Driving back to the House, he pondered just how he was going to break the news to Stephen that he'd just committed the Refuge to a course of action without bothering to even ask him. His only excuse was that Stephen had been preoccupied with Doni's return and now with handling a wake and funeral.

But how to do it. Tommy, he decided. He had to get Tommy on board first. Then if Stephen dug in his heels, Tommy might be able to talk him round.

So when he pulled up in front of the House his first stop was Tommy's office. He had little fear that Stephen would be there. Stephen was not an office kinda guy.

And sure enough when he walked in Tommy was there. Marc looked around at the new digs. "Wow," he said.

"Sir," Tommy said, jumping to his feet and in the process knocking several file folders to the floor. Marc, much to Tommy's further confusion knelt down to help him collect the scattered papers and put them back in order.

Once he'd gotten all the recalcitrant papers in the right folders Tommy stood there at attention, but his eyes on his shoes.

Marc strolled over and took the chair next to Tommy's desk.

"Stephen isn't here right now," Tommy finally dared to say.

"Yes, I know. I came to talk to you."

"To me?" It came out sort of like a squeak. How did Reno manage to deal with this guy?

"Yes, Marc said, "To you."

"Oh. Can I get you a cup of coffee?" Tommy said, perking up that he now had a plan.

"No."

"Oh," Tommy said, deflating again. "What... what do you need? I'm not sure where Reno is."

"Never mind Reno. I need you to do something for me. You," Marc repeated.

"Sure. Anything. Stephen told me to give you whatever you need."

"Good. What I need for you to do is help me protect Stephen."

"Uhm?" Tommy finally met Marc's eyes.

Patiently Marc explained, "They've already tried to kill him once. Now that we've heard what is in the meadow, and what isn't, I think someone will try to kill him again. I need you to help me keep him safe. I want him to stay here in the Refuge, and if he tries to leave, I want you to tell me, so I can send someone to keep an eye on him.”

“Uhm, well...wouldn't he tell you?" Tommy asked, feeling dense.

"Well, he might forget. So I want you to help him remember and if he still doesn't tell us, then I want you to warn me. Do you think you can do that? They almost killed him last time, Tommy. We can't afford to lose him."

Tommy took a breath, and the plunged in, knowing there was no escape. "If I ah, understand you correctly, you want me to, uhm...tell you even if he doesn't want you to know...ah, sir?"

Marc studied Tommy for a moment. "Yes. You know he doesn't worry about himself enough. And he's distracted now having Doni back. I've asked Trevor St Cyr to improve Refuge security, but it won't do much good if Stephen is running around Europe or who knows where with no one watching his back."

Tommy studied the new carpet for a while in silence. Then he looked at Marc and said, clearly not happy, "May I uhm...show you something?”

“Yes, please do," Marc replied.

Tommy reached between his desk and the wall and pulled out a detailed topological map of the Refuge and environs. He overlaid it with a transparent sheet that added to the topography the location of all the roads and buildings within the valley. He pointed to what was possibly the most isolated spot on the map and said, "That's where he's put the house for Doni. He told me he was planning on working out there for the foreseeable future, to the extent that he could.”

“ Oh, great. Well, Trevor's going to have his work cut out for him." Marc blithely ignored the fact that his own house was pretty isolated. "I don't suppose you're going to live in.”

“If he wanted me to. I'll, uhm...tell you what I can but..." Tommy's voice trailed off. "Maybe if you uhm, talked to him, about...you know, security?"

"Oh, believe me, I fully intend to. Thank you, Tommy. Stephen just isn't wired to think about things like security. So it's our job to make sure he's protected as best we can.”

“You might, ah, want to talk to Doni, sir. She can, ah, sometimes...er talk him, uhm, into things."

"Is she well enough do you think? I don't want to worry her needlessly.”

“She seemed ok this morning, from what I could tell," Tommy said, blushing scarlet at the memory. "So, uh, right. Do you ah, want to know personally, or should I just let Reno know, sir?"

Marc thought about that for about half a second. "Let me know personally. Just in case Reno is occupied." Marc held out his hand to Tommy. "Thanks, Tommy."

Tommy took it, surprised to realize he was going to survive the encounter.

She heard Marc before she saw him and thinking it was Stephen who'd promised to meet her out here to discuss decorating and moving in, she called to tell him where she was, "Stephen? I'm around back."

Marc followed her voice and as he came around the corner and she saw him he asked, "Stephen not back yet?"

"No. It's just me now."

"Good. I get you all to myself for a bit then. I'll wait for Stephen if you don't mind. Nice view here.”

“Thanks. He has this thing for the sound of running water and waterfalls. I was going to fix some coffee." She started walking towards the house as she spoke, drawing him after her. "Would you like some while we're waiting for him? He should be too much longer.”

“That would be great, thanks."

The kitchen had a counter with chairs so they sat there with their coffee.

"You are recovering, Doni? You look well."

She grinned at him, her eyes dancing. "I feel well, so I think I am. That makes me a minority of one at the moment, though.. She sipped her coffee and set it down. "I'm glad you came by. I haven't had a chance to thank you for everything you've done. I won't say anything else, but I just wanted you to know...there aren't words..."

"No need. I just sorry it took so long for us to realize... Listen, I've a favor to ask of you. I don't want to alarm you with it, but... Has anyone told you Stephen was attacked not long before we rescued you?”

“I saw the scars. He said not to worry about it; that it wasn't an issue." She studied him intently before continuing. "Are you saying it is an issue?"

"It's an issue. I'm afraid now that we've gotten you back and found the bodies in the meadow that they might try again. I've arranged for someone to strengthen security here, but you know Stephen. I'm not sure he'll think about his own safety. So I need some help trying to keep him safe."

Before she could answer him, the front door opened and Stephen was calling her name. "We're back here" she answered. Then said swiftly, firmly to Marc, "You talk to him and when you get no where, I'll talk to him. Trust me. He'll think."

Marc reached out and squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"Who... Oh, Marc," Stephen said as he joined them in the kitchen.

"I'm making time with Doni. And you show up," Marc said with a frown.

"I'll leave again if you want." Stephen quipped, before kissing Doni. "I warn you though, she's trouble these days."

"Ah, trouble. Much like you, I expect."

Stephen laughed. "Not I...I am never trouble. So what brings you out here? A need for decorating ideas?"

"I have this sneaky suspicion I'm not going to have much say on that front. No, it has more to do with security. While you've been making time with your wife, I've been executing a palace coup. I've asked Trevor St Cyr to do a review of Refuge security and improve it."

Stephen looked at him for a moment and then, instead of answering, poured himself a cup of coffee. He was screwed and he knew it. He couldn't drag Marc off to talk about this privately nor ask Doni to leave them. Marc had probably planned it that way. He waited, sipping his coffee, for whatever came next.

"And to that end," Marc said, a smile on his lips telling Stephen he guessed just what Stephen was thinking, "I think it would be a good idea if you stayed close to the Refuge for awhile. Someone is going to be very unhappy with us. For getting Doni back, and for digging up the meadow. I believe the danger is acute at the moment. And given they've already tried to assassinate you once..." Marc let the words trail off.

"So, when will we be locked down?" He wasn't going to make it easy. "As soon as we can implement it. We can control ingress and egress. The wake and the funeral shouldn't be too much of a problem as everyone has been asked to contact us about attending." Marc was keeping his voice light, as if he hadn't a clue Stephen might not be fully onboard. "You realize that we're expecting between one and two hundred people, from Home and here, at least?" His voice was friendly, casual, knowing Marc wasn't fooled...hoping Doni might be. "Uhm, any other measures you think we should take?"

Marc frowned, thinking. "Guards on your house 24/7?" he suggested, a twinkle in his eye.

'We could also go with live-in armed security, Laz knows some folks who are pretty good." He swallowed the rest of his coffee, swearing silently. "Is that your BMW outside? Think you could show it to me?"

"Delighted to. And I suppose I should be going. I've got a few things I need to see to."

Marc kissed Doni's hand making her smile and walked out with Stephen. As they neared the car he offered, "Don't punch the face.”

“I suppose I can now look forward to a conversation with her as well?" His tone was dry. "She needs you alive, Stephen," Marc said, his voice not as light now. "Low blow, that. OK, spell it out for me. What is it exactly you want me to do so she won't worry?”

“I want you not to just zap out of here without some security going with you. Not all that odious a request. I'd prefer you not leave at all, but I'd settle for you agreeing to that.”

“I will make an effort to accommodate you on that...but frankly Marc, there are times when that may not be possible. If I have to take security, I might as well not go.”

“That works for me, Stephen. Seriously, it won't need to be that long. Just give it some time." Stephen nodded. "Do me a favor, will you? Or rather, I'll make a deal with you...”

“I'm listening.”

“You don't manipulate me and I won't manipulate you. Just play it straight, ok? Between you and me, just flat out, in the open. No games, regardless of what happens."

Marc raised an eyebrow. "Do you suppose either one of us can keep to that deal? But I'll give it a try if you will." Marc held out a hand to shake on it.

Stephen took it, grinning. "Thanks." Stephen waited until Marc's BMW was out of sight before returning to the house. Doni was sitting at the counter, still, waiting for him, a determined look in her eye that made him grin and wonder if maybe he should thank Marc for setting this particular stage.

"Stephen, I want to talk to you," she announced, eyeing his grin warily, her voice determined.

"Do you?" he replied, pulling her out of the chair without missing a beat and up against him. He fisted his hand into her hair, turning her face towards him. "What about?" he asked before claiming her mouth. She tasted of coffee and of something that was her alone, that he loved. He deepened the kiss, savoring her, demanding the full surrender of her mouth to him.

He supported her as she sank against him, and lifted his head just a little, his eyes scanning her face. "I warn you," he said, feathering her lips with his breath, before tracing them with his tongue and nibbling them, "there are a limited number of possible words or sounds I have any intention of listening to…but feel free to talk away…" He shifted his attention to the line of her jaw, tracing it with kisses, moving unerringly in the direction of the pulse that was already beating wildly on her neck, detouring only slightly to first lave her ear, before nibbling the lobe. "if that's what you want."

She shivered against him, her head falling back and her breath catching as she tried to speak, the words emerging on a long sigh, "Stephen, I want…"

"Yes sweetheart?" he murmured, devoting his attention to her throat, maneuvering her back against the counter. He shifted his hands skimming them up her midriff, before cupping her breasts, already heated and swollen, kneading them as she arched in response. "You want…?" He bared her to the waist with a thought and he sent his tongue swirling around her nipple teasing it. "This?" he asked, suckling on first one and then the other nipple. "Or this?" as he took one between his teeth, biting, lightly first and then more firmly.

She moaned, her hands buried in his hair, holding him against her. "Please, I…"

He replaced his teeth with his fingers, moving on to torment the other nipple. "Please?" he asked, before bending to his task. He lifted his head, finally, admiring his handiwork, before kissing her again, while he finished stripping her. Then he lifted her onto the counter and turned his attention to her navel, his hands gliding over her thighs separating them, asking, "Please this?" as he swept his hands upward over the inner faces of them, his fingers tangling in her curls, exploring, tracing every curve and fold.

His reward was another moan as she lay back, gripping his shoulders.

He drew her towards the edge of the counter positioning her exactly as he wanted her, his mouth moving to replace his fingers. Her fingers clenched against his shoulders as he paused, saying "Or this?" before sweeping his tongue against her, parting her and then began teasing her, roaming over her delicate skin, feeling her tension build as he slid first one and then two fingers into her, working them within her.

She began writhing, gasping his name, lifting her hips towards him, using her body to plead with him.

He slid his hands under her grasping her bottom and drew her closer to him, holding her still as he began flicking her clitoris, lightly as first and then with increasing pressure, slowly, waiting a heartbeat or more between each touch, giddy with the scent and taste of her. Finally, when she was frantic, he drew it in his mouth, suckling and increasing the rhythm of his tongue feeling the tension in her build, holding her there for endless moments before finally with increasing pressure, sent her flying her flying. The sound of her cry was still in his ears as he winked them out of there and into the master bedroom, suddenly boasting an enormous king size bed.

He followed her down onto the bed, while he sent his own clothes without regret into nothingness and rolled her under him entering her swiftly, feeling the slowing contractions of her orgasm grip him. Then, he set about finding the slowest route he could to oblivion.

Hours later she stirred, languid and relaxed, filled with a sense of peace that never failed to awe her. He was asleep, his face turned towards her and his arm across her waist, possessive in repose in a way he would never show awake. She smiled, brushing the hair from his face. She hadn't forgotten, but talking to him could wait.

Meanwhile, Marc had already had a busy day, but he had one more chore before he could hit whatever bed might by now be in place in his new house. He'd left Jordon in charge of decorating. He could always strangle him later if it was too far off, although he'd done a pretty good job on the office, so he wasn't all that worried about it.

He stopped in his rooms at the House and showered, and then dressed carefully. A tux with a plain fronted shirt, and a bowtie, no cummerbund. He checked himself in the mirror, put in cufflinks, and popped off to Home.

He'd contacted Bella earlier that day, so he knew she was expecting him. He ran over in his mind the arrangements he'd made. As he exited the lift on the floor for Bella's apartment, there was a smell that hung in the air, even in the hallway.

He opened the door using his abilities and it swung open until it thumped against the wall. There was no movement, no sign of life in her living area. He entered, ready for almost anything.

But the place was totally silent except for a very soft sound of water dripping steadily into a sink or tub.

He advanced cautiously, his senses out in front of him, feeling ahead of him, expecting someone to have already reported it.

He knew where to go. The smell led him toward the bathroom. In the bathroom doorway lay a piece of black crepe. It had silver thread through it. So. She'd already been dressed for their dinner out.

He stepped into the bathroom, his stomach heaving. He'd seen a lot of death and senseless violence, but this... There was nothing left of her, really. Nothing even remotely resembling a human being, even. The mess in the bathtub was sloshing slowly onto the floor and spreading outward with each drip from the tub's faucet. A few bits of clothing floated on the top of the nasty liquid, and oddly enough something that looked like a drumstick.

He trod through the bloody and flesh strewn water on the floor to take a seat on the closed toilet. He sat there, breathing in the stench that was the only thing really left of her.

He called in energy toward himself and reached outward. With a wave of his hand, she was gone. The room was pristine, and nothing whatever remained to let anyone know she'd died, or how she'd died.

Even the smell was dissipated.

He stood up and walked back into the living room. He went to her drinks table and poured himself a stiff shot of brandy, downing it in one gulp. He poured himself another and sat in a chair, looking out over the city, looking out at a familiar urban landscape that diamond-sparkled in the clear night.

He was silent for some time, then said softly, into the night:

"Mea culpa. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison."

It was an hour or so later when he was knocking at a door to a townhouse in one of the trendier sections of the city. It was about 10pm or so.

It took a bit of time but finally the door opened. Margaret stood there, dressed in a diaphinous white robe which showed more than it hid, holding a snifter of brandy. Her face had looked irritated to be bothered at this time of night, but when she saw who stood on her doorstep her frown turned into a brilliant smile.

"Marc. What a wonderful surprise. Just let me get rid of someone. Have a seat, help yourself to the booze. I'll be right back." She blew a kiss at him and hurried off. He walked to her living room going unerringly to the sideboard where she kept her liquor. He poured himself yet another brandy, and then took a seat.

He had himself together by the time she returned. She hadn't bothered to put on more clothes. She came over and sat on the arm of his chair, running her hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry about your lovely house, my darling. I suppose it was Stephen? That's what some people seem to think, anyway."

He nodded. "Yes, it was Stephen."

"How you can stand to be down there with him without blasting him to atoms I will never know," she said with a delicate shudder.

He downed the brandy he'd been playing with. "It happened so fast, I had no chance to intervene. Do you have any idea what he was after? Why he blasted my house and apparently half the mountain? Anyone on the Council have an idea?" he asked.

Margaret frowned. "No. Oddly enough, no one can figure it out. Bella seems to think it has something to do with whatever is stored in the facility that used to be there."

"I thought it was just a normal records repository," Marc commented, meeting her eyes.

Margaret shrugged. "So did I. But there might have been something there about his precious Doni he didn't want anyone to see. Like perhaps her betrayal of Liliana and Richard. Who knows. The man is quite mad."

"Hmmm," Marc replied. Then, after a few moments of Margaret stroking his hair, he said, "I should get back down there."

"Oh, why not stay the night? I promise you a great time," she added, kissing his lips and running her hand down along his shirt.

"No. Someone needs to keep an eye on Stephen," he replied a bit raspily.

Margaret pouted. "You've let this entire thing with the Refuge get to you, my darling. Seriously. We should just kill Stephen now. Outright. This playing around with him is a waste of time and effort."

"No. We need him yet. I don't have full control of the Listeners. There will be time enough, soon enough."

She walked him to the door and they kissed. Then he walked out into the night, as Margaret stood on the stoop watching him, her hands crossed on her chest, a frown on her pretty face.

Reno was up early as usual, showered, dressed and ready for a good breakfast and then work. He'd slept at the House since Marc's aerie wasn't quite finished. Jordon had demanded the morning yet to finish it, and then Reno could stock it with provisions and such that afternoon. For some reason Marc had told him to be OUT, in no uncertain terms, that evening. Well, that was arranged easily enough.

Reno stepped out of his bedroom and came to a dead stop. Marc was slouched down on one of the chairs in the sitting area, apparently sound asleep. He still wore a tux, the bowtie pulled off and dangling out of one of his hands, dragging on the floor, his collar undone and his shoes kicked off. That was as far as he'd gotten toward getting undressed and to bed. Reno also saw an empty bottle of single malt lying on the carpet by the chair.

"Ouch," Reno said, already sympathizing with what Marc's head would feel like a little later on when he woke up.

Reno tiptoed out of the room and headed toward the dining room.

It was a beautiful day, sunshine flooding the dining room, big puffy clouds accenting the deep cerulean of the sky. Reno got himself something to eat and sat down to ponder several things. Pondering didn't really last long however, when he saw Melly go by. She was in an animated conversation with some guy Reno knew only by sight. Melly did pause and wave at him, which lifted his spirits. And after she'd disappeared from sight, she stuck her head back around the corner, "You going to be in your office later?" Melly asked.

"Yup," he replied.

"I'll stop by," she replied with a smile and her head disappeared much to his regret.

He chomped on his bacon thoughtfully.

Then he got up, got a latte to go, and headed to the office.

He opened the door to the office and stared at the package that sat on his desk.

It was pretty big, and very prettily wrapped. He sidled up to it and looked at the gift card attached.

"A housewarming gift for Marc Rogatien" it read.

"Hmmm," Reno said. He shoved it over to one side of his desk and drug out some paperwork he'd been putting off for awhile. He sighed and dug into it.

It was several hours later when Marc walked through the office door. He looked pretty good for a guy who'd emptied a bottle of scotch the night before. Maybe he was getting used to it, or maybe he had a really good recipe for a hair of the dog.

"Morning!" Reno said brightly. "Hey, look. You got a housewarming gift!" He slid the package forward toward Marc.

Marc scowled and walked forward. He studied the package like it might be something that would bite.

"Well, open it!" Reno said. "I'm dying to see what it is. And just who left it for you."

Marc picked it up rather warily. He unwrapped it and read the card inside. "Hrumph," was his comment.

Reno was sitting in his chair staring.

"Wow. The bowls are gorgeous. They look like, well, like they're made of some sort of precious stone. Weird looking writing on them."

Marc however, was staring at the flowers that had been wrapped with the bowls.

"What?" Reno asked. "Those are the oddest flowers. The flowers are huge! And wow. Don't see that many flowers that perfect a blue. They match the bowls nearly perfectly don't they?"

Reno grabbed the note from Marc before Marc had a chance to stuff it into his pocket.

"A housewarming gift. Keep flowers wrapped in wet cotton wool and in refrigerator until just before dinner. Then float in water in the bowls." Reno read aloud. "It isn't signed. Hey! Do you have a date tonight? Is that why I'm supposed to be off away from the house? My NEW house? Huh? What's up!"

Marc was still staring at the flowers, a frown on his face, when a knock came on the open door, and Melly's voice saying, "Hey! Can I come in?"

Getting no answer she asked, "What's up?" and moved to look around Marc to peer in the box. She looked, and then looked closer her eyes narrowing.

In the box were six glowing bowls, without a doubt made of real and deeply blue sapphires, about two inches deep and the size of dessert plates. There was curvi-linear writing in the bottom of them she didn't recognize and filigree work, obviously hand done, around the sides, traced with an impossibly thin line of gleaming sliver, reflecting the blue fire of the bowls where it caught the sun. There were also six blooms, of a type she' never seen, set amid deeply green, glossy leaves, that reminded her of hibiscus, their hearts a matching sapphire that faded to palest blue before becoming a pristine, dazzling white at the edges of the petals. The scent of them rose faint and beguiling, evocative of something she couldn't quite grasp. She had never in her life seen anything as exquisite. The database in her head was in overdrive, running through its files as she stared at them. It finally stopped, spitting out an answer that made she gasp abruptly and say aloud, "It isn't possible. There's no way..."

"No kidding," Marc murmured. Then more to Melly than to himself, "What?”

“Those bowls...where did they come from?" She reached out a cautious hand. "May I?"

"Yes, of course," Marc said automatically. The note, however, he kept deep in his pocket. She lifted one from the box, pushing her glasses firmly onto her nose and began to examine it. There was a sense of age to it that made her hesitate to reject the answer her brain was screaming at her. "If I might ask....where did these come from?"

"A friend sent them as a housewarming gift," was all he said. Then after a moment, "What do you know about them?”

“Well," she said, "I don't know that I actually know anything as fact. But, it seems to me that what you have here look exactly like the bowls purportedly given to King David on the occasion of his marriage to Bathsheba by the then King of Babylon."

"Are you getting married and you didn't tell me?" Reno asked.

"Hush," Marc said to him, then turning to Melly. "Please. Tell me all you know about them.”

“OK, well...Are you familiar with the Hebraic apocryphal literature?" Marc shook his head. "Well, it's a body of non-canonical literature that has come down to us, dating from the late fifth century BC to just before the time of Christ that is similar to the Christian Gnostic and the deutero-canonical writings made popular by such things as the DeVinci Code. One manuscript is known as the Book of David. In it the author describes the wedding of King David. There is a rather unusual passage that goes into what, for such a manuscript, is a remarkable amount of detail describing the bowls sent to David by the King of Babylon. It goes on to say that they were passed on to Solomon and after his death they were taken by the 'sons of God' and placed in the 'cave of treasure at the gates of paradise' where they are guarded by the angels. They would remain there...and I may not have the wording exactly right, but I think it goes something like...until, seeking atonement, the non-born one who has been promised would emerge from the shadows of the past.”

“Non-born?" Reno repeated.

Marc had taken a chair, and had a frown on his face. "Can you do further research on them for me, please?"

"But.. Who would have sent you such a ... I mean, they must be priceless," Reno finished lamely. Melly nodded. "If that's what they are, they're more than priceless. They will change the way scholars have understood...well, let's put it this way...it would be like finding out that Christ really did marry Mary of Magdala and had children by her." She stroked one of the bowls, her face intent. "I'd be delighted to research them. After this I would have anyway.”

“Can you read the writing? Can anyone?" Reno asked.

"Not that I know of. That's what would be so...if these are the bowls then they would pre-date what scholars believe to be the earliest possible time that humanity might have begun, as we understand it, by tens of thousands of years.”

“But... " Reno said. "I... I need to go see someone. Reno, please put the flowers in a refrigerator." With that Marc turned on his heel and left.

Marc's head was pounding righteously now. With each step a stab of pain laced through his brain. But that didn't stop him from heading straight for the kitchen. He came to a stop in the doorway his eyes falling on Tabitha.

She looked up from the bread she was kneading and met his eyes from across the room. Then she nodded once and wiped her hands on a towel before heading towards him, pausing only once and then only long enough to give one of her staff some sort of direction. She met him where he waited at the door saying, "Good morning."

He grasped her arm and hurried her outside into the garden.

"All you had to do is ask," Tabitha said, not the least intimidated by his manhandling her.

He met her eyes, his own dark and furious. "You have my complete and utter attention. Now what do you want with it?" he asked, his scowl turning his face dark and forbidding.

She glanced over his shoulder and then moved towards a seat. "Join me," she said. "You'll find it easier to take the aspirin if you have a seat. And stop scowling, it's only making the headache worse."

Behind him one of her staff approached, holding out to him a cup of coffee and a bottle. With an irritated sigh he took the coffee and poured out several pills, swallowing them at once.

"Where did you get the flowers?" was what he asked Tabitha as soon as the staff person had left them to privacy.

"They grow in the garden of...a friend. He has cultivated them for as long as I've known him. They're lovely, aren't they?"

"What are you up to, Tabitha," he hissed. "What do the bowls signify?"

"Sapphires are known as the stone of destiny, did you know that? The bowls are in the nature of a trust that is being passed on to you. One day you will, or so I believe, pass them on to the ones for whom they were made." She thought for a moment, watching his eyes carefully. "They are also the repository of the hope of a people who, like you I think, seek redemption, and the symbol of its promise."

He swore under his breath. "You and your prophecies and promises." The cup he had in his hand shattered, one shard flying over to embed itself in her arm. He reached over and pulled it out and said, "Shit. I'm sorry. I just have little to no patience with your nonsense. Get that seen to," he added, nodding at her wound. He stood and strode off, the shard with her blood on it in his hand.

She healed the cut on her arm absently, as she watched him leave. Then she nodded to herself, the smile on her face one of accomplishment before returning to the bread she'd left. He most certainly did not think it was nonsense.