‘Sister Evangeline,’ he says.

I leave my place and walk the marble path to the chancel under the dancing light of the candles. It catches the spirals and whorls that were laid into my armour on Ophelia VII and illuminates them, making them look for all the stars like shifting smoke. I climb the steps, but before I can approach the devo­tee to be marked, DiCrimio holds up his hand.

‘Wait,’ he says.

I see a frown cross Elivia’s face, but the Canoness says nothing as the devo­tee bows her head and backs away, and the arch-cardinal approaches me. His artificial eyes focus with a hiss, a series of delicate brass and crystal lenses rotating around one another. He is quiet for a long moment as he studies me, his age-lined face set in careful neutrality.

‘I have heard much about you and your blessing, Sister Evangeline. From Canoness Elivia, and from others of my order. From seers and astropaths. If you would permit me, though, I would rather know it from you. I would like to ask just a handful of questions, if I may?’

Elivia’s frown deepens, her eyes turning steel-hard, but she does not challenge the arch-cardinal. Nobody does.

‘Of course,’ I say, careful to keep my face as neutral as his.

‘The battle in which you earned this mark killed all but one of your Sisters. Is that true?’

The memories come back again. Not the good ones. Just the bad. The fire. The acrid stink of burning flesh. The bright light and the broken sword.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It is true. They died defending the Convent Sanctorum from the creatures of the warp.’

DiCrimio nods again, solemnly. ‘They died with honour, then.’

‘Yes,’ I say stiffly.

‘And the other. She was left crippled?’

‘She was badly injured,’ I say. ‘But she stands. She fights. Ashava remains unbroken.’

‘I do not doubt it, Sister,’ DiCrimio says, with a patient smile. ‘And be assured I mean no insult. I seek only to understand. I will ask just one more question, if I may?’

I nod, though my pride still burns on Ashava’s behalf. ‘Of course.’

‘Much was taken by the battle you fought that day,’ DiCrimio says. ‘For most of your Sisters it was their life. For one it was her swiftness.’ He tilts his head, and his eyes hiss again. ‘But what did the battle take from you?’

I cannot lie in this place, where every breath is weighed down by the God-Emperor’s nearness, so I tell the arch-cardinal the truth.

‘Everything,’ I say.

For a moment, all is silent, even the cherubim. Then DiCrimio smiles his patient smile again and nods.

‘Thank you,’ he says, before turning to the veiled devotee. ‘Perform the blessing.’