‘She is already on her way here,’ he says. ‘A transmission was received only hours ago from a ship that translated into the Sol System after journeying from Ophelia VII. It is said that one amongst the combined commandery of Adepta Sororitas on board was burned, but not broken. Marked by His favour.’

‘Burned, but not broken,’ I say, echoing his words. My father’s words. ‘Why do you say that?’

DiCrimio’s eyes hiss. ‘Because her coming is prophecy,’ he says. ‘Seen by the most pious and powerful of Telepathica scryers. This Sister Evangeline will be the one to recover the Shield of Saint Katherine from the darkness beyond the Rift. According to the transmission we received, she has already been blessed with a vision of the Shield’s whereabouts.’

‘And where does she believe the Shield to be?’ I ask.

‘Dimmamar,’ DiCrimio says.

My ears ring in the wake of the name. I have to resist the urge to put my hand to the place where my pendant rests beneath my armour. Rebirth. The Resonance, built by those who believe as I do. Thorians, on Thor’s own world. I could curse myself for a fool. Of course it is Dimmamar. How could it be anywhere else?

‘When will the commandery arrive?’ I ask.

‘Within the day. Their weapons will be replenished, their voyage blessed and then they will go into the Rift.’

‘And I will go with them.’

DiCrimio sets about putting away his secateurs in a case made from oakwood and trimmed in gold. Another display of wealth.

‘If that is where your dreams must take you, inquisitor.’ He shakes his head. ‘Though it will not be an easy journey.’

‘They rarely are, if they are worth it.’

DiCrimio chuckles. ‘Now that is philosophy,’ he says.

Somewhere far above, the Convent Prioris’ bells begin to ring. It is a doleful, melodic sound. Beautiful and old.

‘That is my calling,’ DiCrimio says. ‘Unless there is anything else?’

‘The name of the ship,’ I ask, before he can go. ‘What is it?’

DiCrimio looks at me one last time.

‘The Unbroken Vow,’ he says.

Then the arch-cardinal turns and shuffles away, leaving me alone with the cloying smell of cloud-lilies and the ringing of bells, and the name of the ship echoing over and over in my ears because of what I have always said to Sofika, especially since Hellebore.

We do not break vows.

When I return to the Fortress Meridia, I find Efrayl sitting in a folding chair outside Sofika’s chambers. The medic is asleep sitting up, his head lolling and his arms folded tightly across his narrow chest.

‘Efrayl,’ I say.