do no such thing. He is the son of the warrior the Bloodletter.»
Amalya jerked back. «What?»
«Did the Scribe Virgin not tell you?»
«Her Holiness said only that it was arranged with one of the Brotherhood, a warrior of worth.»
Cormia shook her head. «I was told earlier, when she first came unto me. I thought all knew.»
Amalya's concern drew her brows together. Without a word, she sat on the cot and gathered
Cormia to her.
«I do not want this,» Cormia whispered. «Forgive me, sister. But I do not.»
Amalya's voice lacked conviction as she said, «All will be well… truly.»
«What goes on herein?» The sharp voice yanked them apart sure as a pair of hands.
The Directrix stood in the doorway, her stare suspicious. With a book of some sort in one hand
and a strand of black worship pearls in the other, she was the perfect representation of the
Chosen's proper purpose and calling.
Amalya stood up quickly, but there was no denying the moment. As a Chosen, you were to
rejoice in your station at all times; anything less was considered a specius deviation for which
you had to render penitence. And they had been caught.
«I shall talk to the Chosen Cormia now,» the Directrix announced. «Alone.»
«Yes, of course.» Amalya went to the door with her head down. «If you will excuse me, sisters.»
«You shall progress to the Temple of Atonement, will you not.»
«Yes, Directrix.»
«Stay there for the rest of the cycle. If I see you on the grounds, I will be most displeased.»
«Yes, Directrix.»
Cormia squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for her friend as she left. A whole cycle in that
temple? You could go mad from the sensory deprivation.
The Directrix's words were clipped. «I would send you there, too, were there not things you need
to attend.»
Cormia brushed off her tears. «Yes, Directrix.»
«You shall begin your preparations now by reading this.» The leather-bound book landed on the
bed. «It details the Primale's rights and your obligations. When you have finished, you will begin
your sexual tutorial.»
Oh, dear Virgin, please, not the Directrix… please, not the Directrix …
«Layla will instruct you.» As Cormia's shoulders sagged, the Directrix snapped, «Shall I take
offense at your relief that it shall be not I who teaches you?»
«Not at all, my sister.»
«Now you offend with untruth. Look at me. Look at me.»
Cormia lifted her eyes and couldn't help but draw back in fear as the Directrix pinned her with a
hard stare.
«You shall do your duty and do it well or I shall cast you out. Do you understand me? You shall
be cast out.»
Cormia was so stunned she couldn't reply. Cast out? Cast out… to the far side?
«Answer me. Are we clear?»
«Y-yes, Directrix.»
«Mistake this not. The survival of the Chosen and the order I have established herein are of the
only significance. Any one individual who obstacles either will be eliminated. Remind you that
when you feel the urge to pity yourself. This is an honor and it shall be revoked with attendant
consequences by my hand. Are we clear? Are we clear?»
Cormia couldn't find her voice, so she nodded.
The Directrix shook her head, a strange light coming into her eye. «Save for your bloodline, you
are wholly unacceptable. As of fact, the entirety of this is wholly unacceptable.»
The Directrix left in a whisper of robing, her white silk sheath flowing around the doorjamb in
her wake.
Cormia put her head in her hands and bit her lower lip as she contemplated her station: Her body
had just been promised to a warrior she'd never met… who was begotten of a brutish and cruel
sire… and upon her shoulders the noble tradition of Chosen rested.
Honor? Nay, this was a punishment-for the audacity of wanting something for herself.
As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or six? He wasn't
sure.
«Man, good thing we ain't fighting tonight,» Butch said. «You're drinking that shit like water.»
«I'm thirsty.»
«Guess so.» The cop stretched in the booth. «How much longer you plan on rehydrating there,
Lawrence of Arabia?»
«You don't have to hang-«
«Move over, cop.»
Both Phury and Butch glanced up. V had appeared in front of the table from out of nowhere, and
something was up. With his wide eyes and his pale face, he looked like he'd been in accident,
though he wasn't bleeding.
«Hey, my man.» Butch scooted to the right to make room. «Didn't think we'd see you tonight.»
V sat down, his leather biker's jacket bunching up and making his big shoulders look positively
immense. In an uncharacteristic move, he started drumming his fingers on the table top.
Butch frowned at his roommate. «You look like road-kill. What's doing?»
Vishous linked his
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