Ted Dekker - Mortal

“I see. And what is the purpose of our lives, if you don’t mind?”

“To serve the Maker.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

Dominic nodded slightly. “And we know the Maker through Order.”

“We know the Maker by his stamp upon us. By the life in our veins, do we not?”

“I… yes. In a manner of speaking.”

“And we know the Maker also by those inner leanings we all have to serve him, do we not? The fear of disappointing him in any way.”

“Indeed.”

“Some call it fear. But we, Dominic, know it as loyalty. As love. Do we not?”

Why did he feel the need to hesitate?

But no. He was simply taken aback to see her so well recovered. And clothed.

“Yes,” he replied. “By our love.”

“But do you really know what love is, Dominic?”

“It is the fear of the Maker. It is the thing we commit to, that we make our actions and minds beholden to.”

“And if we love our Maker, do we also love and serve his hand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Am I the hand of the Maker on earth, Dominic?”

“Indeed, my lady. You are the One.”

“Was I not born and raised to be Sovereign by the laws of succession, chosen by the Maker?”

“There is no question, my lady. You are the rightful Sovereign.”

“You are a man of the Book, Dominic. I wonder, what is the punishment for anyone who would stand in the way of the Order’s elect taking office? Of one who would even rule… out of Order … in her stead?”

He paused.

“Dominic?”

“Death, my lady.”

“Hmm.”

Again, the image of Rowan’s head falling from his neck sliced through his mind.

“And yet you recoiled at that punishment when it was carried out. Do you object to the rules of Order?”

“Never! By my word, I have served Order all my life. Diligently, with the hope of Bliss.”

“So you will swear your loyalty to me?”

“But of course, my Sovereign.”

“How can I know for certain?”

Dominic was only just aware that his purpose in coming to Feyn had somehow been reversed. He was now the one under interrogation. Her power as Sovereign was evident even now.

“The Maker knows my loyalty,” he said. “Demand anything of me so that you will know as well.”

She watched him without expression, dark eyes unblinking, haunting.

“Kneel before your Sovereign.”

He lowered both knees to the thick rug in one motion.

Feyn rose, set the goblet aside, and stepped up to him.

“You give me your full loyalty?”

“I do, my lady.”

“The Maker has chosen me to rule over you as Sovereign. Will you defer to my judgment and wisdom in all things?”

“I will.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

She stepped closer-so close that he might reach out and touch the velvet of her gown. Her hand rested on top of his head. He could feel the warmth of it through his graying hair. Again, the smell of musk, spice, wine…

“Even if you may not understand my actions, you will defer to me in all things, trusting that I am loyal to the Maker,” she said quietly.

Why this sense of relief, this abating of fear that came with such a clear path? “I will.”

“Even if it surpasses your own understanding, defies your own logic and will.”

“I will.”

“Then you do well.” Her hand slid down to his cheek. She tilted his face up and gazed at him with a hint of tenderness. “One day I may reward you with a gift. If I do, take it with grace.”

“I will, my lady. But serving is gift enough.”

His fear was nearly gone, replaced by strange and profound peace. Yes. Surely here was the mouth and hand of the Maker on earth.

“You may rise.”

He would have remained on his knees until they stiffened and he could no longer feel his feet. But he slowly rose to his feet, light-headed.

“My lady?”

“That is all, Dominic,” she said, retrieving her goblet from the side table.

He backed a step and bowed his head. “Thank you, my lady.”

Dominic made his way across the thick carpet to the double doors. This time, when he laid his hand on the image of the compass-the same one emblazoned on the other side-he drew a long, slow breath. Cleared his head.

He knew two things now: That the Maker was known by his Order. And that Feyn was the voice of that Order. He was devout. He would follow. And Bliss would come in its wake.

“Ah, Dominic?”

“My lady?” he said, turning back.

She was standing behind her desk, a pillar of velvet, candlelight warming her ivory skin.

“You should know one thing before you leave.”

“Yes?”

She lowered herself into her chair, gaze riveted on him. “I will not betray my brother.”

Feyn stared at the heavy bronze doors long after the senate leader had left.

Long after she had drained the goblet dry in one long draw. Even as the hand descended on her shoulder.

As she knew it would.

She turned her head as Saric leaned down and kissed her gently. But not so gently that she didn’t feel the bruise on her cheek.

“You did well, my love.”

Her need for him swelled. To hear those words, as though they were the very blood he had given her. He’d been watching her the whole time. She had known about the small corridor beyond the curtained wall behind the desk since she was a child. Her own father, Vorrin, had instructed her to stand in the corridor on many state visits to observe negotiations through the years of her training for this very office.

“You were pleased?” she said.

“How beautifully… how effortlessly, you dominate him with talk of loyalty to the Maker.”

“Yes,” she said, gazing ahead of her, somehow wishing that the curtains were open, even to the night. She would see to that.

“And who is that Maker?”

“You are, my Lord.”

“That’s right. I’m impressed by your skill. Let those who come to ply you think you have played into their hands. And ply them instead.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, turning her cheek into his hand.

“You see? You’re a natural, my love. And one day, he will be of great use to us.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then sat on the edge of the desk, sliding the empty goblet away. “I have something I must talk to you about.”

“Yes?”

“The Mortals came into the city from the north.”

She blinked. “Then we will search north.”

He lifted his head and gazed past her. “It seems they can smell our blood.”

Smell it? Was it even possible? And then she remembered the way the Nomad, Roland, had drawn back and turned his head as though to lessen some reek. The way Rom had steeled himself when he had first come close.

“My Dark Bloods have a disadvantage in scouting. There was an incident at an outpost… one body missing among the charred remains. A child of mine taken, I assume, by the Mortals. Any information he gave them would be false-my children are carefully trained and utterly loyal. But that he could be taken at all concerns me.”

When Saric looked back down at her, his eyes flashed with a terrifying intensity that brought to mind his harshest rebuke.

“You will dispatch five hundred of your men to the north. Guards, dressed as vagrants. They will scour the wastelands and canyons for any sign of the Nomads. At first sighting they will report back. We must find them. Is this clear?”

“As you wish, brother.”

Saric stared at her for the space of several breaths. Then he lifted his hand and stroked the fading bruise on her cheek with his thumb.

“Call me your Maker when we are alone. It pleases me more.”

“As you wish, my Maker.”