Pleasure (7 page)

He lurched sharply to his feet and paced away from her, telling her she had struck his rawest nerve.

“Look at you, Sagan,” she pleaded softly. “You are made to fight and defend for your culture. It is your special talent, just as mine is…”

“Talking to your cats?” he lobbed back at her.

“Trust me, it takes talent to converse with a cat,” she said wryly.

“I've come to see that,” he agreed, his chuckle soft and a little distant. He remembered the first time he'd caught her
talking to the fat gray cat named simply Fat Baby. At first he'd thought she was just a bit eccentric from being alone so long, but it hadn't taken him long to recognize the telepathic connection she was using so offhandedly. Valera had told him the cats had magic because they were familiars, a special sort of cat that sought out magical and supernatural beings to make homes with. But he would argue that it was her magic that made the connection possible, otherwise why wouldn't the cats have spoken to him? He was supernatural
and
a telepath. If that didn't suit their need for conversation, then what would?

Her cats were very much like headstrong, and sometimes spoiled, little children. But she managed them with endless patience and practicality. He could see that even from just half of an interaction. She would make a very special sort of mother one day.

Something he couldn't, in good conscience, be a part of. Hybrid babies that were half Shadowdweller couldn't survive in the human culture. There was too much light and technology that shed light. If a hybrid child was even born in a human hospital, how could it survive for even a minute after leaving the dark safety of its mother's womb?

There was only one surviving hybrid of human and Shadowdweller that he knew of, and even she was weak and fragile. Raised in a human world, she'd been treated as the child of a devil and had grown up delicate and brittle in an abusive world of light. Now she lived in the underground city with her second culture and it was hoped it would strengthen her.

One hybrid.

Only one.

He could offer Valera nothing but what would be left of him after Sanctuary got through stripping him of his title and his work. She was right; he would be superfluous and out of his element here, whereas in the Shadow city, he could make a new purpose for himself without the priesthood. But how could he live so close and never reach out to her again? How
could he find and fulfill any purpose without her to do it for? What would it mean and why would it matter? What he did as a priest he did to preserve their culture and to give people the freedom to find faith and security and love. Love of themselves, love of the gods…and the love of one special other. If he couldn't rescue it for himself, how could he save it in others? How could he continue to love and feel passion for a culture that left no room for someone as special and precious as Valera was?

He couldn't. No more than he could survive and live in love within her culture, because they certainly had no room for him. One world meant almost certain death, the other meant survival only, but not passion.

“I have no regrets,” he said softly, although he couldn't look at her just then. “Always remember that. I would do this time over again in a heartbeat, even knowing the conflict I face because of it.”

“I wouldn't,” she said in the barest whisper, making him jolt around to stare at her. She looked up at him from where she continued to kneel on the floor, tears dropping one after another over her cheeks. “I would rather let you live with peace and contentment just the way you were before you came here to me. I would rather you be happy!”

“You mean ignorant!” he burst out sharply, storming back across to her and dropping to his knees before her. “You think I would be content living life without knowing what we have?
Drenna,
Valera, I love you like nothing else in my life! Not even my gods and my faith can touch what I feel for you! What else could have dissolved both our defenses so quickly if not the deepest and most powerful of emotions?”

“Lust?” she offered with a nervous and watery little laugh.

But he did smile crookedly at her for that.

“I believe lust like that cannot exist all on its own. I have felt lust, seen it…I've even taught about the nature of it to many generations of my people. What we experienced was a
lust that became a swift bridge to something more.” Sagan reached for her hands, nearly crushing them in his as he squeezed her in desperation. “I won't leave here if I have come to this emotion one-sided. If I have, I have failed you. I thought…I thought you felt the way I do—”

“I don't want to feel the way you do!” she cried, gasping for breath all of a sudden, her hand jerking free to press against her laboring chest. “I don't want to feel this, Sagan! You think it's better to love and lose than never to have loved at all, and you're wrong! God, you're wrong! This hurts! It fucking hurts and I hate you for it! I hate you for it!”

Val tried to rip free of him completely, but she never could do anything Sagan didn't want her to do when it came to the physical, and this time was no different. He enveloped her in his arms and pressed her hard against his heart until she could do nothing but scream. She had never cried so hard in her life and it felt as if she were going to die of grief.

“You have to leave,” she sobbed in anguish. “I can't bear your guilt, your helplessness and your pain any more than I can bear this love. You're killing me. God, please…please…”

Sagan shuddered as her agony washed through him and he swallowed his emotions until he all but choked on them. It had been selfish of him to demand her feelings, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't deserve them when he could offer her no solace and no future, but how could he face the recriminating future that awaited him without knowing if she loved him? He had never thought himself a coward or weak until he thought of facing the future alone again. He also knew she felt just as weak and afraid of that future as he did, except she had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to free him with a measure of dignity.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered painfully soft against her ear. He took a deep breath, saturating himself in her lilies and sunflowers scent. “Please don't forget what I said. I have never loved anything so much as I love you.”

Sagan stood up, prying himself free of their embrace, and
left her on her knees on the floor as he left the room. Val sobbed silent, airless sobs, bending over her knees…until she heard the front door close behind him.

Penchant, Fat Baby, and Ulysses found her curled up in her bed several hours later, numb and spent, for the moment, and simply staring at the darkened window.

“What will he do when daylight comes?” she asked them on a whisper, her voice lost to her grief.

What he has always done, I imagine. He did live over a century and a half before finding you, after all.

Nice, Penchant. Way to be sensitive,
Fat Baby scolded sarcastically.

I only meant she shouldn't worry. He is capable of caring for himself
.

Just what she wants to hear
, Ulysses chimed in.
How well he can get along without her
.

It's what she needs to hear. And she needs to remember the same goes for her
, Penchant sniffed.

Fine
, Fat Baby sighed,
but at least give her some time before you get practical on her
.

“Yes. I need time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Penchant's tail twitched as his feline heart went out to the human Witch who had taken such good care of him for so long now.

Time
, he thought.
She needs time.

Gee, why didn't I think of that?
Fat Baby thought dryly.

Without supplies or proper clothing, and because he had to be so cautious of finding places to keep him securely out of sunlight for Alaska's short winter days, it took a long time for Sagan to return to Elk's Lake. Getting caught in a storm didn't help matters. One day there was no shelter anywhere for him and he had to cross into Shadowscape to keep safe from the sun. The landscape of pure darkness, except for the light of the moon, was the safest place a 'Dweller could be. For two days. After that they started to sink into a euphoria that made them a bit crazy. Shadowscape had to be used with caution because time moved very differently there than it did in Realscape. There was never any telling whether he would end up hours or days off schedule when he shifted from one to the other.

By the time he reached the research station guarding the entrance to the exhausted mines that had been transformed into the Shadowdwellers' winter city, Sagan looked and felt like he had been through Lightscape naked. But his priest's uniform was a universal identifier to the guards at the gate and he was ushered in as they tried to take him into the near
est building to tend to his state of exposure and exhaustion. He shrugged them off and walked himself directly into the city, not stopping until he was about to step into Sanctuary.

Sagan struggled to catch his breath and to control the shivers of his body as the significantly warmer environs of the city thawed him from his near-frozen state. The harshness and numbness of survival in the wilderness had kept him focused every instant on what he needed to do to keep alive and keep going.

But now pain rushed into his warming extremities even as it rushed across his heart and soul. He stared down at the line of decorative tile that demarcated the holy ground of the temple and the vaster Sanctuary that housed it. He realized it had never occurred to him to simply keep silent about what he had done. Probably because it would be a dishonorable deception of omission and it simply wasn't in him to do that. He might have broken a vow, but he was no hypocrite. He had spent ages speaking religious law and its consequences to those who broke them, preaching how only repentance could allow forgiveness. To hide a wrongdoing was in itself a sin.

He had done wrong to break that vow. He admitted that. But it was the vow alone he regretted and not any of what followed. Sanctuary and temple law, however, would not be so selective.

“Sagan!”

The loud call of his name brought up his attention as Magnus rushed across that shiny tiled flooring to him, his golden eyes alight with relief and disbelief all at once. As he drew closer, however, Magnus's delight in seeing his friend alive altered dramatically into an aghast shock and worry for his state of health.

Magnus reached Sagan and immediately dropped his shoulder under the other priest's arm to help keep him steady on his feet. Sagan remained utterly silent, but Magnus could feel how he stared at him as if searching for an answer from him.

“Come, Sagan,” Magnus bid him gently. “Let's take you in to the healers.”

Sagan heard lighter steps reach them and he saw
K'yan
Daenaira hurrying up to them.

“Sagan! Oh thank the gods!”

She was less gentle with him, throwing her arms around him to throttle him with a hug. It confused him, that familiarity. He didn't know her that well. And what he did know of her told him that she was a prickly thing who did not lower her defenses easily; something he could respect as a swordfighter.

“Daenaira, let him breathe.” Magnus rescued him. “She is simply relieved to see you are alive,” the head priest explained as his free hand drew Dae away. Dae was energetic as she quickly ducked under Sagan's opposite arm to support him as Magnus did.

“That treacherous
k'ypruti
Nicoya is dead. I am so glad she didn't kill you! I thought she had. She claimed she had. Henry is doing well, by the way. Though he has been very worried for you. So have I. When we couldn't find a trace of you, and after learning that Nicoya was really Acadian's daughter, we feared Acadian had taken you away for her own amusement. But here you are! Safe and sound and—”

“Acadian?” he echoed quietly. “What has she to do with this? Why would I fight Nicoya? And what happened to Henry?”

And with those distracted questions in his mind, Magnus and Dae walked him easily over the line of tile into Sanctuary.

 

“He remembers none of it,” Magnus mused as he held his handmaiden warmly against his side. He stood outside of the healers' clinic a full day later, watching as Sagan sat in bed looking even quieter and more introverted than was usual for him. “The healers figure the trauma of the poison wiped it from him. He must have escaped Acadian somehow and
made his way back. He's keeping quiet other than to say he remembers nothing of fighting Nicoya, her insurrection, or how he had gotten himself poisoned.”

“That bitch cut him with one of her toxic weapons, that's how,” Dae grumbled. “I wish I could kill her again.”

“Hush. At least make an effort to sound more like a handmaiden,
K'yindara
,” he said softly against her ear through her free-flowing red-black hair.

“Well, look at him,” she whispered in return. “Something is wrong, Magnus, and not just the fact that he's been through a great physical strain.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But Sagan will come to me about it in his own time and way. I just pray Acadian had no time to sink her claws into him. The idea that she walks among us, anonymous and free because none of us have ever seen her face, it sickens me. Especially for Trace's sake. My son spent a year suffering under that cruel
k'ypruti.
”

“Sagan could have seen her, but with so much damage to his memory…”

“Leave that idea to the dust,” he told her. “He would have told us who she is pretending to be in a heartbeat if he had known. I'm satisfied to have him back. Safe and free and able to resume his place as penance priest. We have been terribly shorthanded without him.”

“I know. Ventan is slower with age. You are busy running Sanctuary. Jordan is raw and new and he is still learning his way. There should be five of you to chase down Sinners, to hear confessions, to dole out penance. With you being the fittest and most experienced, the heaviest burden falls to you, and you are worn and tired because of it. Even though you think you can hide it.”

Magnus clicked his tongue at her, squeezing her softness against himself in loving punishment for the way she saw too keenly the truth of things sometimes, despite the fact that
his
third power was the power to compel the truth from others.

“He's bored. Take him for a walk. He is well enough and clearly he needs someone to talk to and you are the only one he would ever trust,” Dae added. “I will be in our rooms waiting for you.”

She ducked out from under his arm, skipping out of reach before he could grab hold of her by her sari and pull her back.

“Oh, and knowing that is supposed to help me to focus?” he demanded.

“No. But it will help you to expedite the conversation,” she said with a wink before trotting off with a laugh.

Magnus wasted no time in arranging to free Sagan from the infirmary. Despite any ulterior motives, Sagan did deserve his attention and he was happy to give it. The two priests walked out into the rear courtyard, the large area empty at this time of night because students were in their classes.

Once he was certain of their privacy, Sagan wasted no time getting to the point.

“I have defied one of the tenets of my priesthood,” he said, forcing himself to meet his superior's eyes. He had expected surprise or even a frown of recrimination, but Magnus remained calm and all but expressionless.

“Not something I ever thought I would hear you say,” Magnus mused neutrally, “but if I have learned one thing throughout this fight within Sanctuary, it is that anyone can be tempted into doing anything if the circumstances are powerful enough. My relationship with Daenaira itself has forced me to see sides of myself that I can't always control.”

“I have no excuses to offer. I did what I did willingly and, I admit, with a great amount of ease.”

Magnus took a seat straddling a marble bench and Sagan followed suit across from him. It kept them eye to eye and on equal ground.

“Are you saying you don't regret what you've done?” Magnus asked.

No regrets. Not one…not until I left her. That is what I regret.

“I am sorry to have besmirched the sanctity of the oath I took. I love this temple and all it has given to me. I respect every law and rule to the utmost. But I disrespected this one and that's what I regret.”

Magnus narrowed thoughtful eyes on Sagan.

“You regret breaking the rule, but I am hearing more. I am hearing that you don't regret everything you did after crossing the line. You don't regret the sin you've committed in the least.”

“There was no sin,” Sagan whispered.

“Then I am confused, Sagan. How can breaking religious law not be a sin?”

“Because it was meant to be.” When Magnus frowned, Sagan slid closer to him and became heated in his confession. “Fate and free will. Every man walks the line between fate and free will. You have said so yourself time and again. This was a matter of using my free will to absorb a moment of fate into my life. How can it be coincidence that this one precious being should be where and when she needed to be—so perfectly poised to become a part of saving my life? Why would she be so…so…” Sagan exhaled in frustration.

“A woman,” Magnus said with clarification dawning in his golden eyes. “You mean you've been with a woman outside of the sanctity of the relationship you are only supposed to share with a handmaiden.”

“Yes,” Sagan said softly, knowing by the tone in Magnus's voice that he would never understand. So he ceased trying to explain.

“I should never have let you go so long without one. You needed a companion to keep you away from these kinds of temptations.” The head priest sighed roughly. He studied Sagan carefully. “But, Sagan, you have to repent all of it before I can give you penance and forgive the sin.”

“It was not a sin!” Sagan hissed through gritted teeth. “Do not call it that again or I swear to our gods I will hit you for it.”

Magnus was so taken aback by the sheer savagery of the threat that he could only stare dumbly at Sagan for a very long minute. He had never heard Sagan speak with such passion before. Granted, he showed his fury of emotion during a hunt for a Sinner and especially during the kill, but never outside of that. He was always placid and peaceful, for all his warrior's ways.

“If you feel this strongly, Sagan, and if you believe our gods led you to her, then perhaps she is meant to become your handmaiden. If this is the case then there has been no sin. What is her power?”

“Magic,” he said with a fall of such seriousness in his inflection and his intent eyes that understanding hit Magnus in a rush.

“She's human.
Drenna,
Sagan, she's
human? Mortal?
” Then somehow finding the power to sound even more shocked. “A magic-user? A creature of such evil and you see no sin in this? What the hell did she do to you?”

“How quickly you assume,” Sagan mused carefully. “It makes me wonder, Magnus, how many of your other automatic assumptions are also flawed.” Then Sagan told him everything about the woman he loved. Everything he needed to know, that is. He didn't need to know how she hummed as she created her fabulous meals, or how she would snore in her sleep only if he wore her out enough to sleep that deeply. He certainly did not need to know how sweetly she screamed in pleasure for Sagan and how, even now, he longed for the embrace of her body, her arms, and her kiss. “If magic can be good, Magnus, then maybe there is room for the belief that breaking religious law is not a sin.”

“You speak of two separate matters entirely. Religious law and the vows you've taken cannot be toyed with so easily.”

“Why not? Murder breaks religious law and is a sin—except when
we
do it! There is no sin on us when we priests take the life of a Sinner. Why is that? If every life is a precious thing, Magnus, then why don't we deserve penance for taking one…no matter how evil it is?”

“Religion is faith, Sagan! You believe in what we stand for or you don't. If you doubt what you are here to do and the rules you must adhere to, then you should renounce your position! But gods, I beg you not to do that. You are one of the finest priests I know. You were born to do this work and I need you now more than ever. This is a crisis of faith,
M'jan
Sagan. That's all that it is. We can guide you through it if you let us. You have to start by—”

“Repenting of my sin? Never.
Never
, Magnus! Do you hear me? I love this woman down to the core of my soul and I cannot ever call that a sin. You will never hear it pass my lips and I will never drop penitent to my knees for it. If that costs me my place here, then so be it. I sacrifice it gladly.”