Encountering Amirantha months before, after that nearly fatal attack on Sorcerer’s Isle, had caused her to revisit feelings she would rather ignore. Creegan also had that effect on her. With Amirantha it was something she wished she had never done, but with Creegan she began to suspect it was going to be something she regretted not doing.

Her order was not celibate, though like most people given over to a calling, personal issues were always of lesser importance. Still, as a woman in her prime, she was feeling certain needs asserting themselves.

She had never considered family a blessing, given how she grew up, yet now she wondered about being a mother. She knew nothing about raising a child, because no one had raised her. Her mother was early on lost to drugs, drink, and men, and no father had been at hand. Being ill-used by men since she had begun to blossom had given her a very unforgiving perspective on them.

There were two she had come to care for: Brother Mathias, who had rescued her from her Keshian slave master; and Father-Bishop Creegan, who had been her mentor, though she was beginning to think he was more important to her than that.

There were two men she wished dead. A blackheart who was called Jimmyhand by some, Quick Jim by others, who had controlled the brothel where she had served as a high-priced whore when she was little more than a girl. He had been the one to sell her to the Keshian. And Amirantha. He had charmed her, lied to her, and used her, and had lived down to her general judgment on the worth of men.

A tiny pang told her she didn’t truly wish Amirantha dead, but rather she wished he had been telling her the truth; even when she saw him last, her sudden lashing out and knocking him to the floor had been followed instantly by regret. She wished somehow she could tell him that he had hurt her, but that would make her look weak.

Picking up a bucket she poured water over herself, cleaning away the dirt and soap. She bent over at the waist and ran a comb though her hair, squeezing water from it. The water was hot, but the air was cold after the passing storms and she felt gooseflesh on her skin.

She decided to forgo the meditative steam and retired to the barracks. She donned a simple white shift and turned in early. She was a sound sleeper and should others of her order enter, she was sure they would not wake her. All she wanted for this night was a sound sleep with no dreams.