Page 159 of Paladin's Faith

Perhaps he couldn’t be. But he was enough for a god.

Shane laughed softly, painfully to himself, and sank his head in his hands. Gods, it seemed, were easier to serve than mortals.

Either she wants me for what I am, or she does not. And since I have not managed to be other than what I am—despite years of trying!—that is her decision, not mine.

I can only choose for myself.

He got to his feet. “Lord,” he said aloud. “I know what I have to do.”

He did not have to say anything more. The god knew. Perhaps the god had always known what his choice would be.

The silver fire swept in, wrapped him up, and made him whole.

FIFTY-THREE

Shane woke up in a whitewashed room that smelled of lavender. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and when they finally did, it was on a short, dark-haired woman sitting in a chair, frowning furiously at a stack of papers.

“Marguerite?” he whispered.

She lowered the papers and glared at him. “Do you have any idea,” said Marguerite, in a voice that etched like engraving acid, “how tragically inept the Dreaming God’s people are at intelligence gathering?”

This was not exactly the greeting he had been expecting. “Are they?” he asked, because it was hard to know what else to say.

“Did I say inept? This borders on the apocalyptic.” She tossed the papers down on a side table, leaned over and kissed his forehead, then went to the door and shouted something into the hall. Shane didn’t quite catch what it was, because the kiss had left him breathless, despite being as chaste as a nun.

A man in the pale robes of an acolyte came inside and the next few minutes were spent getting Shane to sit up, drink a bitter concoction of herbs and then a much sweeter one, and help him to the chamber pot. Marguerite absented herself for this last operation, and Shane snatched the opportunity to ask, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’ve been asleep for three days,” said the acolyte.

“Three days!”

“Yep. You’ll feel shaky for a day or two until your muscles get used to moving again. Food will help.”

“But what happened?”

The acolyte paused. “You don’t remember?”

“I…” Shane touched his forehead. “I thought the Dreaming God spoke…but…?”

“Oh, He did all right,” said Marguerite, coming back inside. “I had just finished threatening that oaf Matthias when you stood up and said something and every paladin in that courtyard suddenly looked like they’d been hit with a board.” She paused, rubbed the back of her neck, and added, “I’m not saying I was much better. If that’s what a god passing by feels like, I wouldn’t want to experience that more than…oh…once a decade or so, at the most.”

The acolyte clapped him on the shoulder and helped him to the chair that Marguerite had been sitting in. “I’ll send in a senior,” he said. “Everyone is very concerned with your recovery.” (Marguerite muttered something that Shane didn’t quite catch, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

The idea of the god speaking through him was so large that he could hardly grasp it, but fortunately, there was a more pressing concern. “The others! Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. Wren’s here. Judith rode out before the dust was even settled, but Davith saw her go and said she was fine. He left yesterday.” Marguerite snorted. “Said to tell you that you and he are square now, and he’d prefer never to see any of us again.”

Shane slumped back in the chair, relieved. “And…the others? At the castle?”

“Mmm.” Marguerite studied the ceiling. “So odd. I could have sworn there were a great many more people there. Clearly I was mistaken, because the paladins were quite embarrassed to discover they’d been laying siege to a castle with all of five defenders. I’m afraid the old lady is the only one who made it, other than you. The priests say she’s not possessed and if anyone starts asking her about the other people there, she starts telling them stories about her youth. Very spicy stories, I’m told.”

Shane’s breath went out in a long sigh. Wisdom’s people had done what they set out to do. He might mourn for Erlick and the others, but they had chosen their path, and because of it, their families were together, and free.

Guilt stabbed him. If he was a paladin of the Dreaming God, surely he should tell the priests about the settlement?

And then, like an echo under his heart, I am not used to owing a demon a favor. It is not a comfortable thought.

No. My God knows what I did. It was the right thing, or as close to the right thing as I was capable of. Wasn’t it?