Arilan lowered his eyes, then removed his stole and touched it to his lips, hung it carefully on a wooden peg before replying. “I did what I dared. I would it had been more. But being both priest and Deryni is not an easy role, as I’m sure you will agree. So far as I know, you and I are the only men to be ordained in several centuries. I dared not jeopardize what greater good I might achieve by revealing myself prematurely. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Duncan did not answer, and Arilan ventured a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Duncan, I know how it must have been for you. It will not always be as it has been.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know.”

With a patient sigh, Arilan turned his attention back to Morgan, who had not moved. The duke had regained most of his composure while the two priests spoke, and now he lifted his gaze to Arilan almost defiantly. The bishop understood immediately, and moved closer to Morgan’s chair.

“Is it so hard to trust, Alaric? I know that your path has not been easy either. We priests have no monopoly on sorrow.”

“Why should I trust you?” Morgan said. “You deceived us before; why not again? What reassurance do we have that you’ll not betray us?”

“Only my word—and it is at least as good as yours.” Arilan smiled wanly. “Or no, there is another way. Why don’t you let me show you why you should trust? Let me share a little of the other side with you, if you are not afraid. You may be surprised at what you see.”

“You would enter my mind?” Morgan breathed.

“No, you would enter mine. I shall allow it. Do you accept?”

Even as Morgan started to shake his head in instinctive refusal, Arilan abruptly dropped to one knee before him, a hand resting lightly on the arm of Morgan’s chair as he gazed into Morgan’s eyes. It was not an offer of physical contact—a condition that Morgan had always thought essential for a first Mind-Touch between strangers. But he sensed that Arilan did not seem to expect that this would be necessary.

Very tentatively, Morgan sent out a questing tendril of thought—and at once found himself skimming along the outermost levels of Arilan’s consciousness, floating without effort along vistaed halls of ordered, reasoned intellect whose fascination he could not resist. He caught glimpses of Arilan as a young man in seminary, in his first parish, in the chambers of the Curia last March, opposing the Interdict. How much there was that he had not expected!

Then he was back in his own mind, and Arilan was merely looking up at him. Without a word, the bishop stood and resumed removing his vestments, finally finishing in his familiar purple cassock and cloak. Only then did he meet Morgan’s eyes again, his manner now totally serene and matter-of-fact, as though nothing had happened.

“Shall we go?” he said easily, gliding to the door and shooting back the bolt.