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"Thank you, Father." The midshipman gave him a grateful
look. "Ring the bell if you need anything."
"Of course." Anyel closed the door behind him. He took off
his cloak, and hung it by the door, then tucked his boots
underneath.
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Exiled to Paradise: The Nine of Pentacles
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In the top drawers of Berrit's desk once Anyel learned his
way around all the little latches and hooks that kept things
secure in high seas there was paper and pens and an ink
bottle that settled neatly into well carved into the desktop.
Anyel swallowed hard and then picked up a pen. He had to
write his confession and resignation to the Abbot now, before
he managed to talk himself out of doing so, out of fear or
some sense of justification.
Year Quyelin XX, Day One Hundred and Eighty-Seven,
11th Hour. Anyel could hear shouting as the oar boats began
to move the ship, turning her and aiming her back out at sea.
He put his head down and started to write, keeping to the
facts, refusing to suggest that he deserved any lenience. He
didn't. What he'd done to Quin, he'd do again. When thinking
back, it didn't make him ill, it made him burn with the
certainty that it had been the very least that Quin deserved.
They were out on the open sea by the time Anyel finished.
He turned the papers in on themselves carefully, tucking the
instructions for the cure inside, and folded them into a tight
packet with an outer layer of oiled parchment. All he needed
was some twine or some wax. Surely there was some in the
room. When a search of the desk proved fruitless some wax,
but no seal Anyel went and, after a moment of hesitation,
opened the drawers and cupboards that held Berrit's
belongings. He tried to pick ones that wouldn't hold anything
personal.
The door opened with a click and a soft creak, startling
Anyel into straightening and knocking his head lightly on a
half-closed drawer above him.
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Exiled to Paradise: The Nine of Pentacles
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"Did you need something?" Berrit didn't look upset. He was
carrying a mid-day meal on a tray; coming in, he kicked the
door closed.
"Twine, or a seal."
"Ah." Berrit put the tray down on the desk and wrested a
ring from his finger. "It's mine, but it'll have to do, unless you
want me to get some twine from the galley."
"Thank you. I..." Anyel's words were cut short when Berrit
tossed the heavy ring at him and he had to concentrate to
catch it.
"Let me guess." Berrit watched Anyel light the thick, soft
brown candle. "A scathing chastisement of His Highness? A
long over due retraction of your affections?" He poured Anyel
a glass of wine from a fat-bellied crystal decanter.
"My resignation from the abbey." Anyel watched the candle
burn and willed it to hurry up so there would be wax with
which to seal the letter and get this over. Berrit's ring sat on
the packet of papers, waiting.
"Resignation. Anyel, why?"
"I broke my oaths," Anyel said softly, putting his head in
his hands to try and keep tears from welling up in his eyes.
"With Quin?" Berrit's voice went sharp. "Did he... you could
hardly have refused him. There are penances you can do for
your indiscretions." Berrit took Anyel by the shoulders, his big
hands strong even after the long illness, and drew him up out
of the chair. "Anyel, look at me. Why would you do this? You
love the abbey."
"I used the mysteries against him." Anyel stopped hiding
his face to push Berrit's hands from his shoulders. He ducked
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Exiled to Paradise: The Nine of Pentacles
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away, around the desk, putting his back to Berrit and looking
out the stern window. The sea boiled away behind them as
they cut through the blue water faster than a horse could run.
"I wanted to try and save as many as I could. He disagreed.
Ruined my work. I argued with him. He hit me. Said I was
lucky to have my head." Anyel's throat was so tight and he
wrapped his arms around himself and couldn't make himself
let go. "I made him send me away to Bisera. If I didn't..."
Prisoner. Or worse.
"I thought at least from Bisera, I could do something. Find
a way to help people, still." Anyel blinked back tears. "I didn't
want to live in Quin's oubliette. I wanted to go home, such as
it is." Bisera might have been another kind of oubliette, but
Anyel had found himself there, and if the world had forgotten
the boy he'd been before, all the better. Home. Not the
abbey, but maybe... he could find a little house in the fishing
village.
"I'll still have work. I can mend nets. Heal people. The
abbot might be able to find a way to make the cure so that it
could be sent to the mainland, and..."
Berrit's hands on his shoulders, turning him away from the
window, interrupted the flow of babble. "Anyel," Berrit said
gently. Suddenly, Anyel was terrified that Berrit was going to
insist that he return to Oranne, return to confess his sins. The
priests of the church council would break him to be sure that
no control remained on Quin's mind.
"I promise that all I did was ask him to return me to
Bisera." Anyel reached out and his hands tangled in the soft
wool of Berrit's cloak. "I would never do anything to..."
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Exiled to Paradise: The Nine of Pentacles
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Berrit silenced him again, this time with his mouth on
Anyel's. It was like being struck by lightning. Anyel was
paralyzed, but he was sure his hair was standing on end. Still.
It was so good. Tender and sweet and chaste.
"I trust you," Berrit said softly, hardly moving away so that
his lips still brushed Anyel's. "Trust me?" Now he withdrew a
little so that Anyel could see his face, his dear, rough face
with all the lines and scars of life drawn on it. "All I have ever
wanted to do is see you treated as you deserve. Even when
you were offensively haughty and stupidly, blindly in love with
someone who thought you were a trinket, I only wanted good
things for you." He punctuated his words with little shakes as
frustration overflowed his self-control. "Please."
"I do." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Anyel
knew it was true. Even if he couldn't see it in Berrit's face so
plainly, the man Berrit was by reputation was one worth
trusting. Beyond that, Berrit had saved his life at a time when
Quin... when Quin would have had him killed. Anyel took a
deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the truth wash away
the lies he'd told himself. "I trust you."
"Good, good." Berrit shook his head and frowned, distress
gathering on his face. He let Anyel go, looking at his own
hands as though he didn't know what they had been up to on
their own. "I'm sorry, Anyel. Father. That was... I'm sorry.
I'm not myself."
"I hope that's not true." Anyel caught Berrit by one wrist.
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