The Silver Sphinx

 

“Sometimes it is not the shadow of hell that remains,

but your own doubts.”

Violâta La Reue, Celestial Mystic

 

 

 

Fourth Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

The incense had almost burned out. Only a thin wisp of smoke curled above the polished silver bowl in which Archbishop Juliana had lit it for her ritual. Sarin knelt before her and tried to concentrate on his prayer. But his thoughts kept returning to the abandoned naga palace, to the throne room, the pillar, the chains ... to her.

After the kiss, after freeing the prisoners, he and Faith had returned to the room where he had taken the enforced bath. The chamber had been empty, lying in complete silence. But the basin was still filled with water, albeit significantly cooled off. He had taken the second bath voluntarily. Although he had been reluctant to step into the basin again, the idea of returning home in the clothes he had worn during the kiss would have been even more unbearable. The wedding garb that Red Shroud had forced him to wear to mock his and Faith's love, and which had been soiled after he had lost control and ... Even now, here in the small sanctuary of Iomedae in the Barracks, his stomach tensed up when he recalled it.

After that, they had quickly left the palace, and the walk back to the portal had seemed like an eternity to him. This time there had been no fighting, no ambush, and hardly anyone had spoken a word. As happy as he had been to have Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush back unharmed, what had happened weighed heavily on his soul. While he had still been in a daze in the palace, his thoughts became clearer on the way back - and he became all the more painfully aware of what had happened to him in front of everyone. He had not had the impression that any of his companions judged him for it - quite the contrary. He clearly sensed respect, gratitude, even concern and sympathy, anger towards the tanar'ri and definitely a guilty conscience on the part of Terrance and the three freed prisoners. But there was no reason for that, not in his opinion. It had been his own decision to agree to the kiss, he didn't blame anyone and he didn't hold a grudge against anyone. Except for Red Shroud, of course, but she was far beyond his reach.

After their return, Faith and he hadn't taken a carriage to the Barracks, but had flown there on Silverfeather's back. Actually, Faith didn't prefer flying - she didn't like the cool wind in her face. But in this case, the griffon lady's back had not only been the fastest way, but also the most private, attracting the least attention. And so Silverfeather had waited not far from the apothecary's shop where the portal to the Court of Light was located. At the Barracks, Sarin and Faith immediately sought out Lady Juliana. She had been aware of his plan and was therefore not surprised to be visited by the factol and his wife at such a late hour. Although it was well past antipeak, she immediately agreed to perform a ritual to determine whether the Mistress of Broken Reach had succeeded in gaining influence on his soul. If that were the case, if the demoness could see through his eyes and hear through his ears, if she could even influence his actions, then his time as factol – and as paladin – was over.

He tore his thoughts away from the bad memories and turned them back to his prayers to Iomedae, fervently hoping that his soul was untainted. Juliana's ritual would bring certainty to him and Faith, who stood only a few steps away from him. As high priestess of Iomedae, his wife could have performed this ritual herself, but she had been grateful to leave this task in Juliana's hands after everything that had happened. As a celestial mystic, the archbishop also knew about this rite. Now she stood with him in the center of the ritual circle, dressed in one of her white and gold gowns, a platinum and white gold tiara in her carefully pinned-up gray hair. As the sacred runes surrounding them glowed faintly and then slowly faded, Sarin looked up at her with that mixture of affection and reverence he always felt towards her. In all the years he had lived in Sigil, she had gradually taken the place of what he had lost at an early age: a maternal presence that guided and supported him.

As the fading light of the runes played around her face, making her look like a figure in an old fresco, he was once again certain that he had made the right decision back in Excelsior. When, with Yelmalis' help, he had pledged part of his destiny to save her life. Had the kiss been that pledge? He had noticed that Juliana was also preoccupied with this thought. But the ritual would not provide an answer to this question. To the other question, however ... For a moment longer, the archbishop held her hands over the marble basin of holy water that had revealed the truth to her. Then she took a deep breath, and Sarin felt the gaze of her gray eyes turn to him.

He raised his head. “Magnificence?” He contented himself with the respectful form of address, unable to put the all-important question into words.

“Your soul bears no mark of demonic possession,” she said. There was a clear note of relief in her voice. “No hellish shadow lies upon you. Your mind is your own, Sarin.”

He wanted to allow a feeling of comfort to wash over him, but something in her gaze held him back. “But ...?”

She groped for words, which was unusual for her. “There is something I cannot grasp. No curse, no mark. More like a kind of ... echo. Like the reverberation of a touch that went too deep to leave no trace.”

The wave of relief ebbed away abruptly. “I had a feeling I wouldn't get off that easily.” Sarin buried his face in his hands in resignation.

Faith stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting, encouraging. “Whatever it is ... will it remain?”

“Perhaps,” the archbishop replied seriously. “Perhaps not. It's too early to say. It may fade with time, like smoke in the wind. Or it may remain, like an old scar. In the face of Red Shroud's power, it's not surprising that her kiss leaves a trace. But as I said: it is not a mark of possession, of that I am certain.”

Faith smiled at him, but Sarin could not tell if it was tinged with comfort or sadness. He rose slowly and Juliana stepped closer, taking his hand in hers as she did only in very intimate moments. Her touch was warm and soothing, an assurance that she was there for him without judging him.

 

 

“There is no guilt in what was forced,” she said emphatically. “Only pain. And pain does not heal through punishment.”

It was as if she could read his thoughts. As if she could sense his guilt, his self-reproach and the nagging question of whether he had incurred the wrath of his goddess.

He nodded slowly, but it was Faith who answered for both of them. “We thank you, Magnificence. At least we now have certainty on a very important question. That makes it a little easier.”

Juliana smiled, but so seriously that it seemed more thoughtful than happy. “It was the least I could do. Now rest, you've been through a lot. And, Sarin ... Remember, the light does not leave the righteous, even when darkness kisses them. Try to forgive yourself.“

”I ... I'm not sure whether I am able to,“ he replied with a sigh. ”But I promise I will try, my lady.”

Then he kissed her hand in farewell and she left the room. Together with Faith, he remained standing in the small sanctuary for a while, gazing at the statue of Iomedae, whose marble eyes seemed to look down on him coolly, but not completely indifferently. He knew he should pray. And he would - but not now. At that moment, his soul was too wounded, his mind too troubled. Only Faith could help him now, he knew that, and she knew it too. As they left the sanctuary to go to their quarters, she held his hand, as if to reassure him: I am here.

 

 

It was dark and quiet when they entered their rooms in the Griffon Tower. The children were apparently all fast asleep, and there was no light coming from the nursemaid's room either. Sarin was relieved that this moment belonged only to Faith and him. Not that he knew what he should have said to her. He still had that strange feeling that accompanied him since they had left the throne room of the naga palace, the feeling that something was standing between them. Faith seemed to feel it too, and obviously she wanted to talk about it, because she sat down on one of the cushions in front of the fireplace in the bedroom. Although not a man of many words, Sarin was nevertheless relieved. He didn't usually like to talk about his feelings, but that night it was reassuring and comforting to know that his wife wasn't trying to distance herself from him.

Before sitting down next to her, however, he went to the dresser that stood between the two windows. He took out a bottle of Arborean red wine and looked questioningly at Faith. When she nodded with a smile, he opened it, took two glasses and poured them both some wine. As he did so, he let his gaze wander over Arcadia Boulevard below him. It was dark and quiet on the wide street, because unlike other wards where Sigil never slept, relative calm set in at the Lady's Ward at night, especially around the Barracks. The rain that had fallen on the city's roofs for the past two hours had subsided, leaving behind a cool veil of mist that now drifted through the streets and made it difficult to see the cobbled paving down below. Sarin heard the muffled footsteps of the patrols guarding the Barracks during their night shift, but could only see the soldiers as faint outlines in the gray fog. On these cool days, of which there were many in Sigil, he always missed the sun and warmth of his homeland Iironda.

But he did not allow his thoughts to linger there, instead turning his attention to the fireplace, where Faith sat on one of the cushions at a low table. She had let down her hair, which she had braided and pinned up during the mission. Long and black, it flowed over her shoulders, and the glow of the light crystals shimmered on it like on dark velvet. Once again, he noticed how beautiful she was. Twenty years after their first encounter, he was still aware of this. It was a brief, warm moment of comfort when he realized that the kiss had not taken that away from him. When he sat down next to her, she looked up briefly, and her smile conveyed exhaustion, but also encouragement. He handed her the glass, and it was unspoken between them that they couldn't immediately start a conversation about what had happened. So they talked about trivial things for a while: that some young griffons had arrived at the Barracks to get used to the new griffon riders; that their fourth-born, Iridias, showed a talent for the arcane; that one of Faith's sisters on Arcadia was expecting her fifth child. The words were like stones dropped into a lake to break the silence. But eventually the waves subsided again. And in the silence that followed, all that remained was what hung unspoken between them.

Finally, Faith put down her glass. “I'm not afraid of her.” Her words were calm and her gaze steady as she sought Sarin's.

He looked at her, but only briefly, then turned his gaze to the light crystals in the fireplace. He said nothing for a while, then took her hand in his. “I am,” he replied, more quietly than was typical for him. “Well ... maybe not so much of herself as of what she has touched inside me.”

“That wasn't you,” Faith said, her voice firm but without harshness. “What happened in that palace was what she wanted. Not what you wanted.”

He nodded slowly, but avoided her gaze. “I wish I could believe that.”

Faith leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the temple. “If you can't believe yourself, believe me,” she said softly.

Now he lifted his head again and looked at her for a long time. There was no doubt in her eyes, only affection, warmth and an unshakeable confidence that he himself was currently lacking. At that moment, he realized that their love was stronger than his feelings of guilt and stronger than the malice of a demon princess. And that he could hold on to that certainty.

Faith leaned against him and held his left hand while her right hand gently stroked his hair. “Rest,” she said. “It's over.”

He nodded slowly and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer to him, as if to reassure himself that she was still there, still by his side. A velvety darkness lay over the room, lit only by the glow of the light crystals in the fireplace. As his gaze wandered to the window, for a heartbeat he thought he saw the reflection of two red eyes in the glass pane. A brief flash, but it faded as quickly as a breath in the fog. Then it was gone.

He shook his head. It had probably just been a phantasm born of his exhaustion, or a glimmer of light from outside reflected in the glass. Faith was right: it was over, and he should rest. His soul bore no demonic mark of possession, and that had to suffice for today. Whatever else the archbishop had sensed, only the coming days would tell if it had any weight or substance. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but glance at the window once more.

Nothing. Just the last raindrops running down the pane and the light from the lanterns on Arcadia Boulevard reflecting in them. Perhaps it had only been his imagination. Perhaps it really was over.