“You,” he whispered, looking slowly at Arilan with awe and a little fear. “Did I really see…?”

Arilan nodded, his face carefully neutral, and stood. “I am Deryni,” he said softly.

“You’re Deryni,” Cardiel repeated. “Then, all of the things you said about Morgan and McLain—”

“—were true,” said Arilan. “Or else they were things it was imperative you consider before making a decision on the Deryni question.”

“You’re Deryni,” Cardiel repeated, slowly regaining his composure. “Then, Morgan and McLain—they don’t know?”

Arilan shook his head. “They do not. And though I regret the mental anguish I have undoubtedly caused them through my secrecy, they are not to be told. Only you, among humans, know my true identity. It is not a secret I share lightly.”

“But, if you’re Deryni…”

“Try, if you can, to imagine my position,” Arilan said with a patient sigh. “I am the only Deryni to wear the episcopal purple in nearly two hundred years—the only one. I am also the youngest of Gwynedd’s twenty-two bishops, which again puts me in a historically precarious position.” He lowered his eyes before continuing.

“I know what you must be thinking: that my inaction for the Deryni cause has probably permitted countless deaths, untold suffering at the hands of persecutors like Loris and others of his ilk. I know, and I ask the forgiveness of every one of those unfortunate victims in my prayers each night.” He raised his eyes to meet Cardiel’s unflinchingly. “But I believe that the greater virtue sometimes lies in knowing how to wait. Sometimes, though the price be almost unbearable, and though a man’s mind and soul and heart cry out in protest, even then must he wait until the time is right. I only hope that I’ve not waited too long.”

Cardiel looked away, unable to bear the blue-violet gaze any longer. “What is this place? How did we get here?”

“We came by means of a Transfer Portal,” Arilan replied neutrally. “The way lies through the floor design in your chapel. It is very old.”

“Deryni magic?”

“Yes.”

Cardiel eased himself to a full sitting position, turning that bit of information over in his mind. “Then, is this where you came after I left you in the chapel the other night? When I looked in a few minutes later, you were gone.”

Arilan crooked a hint of a smile. “I see that I was wise not to linger.” He sighed. “Thomas, I am sorry, but I cannot tell you where I went.” He held out his hand to assist Cardiel to his feet, but Cardiel ignored it.

“Cannot or will not?”

“May not,” Arilan replied sympathetically. “At least not yet. Try to be patient with me.”

“Implying that there are others with authority over you?”

“Implying that there are things I may not tell you,” Arilan whispered, a pleading look on his face as he continued to extend his hand. “Trust me, Thomas? I swear I’ll not betray that trust.”

Cardiel stared for a long time at the outstretched arm, at the eyes slightly fearful in the long-familiar face. Then he reached out slowly to grasp Arilan’s hand, letting the younger bishop pull him to his feet. They stood hand-clasped that way for several seconds, each reading what he could in the other’s eyes. Then Arilan smiled and clapped Cardiel on the shoulder.