Phury narrowed his eyes on those two hooks. He'd torn the sheet down from there and wrapped Cormia in it. And she had stopped crying.
She was the well... the well that he was supposed to fill. She was the future of the race, the source of new Brothers and new Chosen. The fountainhead.
As were all of her sisters.
"Your grace."
He turned around. The Directrix was standing in the doorway of the temple, her long white robe brushing the floor, her dark hair coiled up high on her head. With her calm smile and the peace that radiated from her eyes, she had the beatific expression of the spiritually enlightened.
He envied all that serene conviction.
Amalya bowed to him, her body lean and elegant in its Chosen dress code. "I am pleased to see you."
He bowed back to her. "And I you."
"Thank you for this audience." She straightened and there was a pause.
He didn't fill it.
When she finally did, she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "I thought perhaps you might wish to meet some of the other Chosen?"
What kind of meeting did she have in mind, he wondered.
Oh, just a bit of high tea, the wizard chimed in. With cunnilingus sandwiches and sixty-nine scones and handfuls of your nuts.
"Cormia's doing well," he said, deflecting the meet-and-greet offer.
"I saw her yesterday." The Directrix's tone was kind but neutral, as if she didn't agree with him.
"You did?"
She bowed low again. "Forgive me, your grace. It was the anniversary of her birthing, and I was required by custom to give her a scroll. When I didn't hear from you, I appeared to her. I tried to reach you again during the day."
Good Lord, Cormia's birthday had come and gone and she'd said nothing about it?
She had told John, though, hadn't she. That was what the bracelet had been for.
Phury wanted to curse. He should have gotten her something.
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I didn't respond."
Amalya righted herself. "It is your purview. Please, worry not."
In the long silence that followed, he read the question in the Directrix's kind eyes. "No, it's not done yet."
The female's shoulders sagged. "Has she denied you?"
He thought back to the floor in front of his chaise. He'd been the one who had stopped. "No. It's me."
"No fault could ever be yours."
"Untrue. And trust me on that one."
The Directrix walked around, her hands worrying the medallion around her neck. The thing was an exact copy of what he had on, only hers was suspended from a white satin ribbon, and the chain to his ball was black.
She paused by the bed, her fingers lightly brushing a pillow. "I thought perhaps you would like to meet some of the others."
Oh, hell, no. He wasn't passing over Cormia for a different First Mate. "I can guess where you're going with this, but it's not that I don't want her."
"Perhaps, though, you should like to meet another."
This was clearly as close as the Directrix was going to get to putting her foot down and making a demand that he either have sex with Cormia or get another First Mate. He couldn't say he was surprised. It had been five long months.
God, maybe it would solve some problems. Trouble was, taking another First Mate would be tantamount to laying a curse on Cormia. The Chosen would see her as having failed, and she would feel the same way, even though that wouldn't be the case at all.
"Like I said, I'm good with Cormia."
"Indeed... except might you perhaps be more likely to engage if it were a different one among us? Layla, for instance, is quite fair of visage and limb, and she is trained as an ehros."
"Not going to do that to Cormia. It would kill her."
"Your grace... she suffers now. I saw it within her eyes." The Directrix drifted over to him. "And moreover, the rest of us are trapped within our tradition. We had such great hopes that our functions would return to where they have always been. If you take another as First Mate and complete the ritual, you release all of us from this burden of futility, and that includes Cormia. She is not happy, your grace. Any more than you are."
He thought of her again on that bed, tied down... She hadn't wanted this from the very beginning, had she?
He thought of her so quiet in the mansion. He thought of her not feeling comfortable enough to tell him that she had to feed. He thought of her saying nothing about her birthday. Nothing about her wanting to go outside. Nothing about those constructions in her bedroom.
One stroll down a hallway didn't make up for all he'd abandoned her to.
"We are trapped, your grace," the Directrix said. "As it stands now, we are all trapped."
What if he was holding on to Cormia because, if she was his First Mate, he didn't have to worry about the whole sex thing? Sure, he wanted to protect her and do right by her, and those were honorable truths, but the ramifications protected him as well.
There were Chosen who wanted it, wanted him. He'd felt their stares when he'd been sworn in.
He had given his word. And he was getting damn tired of breaking oaths that he'd made.
"Your grace, may I ask you to come with me? I wish to show you a place here in the Sanctuary."
He followed Amalya out of the Primale Temple, and the two of them were silent as they walked down the hill toward a thicket of four-story white structures with columns.
"These are the Chosen's living quarters," she murmured, "but you and I are not bound for them."
Good thing, he thought, glancing over.
As he passed by, he noted that none of the windows was glassed in, and he imagined there was no reason for the bother. There were no bugs or animals...no rain, either, he guessed. And what the lack of panes meant, of course, was that there were no barriers between him and the Chosen who stared back at him from their quarters.
There was one female in every window of every room in each of the buildings.
Oh, Jesus.
"Here we are." The Directrix stopped in front of a one-story structure and unlocked a pair of double doors. As she opened them wide, his heart fell.
Cribs. Rows and rows of empty white cribs.
As he tried to keep breathing, the Directrix's voice grew wistful. "This used to be such a place of joy, filled with life, teeming with the future. If you would only take another - Are you unwell, your grace?"
Phury backed away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't... breathe.
"Your grace?" She reached out.
He jerked away from her. "I'm fine."
Breathe, damn it. Breathe.
This was what you agreed to. Man up.
In his mind, the wizard served up example after example of him letting people down, starting in the present with Z and Wrath and that shit about the lessers, then going all the way back into the past to his failures with his parents.
He was deficient everywhere in his life, trapped everywhere, too.
At least Cormia could be free of this. Free of him.
The Directrix's voice grew tight with alarm. "Your grace, perhaps you might have a lie-down - "
"I'll take another."
"You'll - "
"I'll take another First Mate."
The Directrix seemed stunned, but then bowed deeply. "Your grace, thank you... thank you...Verily you are the strength of the race and leader to us all..."
He let her go on and on singing empty praises while his head spun and he felt like a load of dry ice had been dumped in his gut.
The Directrix clasped her medallion, joy suffusing her serene face. "Your grace, what do you favor in a mate? I have a couple in mind."
He pegged the Amalya with hard eyes. "They have to want this. No coercion. No binds. They have to want it. Cormia didn't, and that wasn't fair to her. I volunteered for this, she didn't have a choice."
The Directrix put her hand on his arm. "I understand, and moreover, I agree. Cormia was never suited for her role, had in fact been anointed as First Mate specifically for that cause by the previous Directrix. I shall never be so cruel."
"And Cormia will be okay. I mean, she's not kicked out of here, correct?"
"She shall be welcomed back herein. She is a fine female. Just not... as well suited to this life as some of us are."
In the quiet heartbeats that followed, he had an image of her undressing him for the shower, her guileless, innocent green eyes looking up at him as she fumbled with his belt and his leathers.
She only wanted to do what was right. Back when this whole mess had gotten started, even though she'd been terri fied, she would have done the right thing by her tradition and taken him in her. Which made her stronger than him, didn't it. She wasn't running. He was the one with the track shoes on.