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duty to recognize the
message, and follow the direction thus and the difficulty of your
journey shall ease.”
    He stared directly into Fantin’s eyes, and
Fantin felt himself beginning to calm, to find clarity in the
vision before him. The red light that had colored his world
receded. Aye, the father had the right of it. He must watch for the
sign. He must pray long and hard. He must continue the work of
purification, the task he had been set to years before.
    “Aye, Father…you have great wisdom,” Fantin
responded in his warm, smooth voice. He added a smile that,
although it moved his face, did not reach completely within. He
must remain patient, yet he felt his frustration…his need…growing
stronger each day. The red light edging the corners of his vision
threatened more oft than not as of late.
    If only he need not rely on the priest and
could pass his own days with prayer, mayhap he would understand
sooner, mayhap he might more easily learn what he sought. Yet
Fantin did not have the time to spend in prayer that must be spent,
for he must manage his lands, and work his formulas, and conduct
those other tasks that befell him as a mere mortal man.
    The image of Gavin of Mal Verne slipped into
his memory, suddenly, disturbing the calmness he’d managed to
attain. Aye, at the least that task was complete. At any moment, he
expected word that Mal Verne had indeed met his demise—left wounded
and far from help, where Fantin had last seen him.
    It might not have been a direct order from
God to send Mal Verne to hell, but Fantin knew it was what he must
do. Mal Verne sought to disrupt his own work. He had taken Gregory
from him, and Nicola—and if Fantin did not remove the man from this
world, Mal Verne would continue to seek his own revenge upon
Fantin. God helped only those who helped themselves.
    Indeed, and ’twas surely a test of his
mettle that Fantin had failed so many times during this journey.
But the end was in sight, according to Rufus.
    Fantin praised his God for sending him the
skinny priest only three months earlier—for Rufus, more than any
other, understood his task and his purpose, and acted as a holy
conduit between Fantin and the Lord of All.
    And when he completed his tasks as set by
God, Fantin knew he would be graced by the formula for the
Philosopher’s Stone.
    Fantin’s hands no longer shook. He and the
priest both would watch for the promised sign, and he would act
accordingly. And God would find him worthy.

Four

    She was in the garden when they came for
her.
    After two fortnights spent trying to banish
him from her memory, Madelyne sensed his presence even before she
heard the clink of sword against his mail chausses.
    A shadow, long and heavy, fell across her
lap where she was forming rose beads. The black mush of stewed rose
petals covered her hands and arms and spotted an old gown. The air
was heavy with the scent of the flowers, nearly as smothering as
the weight that settled over her when she realized he’d come.
    And yet, at the same time, a rush of
something else flooded her when she looked up into his grave face.
’Twas almost welcome, seeing him again, feeling the command of his
full strength as she had not when he was ill.
    “My lord.”
    “Lady Madelyne. You do not seem surprised to
see me.”
    That he used her title did not surprise her.
Verily he’d discovered her identity and that was the reason he’d
come. For a brief moment, panic surged through her, but she beat it
back and wrapped her own strength about her. God would be with her,
and…God help her, but she did not believe Lord Mal Verne would hurt
her.
    “Nay, I am not. What do you wish from
me?”
    He stood, looking down at her, his shadow
casting darkness over her work. “What do you do there?”
    Madelyne held up two small wooden paddles,
grateful for a moment’s reprieve before he should respond, and
replied, “The rose petals have been cooked for days. Now, I take
them betwixt these spoons and roll them