of his. "I did like it, Richard."

So did he. The room seemed to be spinning. The sound of his name on her lips sent waves of euphoria coursing through him. With the greatest of effort, he forced himself to stand.

"Cathryn, it's late, and I'm really tired."

She rose willingly, eagerly, a graceful movement that betrayed her shape through the silken dress. His control threatened to unravel completely as she slipped her arm around his, pressing close. "Show me which room is yours?"

He could feel her firm breast crushed against his arm as he led her out into the hall. Ulic and Egan stood not far away with their arms folded. Farther off, at each end of the hall, Cara and Raina came to their feet. None of the four showed any reaction to his having Cathryn on his arm. Richard said nothing to them as he headed for the guest rooms.

With urgent insistence, Cathryn's free hand stroked his shoulder. The heat of her flesh against him warmed him to his bones. He didn't know if his legs would make the journey.

When he found the wing with the guest rooms, he gestured Ulic and Egan close. "Take shifts. I want one of you on watch at all times. I don't want anyone, or anything, coming into this hall tonight." He glanced to the two Mord-Sith waiting at the far end. "That includes them." They asked no questions and vowed it would be so before they planted themselves.

Richard took Cathryn halfway down the hall. She was still caressing his arm. Her breast was still pressed against it.

"I trust this room will do."

Her lips parted as her chest heaved. Her delicate fingers clutched at his shirt. "Yes," she whispered in a pant, "this room."

Richard summoned every ounce of strength. "I'll take the one right next to it. You'll be safe here."

"What?" The blood drained from her face. "Oh, please, Richard…"

"Sleep well, Cathryn."

She tightened her grip on is arm. "But.. but, you have to come in. Oh, please, Richard. I'll be afraid."

He squeezed her hand as he took it from his arm. "Your room is safe, Cathryn, don't be concerned."

"There could be something inside, waiting. Please, Richard, come in with me?"

Richard smiled reassuringly. "There's nothing inside. I could sense it if there were danger anywhere near. I'm a wizard, remember? You're perfectly safe, and I'll be only a few steps away. Nothing will disturb your rest, I swear it."

He opened the door, handed her a lamp off a bracket beside the door, and put a hand to the small of her back, urging her in.

She turned and ran a finger down the center of his chest. Til see you tomorrow?

He took her hand from his chest and kissed it in as courtly a fashion as he could muster. "Count on it. We have a lot of work to do first thing tomorrow."

He pulled her door closed and then went to the next. The two Mord-Sith's eyes never left him. He watched as they slid their backs down the wall to sit on the floor. Each folded her legs, as if to say they intended to be there all night, and each gripped her Agiel in both hands.

Richard glanced at the door to Cathryn's room, his gaze lingering a long moment. The little voice in the back of his head was screaming frantically. He wrested open the door to his room. Inside, he laid his face against the closed door as he caught his breath. He compelled himself to throw the bolt.

He sank down on the edge of the bed, putting his face in his hands. What was the matter with him? His shirt was soaked with sweat. Why should he be having such thoughts about this woman? But he was. Dear spirits, he was. He remembered that the Sisters of the Light thought men suffered from uncontrollable urges.

With dazed effort, he drew the Sword of Truth from its scabbard, sending its soft, clear ring around the dark room. Richard planted the point on the floor and with both hands held the hilt to his forehead, letting the wrath inundate him. He felt its fury storm through his soul, and hoped it would be enough.

From a dim corner of his mind, Richard knew he was in a dance with death, and this time his sword couldn't save him. He also knew he had no choice.

CHAPTER 21

Sister Philippa made the most of her already ample height as she stiffened her back while managing to look down her thin, straight nose without making it seem as if she were really looking down her nose. But she was.

“Surely, Prelate, you have not considered this matter thoroughly enough. Perhaps if you were to reflect on it a bit more you would realize that three thousand years of results attests to the need."

With her elbow on the table, Verna rested her chin in the heel of her loose fist while scanning through a report, making it impossible to look at her without seeing the gold sunburst-patterned ring of office. She glanced up just to make sure Sister Philippa was, in fact, looking at her.

"Thank you, Sister, for your wise advice, but I have already considered the matter at length. There is no need to put any more digging into a dry well; it just makes you thirstier, which raises your hopes, but not any water."

Sister Philippa's dark eyes and exotic features rarely showed emotion, but Verna detected a tightening in the muscles in her narrow jaw.

"But, Prelate… we won't be able to ascertain if a young man is progressing properly, or has learned enough to be released from his Rada'Han. It's the only way."

Verna grimaced at the report she was reading. She set it aside for later action and gave her full attention to her advisor. "How old are you, Sister?"

Sister Philippa's dark gaze didn't waver. "Four hundred seventy-nine, Prelate."

Verna had to admit to herself that she felt a bit of envy. The woman looked hardly older than she, yet she was in fact on the order of three hundred years older. The twenty-odd years away from the palace's spell had cost Verna time she could never recover. She would never have the life span to learn what this woman would.

"How many of those years at the Palace of the Prophets?"

"Four hundred seventy, Prelate." The inflection on the title was hard to detect, unless one had been listening for it. Verna had been listening.

“So, you are saying, then, that the Creator has granted you a span of four hundred and seventy years to learn his work, to work with and teach young men to control their gift and become wizards, and in all that time, you have failed to be able to come to a determination of the nature of your students?"

"Well, no, Prelate, that's not exactly what — "

"Are you trying to tell me, Sister, that a whole palace full of Sisters of the Light are not smart enough to determine if a young man, who has been under our charge and tutelage for near to two hundred years, is ready for advancement, without subjecting him to a brutal test of pain? Do you have so little faith in the Sisters?

In the Creator's wisdom in choosing us to do this work? Are you trying to tell me that the Creator chose us, gave us, collectively, thousands of years of experience, and we are still too stupid to do the work?"

"I think that perhaps the Prelate is — "

"Permission denied. It's an obscene use of the Rada'Han, giving that kind of pain. It can tear the fabric of a person's mind. Why, young men have even died in the test.

"You go tell those Sisters that I expect them to come up with a strategy for accomplishing the task without blood, vomit, or screaming. You might even suggest they try something revolutionary, like… oh, I don't know, maybe talking to the young men? Unless the Sisters think they would be outwitted, in which case I would like them to admit as much to me in a report, for the record."