“You all know the Covenant,” the priestess said later.

We were seated on the logs, fire licking our limbs with its dim light and drying our exposed skin with its heat. We’d made camp with uncommon alacrity for such a large party, spurred no doubt by our desire to be done with chores and discover how it was that a human woman could perform the impossible feat of expressing a talent hitherto reserved to a different species. Chester and Ivy sat on either side of me, with Radburn and Guy on the ends of the log; the genets were arranged in front of us. Eyre was on the very end of our log, and Last stood behind me—had insisted, in fact, after assigning his men to the patrol of the grounds in tandem with their human counterparts. I had not expected them to work so well together. Now I was beginning to suspect there were other reasons the knights of the Church were predisposed to cooperation with their elven peers.

“Saint Winifred,” Chester said at last. “Asked an angel for a boon on behalf of the human race. To save us from darkness and sin, and give us forever a path toward the light.”

The priestess’s hands were resting on her robed knees, but the fabric between her fingers was too deeply creased for someone relaxed. She had said it was not yet time... for this revelation, presumably. If the enormity of what she’d already divulged was any indication, we would never be ready. “Did you wonder what darkness she feared? Or why an angel answered her call?”

Silence. Ivy met Chester’s gaze past me. She stammered, “We assumed it was her purity of spirit that merited the attention of the Divine.”

“And that the darkness was some historical event,” Guy offered. Did nothing faze him? He seemed no more than mildly interested in the discussion. “The plague, perhaps. Or one of the wars.”

The priestess looked past them at Last. “Were you there?”

He paused before replying. “No.”

“There where?” Radburn asked.

“The battle,” I said, quiet. “After the enchantment had bound the elves. Was that Winifred’s darkness, then?”

“Saint Winifred,” Chester muttered.

“Winifred,” the priestess said, “was born Frederica Winifred Moreland, the daughter of King Cyril III.”

“King Cyril’s daughter’s name was Anastasia,” Eyre said.

“His other daughter,” the priestess said. “The one he conceived out of wedlock with a lady of the court. She was allowed to attend the princess Ana as a courtesy; if you are students of history, as you appear to be, you will recall it being mentioned now and then that she had a boon companion her own age.”

“That was well done of the King,” Ivy murmured.

“Oddly, since Cyril was a bastard in every other way,” Guy said.

“Would you stop interrupting her?” Chester said, irritated. And added to the priestess, “Apologies, Honored One.”

Her brows lifted, and again the edge of her mouth flickered. She said to Eyre, “This undisciplined pack of thinkers is your responsibility?”

“I’m afraid Locke’s the only one I can claim.” Eyre’s smile was wary. “But we do encourage a certain... lack of respect for authority, I’m afraid. When seeking truth one must often question common wisdom.”

“How did Saint Winifred summon the angel, Honored One?” Ivy asked.

The priestess resumed her narrative. “From her sister, Winifred learned how the king conspired with demons to bind the elves, and this struck her as unfair. Once the battle commenced—” Her gaze flicked toward me, “—it also struck her as dangerous. But there was little enough any human could do in a fight so deeply dependent on magic. Humanity has never had the aptitude for the manipulation of the unseen powers, that most probably being the lever by which the demon had pried open the soul of a king.

“Winifred could do nothing to aid the elves, nor to affect the outcome of the battle, so she resigned herself to the role of witness. She was there when the elves at last sealed away the demon and the legions of the walking dead with the help of an angel, from which they’d requested that boon.

“Winifred was deeply affected by the suffering of the elves, and was horrified when her father sent the remainder of them into exile. She was also deeply afraid, for she knew we had thrown from our breast our sole protection from the very menace we had only barely survived. She returned to the battlefield and called on an angel. She drew her own blood as a gift. She offered God anything, anything at all, if only she could do something.”

Now we were all silent. The others might not have had my recent experiences with the dangers of promises made without constraints to the powerful, but they were all well-versed in folklore and history and law. And as the story of the elves proved, there were things worse than death.

“The angel came,” the priestess continued, leaning over to prod the nearest log in the fire until it caught again. “Not because she believed, for faith is nothing when one has witnessed the impossible and the indescribable. But because she was willing to be that sacrifice. She was asked what it was she sought. Justice? Safety for humanity? Succor for the elves? And Winifred judged it was too late for the latter, as they had been sent away. She feared the return of demons, to whisper again into human ears and speak their devastating lies. The last such lie had condemned a race to an eternal life without purpose or power. What would the next such lie do? Particularly now that humanity was without its champion in the elder race?” The priestess studied the fire, then tossed her stick in it. “She asked instead for help, that humanity might have some form of resistance against evil, now that the elves had been vanquished. She asked that we might become, in some small way, kin to them in the fight against demons.”

“She asked for magic,” Chester breathed.

“Not directly.” The priestess rested her hands on her knees again. “She entrusted that decision to the angel. She wrote later that she had seen that it was unwise to force an angel to do one’s bidding, and that better things came to those who trusted God. So she trusted, and asked what she must do in order to secure that future for us. The angel changed her and sent her away. She was the first human being who could work some small magics... and with them, she founded the Church.”

Eyre said, “The angel... changed... her? That’s it? No more detail?”

The priestess shook her head. “No. Perhaps she didn’t write it down, or perhaps some things are not given us to know. But this we do know: the change was communicable. All her heirs had the ability, and with it came a slight resistance against evil. We do not hear the whispers of demons so easily anymore.”

“Oh! The blood ladders!” Almond exclaimed, covering her mouth. This won her everyone’s attention, which flattened her ears and caused her to cower into my knees.

Kelu spoke for her. “It is how the genets were made. We were changed from animals using enchantments to the blood ladders.”

“Are those enchantments communicable?” Eyre asked her. “Do your kind breed true?”

“We don’t know,” Kelu said dryly. “There not being any males for us to try it with.”

Ivy started. “No males? At all?”

One of the Black Pearls—Nine, still wearing her necklace—said, “They’re considered ugly. An awkward look in profile.”

“The parts show,” Seven said. “They interrupt the lines.”

A pause here as the people around the fire, predominately male, contemplated the amputation of their entire sex for the sin of having external genitalia. The looks on their faces....

Guy recovered first. “But Winifred’s change was communicable from parent to child.”

“And, we later discovered, through blood transfer as well.”

“Oh,” Chester said, hushed. “The Cup of the Covenant.”

“The Cup, yes,” the priestess said. “In the beginning, Winifred’s priesthood was charged with spreading its progeny far and wide—that would be why there were rumors of bacchanalia in the early Church. Our goal was to create as many children with this ability as we could possibly sow. Once we realized the change could be propagated via the transfer of fluids, we began adding drops of our own blood to the Cup of the Covenant. Sharing it among the congregation passed the change on.”

“But that means...” Chester said.

“That all of us are capable of this?” Radburn finished, wide-eyed. “We could all wreak magic?”

“In theory,” the priestess said. “In practice, some are more capable than others, and some have no capability at all, though nearly all humans now can sense the working of magic, and have the protection against the seductions of demons.”

“And this ability is conferred by angels,” Eyre said.

She dipped her head in assent.

“So magic... is a sign of divinity.” Radburn glanced at me, unease in his eyes.

The priestess waved a hand, curt. “Magic is a proof of the passage of God through our blood and bone. To own it is not to be divine. We are—” She paused and smiled a self-conscious smile. “Vessels. Those of us who are easier with allowing the Master to handle the pouring do better than those of us who wish to keep the power for ourselves. It is not meant to be kept.” She lifted her brows at me. “As the elves themselves would tell you.”

I thought of Amhric and said nothing.

“Does this mean we could fight the demons without the elves?” Guy asked. “Do we even need Morgan at all? No offense, Morgan, but you were never that handy with a sword.”

I wondered what he would have thought of me impaling my brother’s enemy. “None taken.”

The priestess shook her head. “There is more at work here than the shaping of our future. The past walks among us as well, and the ripples of the events of that last battle are echoing forward now. There are matters to resolve, and all of the principals of that first battle must be present at the last, humans, elves—”

“And demons,” I said.

She held my eyes. “And demons.”

“Then no matter how quickly we ride, it will already be too late,” I said.

“We must make our appointment with destiny, my lord. And no matter how well the knights of the Church have trained, and for how many generations, our zeal will not substitute for experience. Also—” She folded her hands on her knee. “The demons will not be satisfied with our sacrifice alone, so long as there are elves in the world. They find us entertaining. You, they hate.”

“Naturally,” I murmured, trying not to feel the too-close memory of their caresses, of their tongues at my ear. Was that why I’d hallucinated them? Because I was not human, and thus lacked the small protection Winifred had won against hearing their whispers? Or was it some flaw of the royal gifts, or the elven blood ladders? Perhaps we really were as corruptible as I’d feared.

“I’m not sure what astonishes me more,” Eyre said. “That humanity has apparently been contaminated with foreign blood for centuries, or that the Church has been busily at work procuring this future for us, will us, nil us. How much of the population do you estimate you have affected, madam? Is the Church’s waning influence a reflection of their having mostly fulfilled the mission of sharing droplets of Winifred’s spit with all the world?”

Chester was aghast at this disrespect, but the Vessel only smiled that enigmatic smile and lifted her dark brows. “You are perspicacious, sir.”

“Then why,” I asked, “did you say it was too soon?”

“We are not ready for the knowledge of what we can now do and the responsibilities those powers bring with them.” She glanced at Eyre, and I could have sworn that look was sly. But surely not in a priestess. “We shall say I am not confident of academicians keeping a secret of this magnitude.”

“While what?” Eyre asked, baffled. “You arrange a new world order?” When she didn’t answer, he bristled. “You think we would allow a shadow power to undo all the last wars have done for freedom, justice, equality?”

“The Church is hardly a shadow power,” Guy remarked, droll.

“It is when it conceals its agenda from the rest of us while pursuing aims it does not share that also affect us.”

“Professor,” the priestess said, more gently, “You are presumably a learned man, well acquainted with history. What do you suppose will occur when we make it known that humanity can now work magic? But not equally, mind you. Some are better at it than others. And by the by, there are demons, also. And an entire nation of elves, whom we banished for being too beautiful and perfect—” Her eyes glided over me again before returning to Eyre, “—but we swear are as fair in manner now as they are in face, despite any past wrongs committed, and despite the insanity they are no doubt fighting as a result of the ensorcelment we wrought on them lo those many years ago. Tell me, sir. How do you suppose the common man will find that?”

“And there’s a plan,” Radburn said, but he sounded unconvinced. “For us to make an orderly transition from victims of fate to masters of our own destiny.”

“Yes. If—” She gathered us with her words, “—and only if you keep this knowledge to yourself.”

“We can make no such promise,” Eyre said. “Not without hearing the particulars. For all we know, you wish to impose another tyranny, a religious one. We did not spill blood to be rid of the monarchy only to bow our heads to a theocracy.”

“There will be no need for a theocracy or a Church,” she said. “At least, not in the form it has existed until now. The Covenant has been fulfilled. All we plan is to create roles for those with magical aptitude to cleave toward. Knights, and healers, and scholars of the written spell.” She glanced at Eyre. “Surely this is not objectionable.”

“That would depend entirely on how it is implemented—”

Guy sighed. “This discussion could take weeks. I’m for my bed. Such as it is.”

I glanced at Eyre, who by all signs was only just warming to the debate. “You’re right. We should all rest, if we are to keep this pace for the entirety of our journey.”

We decamped from the fireside, leaving the guards to their patrol and the professor to his argument. As we set out our bedrolls, Guy said, “I give it two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I asked.

He nodded his head toward the fire. “Before those two have a torrid affair.”

“Guy!” Ivy exclaimed, but her eyes were merry.

“I don’t know,” I said. “They don’t seem much alike.”

“As if you would know,” Guy said. “It takes a swift thump to the head to make you see the obvious when it’s front of you, Morgan, and that’s a fact.”

“Is it now,” I murmured.

“Count on it.” He yawned and wiggled under his blanket. “Wake me when you must, and not a moment before.”

“He’s incorrigible,” Ivy whispered to me as we left.

“But is he right?”

She smiled and shook her head. “He fancies himself a great master of observation, my dear, but like most men he suffers from a certain... predilection for assuming all interactions must lead inevitably to a bedchamber. Things are rarely that simple.”

“Ah,” I said. “But are they that simple in this particular case?”

She considered Eyre, lit by the fire as he bent toward the Vessel. I recognized the pose: he was lecturing. “Guy is right—such passion does transfer from argument to affection. But I don’t think that will happen here. The signs seem wrong. In fact, if you were to press me, I would wonder if perhaps Professor Eyre’s heart was already given elsewhere.”

The thought of Eyre hiding a flame was startling. I had assumed him to be wedded to his work. Perhaps he was so because he had given up some other romance?

Ivy touched my hand. “Radburn’s gotten himself a dry corner, I see. Chester as well. You’ll be fine, Morgan?”

I dared a caress, the back of one of my fingers against her jaw. We both shivered, but I spoke first. “I’ll be fine. You’re healed? Truly?” When she nodded, somber, I said, “Miraculous.”

“Literally so,” she murmured. She rose on her toes and kissed my cheek. “Good night, Morgan.”

How long I stood there, I couldn’t say: it felt like forever and was probably less than a heartbeat. But Kelu roused me with an exasperated sigh. “That big friend of yours is right, you know. About you if not about your teacher. You really are oblivious.”

“I am a scholar,” I replied, prim. “My mind is often preoccupied with lofty thoughts.”

“Oh, sure. Lofty thoughts of tumbling that woman.” Kelu grabbed my wrist and dragged me away. “First time I’ve ever heard anything like that called ‘lofty’.”

I let the genets settle me in my bedroll, exhaled in gratitude as they tucked their warm, small bodies around mine, gave separate thanks for Chester, who’d packed for the journey; I did not own a bedroll at all, much less any of the other things he’d hung on the spare horses he’d brought. As my eyes drifted closed, I heard Almond said to Kelu, “I’m sure his thoughts of Mistress Ivy are pure.”

One could hear the heavenward roll of Kelu’s eyes in her voice. “Oh yes. Very pure.”

But for all that, Almond was right. I slept, and my dreams were sweet, and there was nothing in them but the warmth of Ivy’s palm against mine, and the perfume of her hair.