"Oh, do stop fooling around, Silverdun," said Everess. "There's much to discuss, and I'd like to get back to the city before the road out there washes out entirely."
"You have my complete attention," said Silverdun.
"It's time for you to come out of hiding," said Everess. "I understand your need to get away from things for a time, but you're needed elsewhere."
"Quite the contrary. I'm happy here."
"Oh, don't be stupid, Silverdun. You've had your fun playing monk, but that time is over and you and I both know it. You don't belong here. You never have and you never will. You're not meant to be confined like this."
"I was confined for quite a long time at the prison of Crere Sulace. And you never once came to visit me."
"Yes, and when Mauritane offered you a way out, you took it, even though by all accounts you were riding off to your own death."
"Mauritane told me he'd kill me himself if I didn't go."
"Stop acting like an idiot!" said Everess, suddenly angry. "The point is that you did go. You left Crete Sulace a criminal, and you emerged from the Battle of Sylvan a hero. You've proved that you have the ability to do what must be done for the good of the kingdom, and that's what I need from you now."
"I disagree. I'm quite content where I am."
"Really?" said Everess. "Look around you, man. From where I'm standing, all you've done is trade one cell for another."
No witty response from Silverdun's typically bottomless well of them was forthcoming, so he simply stood and began to turn away.
"Come into the city, Silverdun," Everess called after him. "Hear what I have to say. And then if you don't like it, you can come back here and keep rotting for all I care."
That stung.
A messenger on a sturdy mare watched Lord Everess's carriage vanish into the rain from the hilltop overlooking the temple. Once he was certain that Everess's departure was assured, he gingerly walked the horse down the grassy slope to the temple's stable.
He handed the reins to a passing monk, assuring the man that he'd be back momentarily. Good to his word, a few minutes later, he returned from the monastery, mounted, and rode off without another word.
Silverdun left the calefactory feeling warm, but also a bit dizzy. He and Everess had never been friends-they'd known each other in passing in the halls of Corpus, and Silverdun's second cousin had married a nephew of Everess's, but Silverdun hadn't even attended the wedding. So why was Everess coming for him now?
Silverdun sneaked carefully through the refectory and back into the dotter. All of the monks' rooms were empty now-rest period was over, and afternoon prayers had already begun. Silverdun couldn't have cared less. He sunk onto his cot and leaned against the wall, letting the cool stones calm him.
On a shelf above the bed was a duffel bag that contained the day suit he'd worn when he'd entered the place ten months earlier. It had been washed and pressed. His boots, polished and supple, were lined carefully next to the bag, and beneath them both was the sword that Mauritane had presented him at the celebration following the Battle of Sylvan. Engraved in the blade was the Silverdun crest surrounded by five stars: one for each of his companions on the journey that had led him out from exile at Crete Sulace and back into life.
Of those five, two were dead: Honeywell had given up his own life to save them at the beginning of their journey. Gray Mave had betrayed them, and died for his sins. Brian Satterly was off somewhere rescuing human babies from Changeling traders, and good riddance. Raieve, now Mauritane's wife, had returned to Avalon to help win the peace there. Mauritane was on leave from his post as captain of the Royal Guard, no doubt fighting alongside her.
Or so he believed. He hadn't seen anyone from his former life in months. He missed them. He even missed the foolish human Satterly. That was depressing.
There was a knock at the door and Silverdun braced for another assault by Tebrit, but instead it was Estiane who stepped into the cell. The abbot shut the door quietly, an odd expression on his face. He held an envelope in his hand, and Silverdun recognized the broken seal as that of Marcuse, the queen's chamberlain. Estiane sat at the edge of Silverdun's cot, turning the envelope in his fingers. He held it delicately, as if it were a dried flower or a piece of fine china.
"Let us be perfectly honest with one another, shall we?" said Estiane. "No banter, no gamesmanship. No hidden agendas. We are both men of Aba, who do our best to serve the Good, and often fail miserably along the way. Agreed?"
Silverdun sat up. A witticism reared up in his mind and he choked it down. "Fine," he grunted.
"I know why Everess came to see you today," said Estiane. "He and I have had a number of rather serious conversations over the past few months."
"Really?" said Silverdun. "Is Everess an Arcadian? He never struck me as the type."
"No, no," said Estiane. "These conversations were of a purely political nature. We don't like to advertise it, of course, but the Church is as immersed in the world of politics as any other large organization. We have power and influence and knowledge, and it has to be wielded."
Estiane tapped the envelope gently against his fingers. "As you may know, the Church has a rather sizable network of believers among the Unseelie. Not even we know exactly how many of us there are across Mab's empire because the Bel Zheret enjoy torturing names out of Arcadians, and we like to offer them as few as possible.
"Much of the useful information our queen possesses regarding the Unseelie comes from us. We have believers at almost every level of government and at every rank in the military. Sometimes their consciences guide them to reveal certain things."
Silverdun smiled. "And you barter that knowledge for influence at Corpus and with the queen's court."
"Of course we do," said Estiane, his voice rough. "We'd be fools not to. This all has very little to do with serving Aba, but the Church is not itself holy. The Church is an organization that exists in space and time, and it must do what it must in order to survive and thrive. If you'll recall, when you were a boy, Arcadianism was practically illegal." Estiane unsuccessfully attempted to hide the guilt he clearly felt. "And that brings us to you, Perrin Alt. Lord Silverdun."
Silverdun sighed. "I was wondering when something would bring us to me. What's this about?"
"I'm not exactly sure, to be honest," said Estiane. "I know that Everess is very keen to bring you back to the capital, but I don't know why. Something to do with the Foreign Ministry, I should imagine."
"Honestly, Abbot!" said Silverdun. "Where's the holiness in that?"
"Holiness?" Estiane hissed the word. "Holiness is a privilege granted to blessed souls like Tebrit, your tormentor. Tebrit doesn't have to make decisions about how the Church's influence is used to direct affairs, or whether those affairs ought to be directed, or what the dire outcome for the Church and its followers will be if those affairs are ignored. Tebrit will not have any blood on his hands if a new war begins because there is nothing he could do to help prevent it.
"I, however, am required to make those decisions. There is no way for me to do this without getting blood on my hands. I don't have the luxury of being spotless."
Silverdun leaned back again, nodding. "I understand now. Everess needs your information, and you've decided to exact payment. He agrees to take me on in whatever role he's dreamed up for me, knowing that I'll be acting as your proxy, and in return you'll provide information."
"Not just information," said Estiane.
"Money as well?" Silverdun was shocked.
"We're being honest, are we not? Silverdun, you don't read the reports that I read, the list of martyrs' names that come across my desk day in and day out. The Unseelie take perverse joy in hunting down and murdering Arcadians. What do you think would happen if they were to take down Regina Titania? The Church would cease to exist. Aba's work in Faerie would be finished."