Read Online A Chalice of Wind by Cate Tiernan - Free Book Online Page B

feeling this electric attraction, and knowing that soon he would steal me away. I shivered.
    “What’s your name?” he asked, his words falling as softly as leaves.
    “Thais,” I said. Tye-ees.
    He stood and offered me his hand. I looked up at him, his even features, the dark eyebrows slanting over incredible eyes. I took his hand. Unbelievably, he pressed my open palm against his lips, leaving a whisper of a kiss. “My pleasure, Thais,” he said, awakening every nerve ending I had. “My name is Luc.”
    Luc, I repeated silently.
    “Come here again soon,” he said, looking at me as if to memorize my features. “I’ll watch for you.”
    “I don’t know when it will be,” I hedged.
    “It will be soon,” he said confidently, and I knew that he was right.

I Have Sinned
    “F orgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Marcel whispered the familiar words, anticipating the comfort of absolution. In this dark cubicle he was completely himself, and everything was all right. “It’s been one week since my last confession.”
    “Have you any sins to confess, my son?”
    Brother Eric. He was always understanding.
    “Yes, Father,” Marcel murmured. “I have . . . felt anger. Great anger.”
    “Feeling anger in itself is not a sin, Marcel,” Brother Eric said. “It is only when you enjoy the feeling of anger or act upon it.”
    “I fear . . . were I to confront this anger, it could lead to . . . violence.” There, it was out.
    “Violence?”
    Marcel took a deep breath. “I have been contacted by former . . . associates. I’ve tried to leave these people behind, Father. I’ve tried to escape them. I’ve come here. These people do not acknowledge the Lord our God. They play with . . . fate. They have unholy power.” Marcel felt his throat close. He shut his eyes, remembering that power, how it had flowed from his hands, how beautiful the world seemed when he held it.
    “Explain about the violence, son,” said Brother Eric.
    “If I see them or one in particular—I’m afraid I will do him harm.” A cold sweat broke out on Marcel’s forehead. Yes, God was listening—but He might not be the only one. What a risk he was taking. . . . He looked around himself, contained in this dark cubicle.
    “Do him harm out of anger?”
    “Yes,” said Marcel. “For trying to make me renounce what is good.”
    “Does he so threaten you, lad, that in order to protect yourself, you’d destroy him?”
    “Yes,” Marcel whispered.
    “You don’t see another path, Marcel?”
    “I can never see him again,” Marcel offered. “I can refuse to go to him, to help him.”
    “He’s asked for your help?”
    “Not yet. But I think he might. He’s asked to see me.”
    “Perhaps he’s changed his ways?” suggested Brother Eric.
    “No,” Marcel said with certainty.
    “Then what does he want from you?”
    “My . . . power.” The words were so faint as to barely penetrate the wooden piercework screen.
    “No one can take your power from you, Marcel.”
    Instantly Marcel saw that this was pointless, that Brother Eric could never understand, that there was no salvation for him here. He almost wept. He needed a strong hand to hold his, to say, We will not let you go. But the Church was all about free will. How to explain that sometimes, his will was not truly his own?
    Liar. His conscience was a small, cold voice, mocking him inside his head. Your will is your own. You like the power, Marcel. You like wielding it. You love feeling life, energy, pure force flowing from you, from your hands. You like what you can do with it. You like what you can do to others.
    “No! No, I don’t! You’re lying,” Marcel cried, covering his face with his hands.
    “Marcel?”
    It doesn’t have to be bad, Marcel, said his conscience. Remember, “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” You can use your power for good. You can convince the others. They want to be good anyway. It’s only Daedalus—Daedalus and