Minutes later, the door to the chapel opened, and Cardiel poked his head inside. He had opened his mouth to say something, expecting to see Arilan’s lean figure kneeling somewhere in the chapel confines. But he mouthed empty air as he realized there was no one in the chapel to say it to.

His brows furrowed in consternation, for he had not gone very far from the chapel before turning back to tell Arilan one last rumor he had heard. And now Arilan was gone, when he had said he was going to meditate.

Ah, well. Perhaps the younger bishop had meant that he was going to meditate in his own room, in which case Cardiel would not disturb him. Yes, that must be it, Cardiel told himself. Arilan was probably kneeling in his own chambers right now.

Very well. The other rumor could wait until morning.

But Bishop Denis Arilan was not in his room. Or even in Dhassa.

CHAPTER SIX

“…the words of the wise and their dark sayings.”

PROVERBS 1:6

THORNE Hagen, Deryni, rolled over and opened one eye, disappointed to find it so dark in the room. Across the smooth white shoulder of his bed-mate he could see a mist-wreathed sun sinking slowly behind Tophel Peak, its fading light casting a faint wash of color on the pale castle ramparts. He yawned delicately and flexed his toes, permitting his gaze to wander back to the creamy shoulder beside him, then reached across to stroke the tousled chestnut curls. As his fingers traced the curve of the girl’s spine, she shivered sensuously and turned to gaze at him in adoration.

“Did you rest well, my lord?”

Thorne smiled back at her lazily, allowing his gaze to glide over her with the ease of long practice.

“Sorry, little one, but it’s time you were on your way. The Council does not wait, even for high Deryni lords.” He leaned closer to kiss her forehead in a fatherly gesture. “I shan’t be too late, though. Why don’t you come back around midnight?”

“Of course, my lord.” She bounded up and began pulling on a flowing yellow robe, her dark eyes caressing him as she crossed toward his door. “Perhaps I shall even bring you a surprise!”

As the door closed behind her, Thorne shook his head and sighed contentedly, a silly grin playing across his face. He scanned the darkening room with bemused contentment, then got up and padded toward his wardrobe door. As he walked, he muttered a phrase under his breath and made a casual, sweeping gesture with the fingers of his right hand. Candles flared to life around the chamber, instantly dispelling some of the gathering twilight, and Thorne ran a hand through his thinning brown hair as he glanced at the image reflected in the costly wall-mirror of burnished copper.

He certainly looked fit. His body was almost as hard and firm at fifty as it had been a quarter of a century ago. Of course, he had lost some hair and added a few pounds since then; but he preferred to think the changes added maturity to his looks. Pink cheeks and blue eyes seemingly frozen in perpetual astonishment had been a curse through most of his youth; he had been nearly thirty before people would even believe he was of legal age.