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?
He reached for the presence of the god, suddenly frightened that he had misunderstood everything.
Silver fire under his heart. The feel of some great Other, just on the far side. He couldn’t hold the touch for long—everything still felt raw and scalded—but it was enough.
Oh Dreaming God. It was real. You were real.
Marguerite silently passed him a handkerchief and he mopped his cheeks. “It was real,” he said hoarsely. “It was all real.”
She squeezed his hand. “It was.” She turned her gaze to the ceiling, the dark beams cutting across the plaster. “Everyone’s been worried. The healers said it was just strain, but you were asleep for so long.” She snorted. “Wren’s been going out of her mind. She eventually took over the kitchen here and started baking things. I didn’t even know she could bake.”
Shane turned his hand to grasp hers, and she didn’t pull away. “Were you worried?” he asked, needing desperately to hear the answer but afraid of what it might be.
“I wasn’t,” she said. And then, before his heart had time to sink, “I knew you’d come back to me.”
“Oh,” said Shane, feeling very much as if he, too, had been hit with a board.
The door opened and two people came in. One wore the rumpled robes of an acolyte but the vestments of a very senior priestess, and the other was Jorge.
Jorge let out a shout, thumped him enthusiastically on the shoulder and probably would have done more, except that the priestess said, “If you’re going to beat my patient, I’ll have you thrown out.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Jorge shot her an apologetic look then turned back to Shane. “I’m just relieved that you’re here and your brains aren’t scrambled.” He froze. “Um…they aren’t, are they? There was kind of a lot going on.”
The priestess sighed in a manner that reminded Shane faintly of a god. “Tact, as always, is your strong suit, Jorge.” She waved him away. He joined Marguerite sitting on the bed, and the priestess took Shane’s hand, curling her fingers over his wrist. “Still, it’s a good question. How do you feel?”
“Intensely hungover,” Shane admitted.
She snorted. “Yeah, that’s normal. Being god-touched may be good for the soul, but the body still has to carry that soul around.” She sat back. “I’m Gwen. I’m in charge of the infirmary here, for my sins. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Four.”
“Good. Are you hearing gibbering demonic voices in the back of your head?”
“No?”
“Even better. Feeling hungry?”
Shane had to think about that one. “I’m not sure. I think if I had food in front of me, I would be?”
“Right.” She stood up, made a futile attempt to smooth down her wrinkled robes, then gave up.
“I’ll have something sent up. You’re probably going to sleep more for the next day or two, and I’m sure you’re sore as hell from that battle, but you should be fine.”
“Are they still going to try to exorcise me?” he asked warily.
“God, no!” She made a warding gesture. “We only do that to drive a demon out. I’m told a demonic taint was clinging to you, but it’s gone now. Wish I knew how to do that.”
“And…ah…” He touched his breastbone. “The god is there, but everything feels raw.”
Gwen folded her arms and leaned against the wall, her lips twisting. “So far as I can tell from what everyone has said, you had part of your soul ripped out a few years ago, then a demon forced its way in, then the Dreaming God ripped that out and claimed you as a paladin and briefly made you His avatar so He could shout at everyone. And you’re surprised that things are a little sore?”