us and those we love. But know that I am with you always.

Have faith, as I do, that someday we will be together at

last, and we will never again be parted.

Sagan stared at the slip of paper, its message punctured here and there with tiny holes left by the thorns. He was baffled, amazed, incredulous, doubting. He was about to read through it again, though its words were etched indelibly on his mind and always would be, beyond even death's power to wipe them out.

A voice-real, flesh and blood-startled him.

"I . . . Forgive me, Brother. But I think . . . that note you're holding . . . it's mine."

The voice was timid, hesitant. Desperation had driven it to speak. Sagan lifted his head. A young man, probably a student, stood near. He was tall and thin, overly thin, and his gaze was fixed with feverish intensity on the white rose in Sagan's hand.

Wordlessly, Sagan held the rose and the note out to the young man. He leapt for them, snatched them up in shaking hands. Holding the note eagerly to the light of the flame, he read it and, with a shuddering sob, pressed note and rose to his breast and burst into tears.

Sagan stood impassively, watched mutely, his hands once again folded inside his sleeves.

Glancing up to find this silent presence observing him, the young man flushed in shame. Hastily he wiped his eyes, seemed to think his emotional outburst called for some explanation.

"I was rude to you, Father," he said, with a gulp. "I didn't mean to be. I'm not myself. I don't usually fall apart like this. But . . . I've been waiting so long. I haven't been able to eat or sleep ..."

He was forced to stop, to clear his throat. Sagan remained standing before the young man, willing him to continue.

"We were betrothed." The young man held the rose tenderly as if it were the embodiment of his beloved. "But our planets have declared war on each other. We hope the king can stop it, but . . . who knows? It's all so complicated. Her father demanded that she return home. He's some sort of high-up official, and she agreed to go, thinking she could do more good if she was with him. But that was weeks ago. I haven't heard from her, not a word. She was to send me a message; her roommate was to leave it here for me. Night after night . . . and nothing. I thought ... I began to be afraid that she didn't ... But now .

He clasped the precious note and the rose tightly, oblivious to the thorns that must be piercing his flesh.

"Now I know she still loves me. And she's right. I must have faith. We'll work things out. And we'll be together again."

He wiped his eyes and, now that he was calmer, it appeared to occur to him that this was a strange time and a strange place in which to find a priest. He eyed the priest with newly awakened, somewhat suspicious curiosity.

Sagan-conscious of the proximity of his portrait-retreated into the shadows, drew his hood over his head.

"I'm sorry to rant on like this, Father," the young man said. "I didn't mean to disturb you, but I didn't think anyone would be here this time of night. There generally isn't... ."

He left the sentence hanging, an open invitation for Sagan to offer his own explanation. Sagan said nothing, stood silent in the shadows.

"Well, I guess ... that is . . . Good night, then, Father," said the young man, uncomfortable in that stern, forbidding presence. "I'm ... sorry if I ... if I was rude. It was just . . . well, you know how it is."

Then, realizing that perhaps a priest who has taken vows of celibacy wouldn't know (or at least shouldn't know), the young man flushed again. He started to say something else, gave it up as a bad try, and hurriedly departed, still clutching his note and the rose.

Sagan remained standing in the darkness, his thoughts abstracted, wondering. Finally, unable to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, he glanced back at her portrait.

If he had hoped for some clue, some answer, he was disappointed. The gray eyes that saw nothing saw everything . . . except him.

Lips pressed together in a hard, grim line, Sagan turned away and walked rapidly toward the door, stalking past the fountain, whose babbling he was beginning to find irritating. Hand on the door; he paused.

A single white rose petal lay on the floor.

Bending down. Sagan picked it up. He held it, smoothed it between his fingers. "So...you are forbidden to communicate with me. If that is true, it means that God has abandoned me, that I am damned, and there is no hope.

"And therefore," he added grimly, "nothing that I do from now on matters."

Book Two.

'Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world- No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, . . .

And but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the forehead and vantage of a king.

William Shakespeare, Henry V, Act IV, Scene i.

Chapter One.

In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me.

Art all things under Heaven . . .

John Milton, Paradise Lost.

The radiant being thundered through heavens hallways, bright light robed with vast darkness, mercy in one hand, law in the other.

Defiant, resolute, certain of the justness of her cause, Maigrey stood alone to face the Immortal Wrath.

"Because the dead are permitted to know the mind of God, because you are given knowledge of past, present, and future, you, who were known in life as Lady Maigrey Morianna, made a covenant with Our Lord that you would not reveal yourself to those still living who might profit from your knowledge, to their own detriment and that of the universe."

"Yes, yes," Maigrey snapped. "I know what I did and why I did it. Which is something that perhaps you don't. I may have been given to know the mind of God-though now I doubt it," she added pointedly. "But I doubt if He knows mine!"

"Doubt," said the radiant being, voice soft and frightening in its intensity. "Yes, you doubt. It is your doubt that blocks your knowledge. Doubt casts a shadow over you, a shadow our light cannot penetrate. Doubt and pride will be your downfall in eternity, as they were in your life. You think, in your pride, that you know better than the Creator how to handle the complexities of the universe?"

Maigrey wavered, her righteous anger faltering a little under the personage's argument.

"No, I don't think that," she admitted, chastened. "It's just .. . well, I don't believe you're being fair. And I didn't break lie covenant, not really. Sagan thought that I'd abandoned him-"

"As you did in life?"

Though she had no flesh, no blood, Maigrey felt the blood burn in her face. She put her hand to the scar that existed only in her mind.

"I couldn't let him believe that of me again," she said in a low voice. "But I kept my word. I didn't appear to him. As for him finding that message, you know it was not written by me. I can't help it if he thought otherwise.. .."

"A technicality," said the radiant being dryly. "You are clever, Lady Maigrey-I use your name because you are closer to what you were than what you should be. But your cleverness has this time proved your undoing. As you surmised, he knew the message came from you. But he did not take hope or comfort from it. He has misconstrued it, has now lost all hope because of it. Now he is reckless and fey. And you have yourself to blame. It was to avert just this possibility that you were asked to make the covenant."

"I do admit I made a mistake," Maigrey said earnestly. "But if you will only grant me leave to go to him, I can fix it-"

"No. You have done enough," said the personage in severe tones. "Too much. It cannot be permitted."

"You permitted my brother to come to me!" Maigrey flared. "You sent Platus to stop me when I was going to kill myself."

"We sent him? Are you certain of that? Have you never wondered why your brother walks these hallways instead of seeking the peace that we offer him?"

Maigrey stared, astonished. Her brother-rebelling against a Divine Edict. She couldn't believe it, and yet, she could. By saving her, Platus had, in reality, saved Dion. And Dion meant more to Platus than his own soul.

"What is it you want me to do?" she asked, quieter, thought-fill.

"You will not return to the physical dimension. You will remain here, in our sight and mind. You will not interfere in the lives of any of those you left behind. One exception only is made and that because of a responsibility you accepted in life."

"My goddaughter, Kamil. There is little I can do for her now. But the others, Dion, Sagan .. . how can you ask me to abandon them? Especially now. ..

"You will see them-through the mind of God. Submit yourself to His will, Lady Maigrey. Be ruled by His wisdom, not your own misleading passions."

Maigrey shook her head slowly.

The radiant personage was stern. "Would you tamper with their freedom of choice? With their free will?"

"Why not? You're doing it," she retorted.

"You defy us, then." The radiant being did not make the statement in anger, but in sorrow.

"I will do what I think is best," Maigrey said, hedging, somewhat daunted by the power of the forces aligned against her. "That is my free choice."

"This is true. We may not stop you. But know this, Lady Maigrey. If once you leave our presence, the Mind of God will be closed to you. You will see only as a mortal. And if you cross over to the physical dimension, if you attempt to physically alter or change that which was meant to be, you will be damned. You will not be permitted to return to this blessed realm, except by a path that is long and difficult and filled with pain. Many are those who have perished on it, to live in dreadful torment and agony, bereft of all hope of comfort, peace, redemption. That is the fate you face. And you face it alone."

The path opened up at her feet. Maigrey looked down it, and her soul shrank back from the sight. But, as she had been trained, she did not show her fear. Her Hps pressed together firmly; her grip on the hilt of the bloodsword tightened.

"It is your choice," admonished the radiant being. "But beware that if you tamper with what you do not understand, you may do irreparable damage. And if you do, you will be punished."

She thought long moments. Then "So be it," she said, and left.

Chapter Two.

I think the King is but a man ...

William Shakespeare, Henry V, Act IV, Scene i "Send for John Dixter," ordered Dion.

"Yes, sir." D'argent started to leave the king's office, paused. "Are you certain, sir? You've only just returned to the palace. Your Majesty should rest-"

"Find him!" Dion said through clenched teeth.

D'argent bowed silently and left.

Dion bowed his head. Elbows on his desk, he massaged his forehead, rubbed burning eyes, throbbing temples. Ordinarily he had no problems with space travel, but he had been ill this trip. He hadn't been able to eat; what food he swallowed made him sick. He couldn't sleep, but lay awake hours, staring into the darkness. Stress, nerves, said his doctor, and had prescribed rest, a vacation. Easy to say, but how did one take a vacation from oneself? Where could he go that despair and heartache would not follow in his baggage train?

The king had left the Academy almost immediately after receiving Dixter's message. Dion had taken time only to explain matters to Kamil.

At first he'd considered not telling her. The news hadn't leaked out; there was a possibility he could contain the explosion, minimize the damage, prevent anyone from finding out. He knew Kamil. He was almost certain that she would blame herself.

But he decided to tell her the truth. One reason-he couldn't lie to her. He couldn't keep anything from her. If he was wounded, his shieldmaid had to know, in order to know how to protect both of them. And, too, he feared that he might not be able to keep this news from the press, that she would find out from the evening news, hear it gossiped among her friends. She would not only blame herself, then, but she would assume that Dion blamed her. . . .

No, far better to tell her everything. He remembered every word of their last meeting. Repeated it to himself now, as he had repeated it over and over again in the long and empty hours of the night.

Once again, he held her in his arms.

"Astarte has left me. I have to return to the palace."

"Oh, Dion, this is my fault!" Kamil responded, as he had known she would.

"Don't jump to conclusions, dearest," he told her. "Don't make this more difficult."

She said softly, "You must go, of course. I understand. And ... and if you can't come back . .. I'll understand that, too. You won't need to say anything...."

"Oh, God!" With a smothered groan, he gripped her tightly, clasped her to him, his love for her a fire that warmed him and seared him. I won't give you up! was what he longed to say, but his broken words were only, "How can I give you up?"

She made no reply. They clung to each other. This was the end.

Or maybe not.