Harper reached down to daub the blood away with his handkerchief. Belimai's eyes snapped open.

"No!" Belimai shouted.

Before Harper could react, Belimai punched him hard in the chest. Harper grabbed Belimai's hand and caught the other as Belimai took a swipe at his face. Instinctively Harper reached for his handcuffs. He quickly locked Belimai's hands to the headboard. It was easy to do, but Harper hated it. It felt like betrayal to restrain Belimai just as the Inquisition had trained him to do.

Belimai fought hard against the handcuffs, screaming and kicking. He twisted and jerked until his wrists bled. Then, in absolute exhaustion, he collapsed back to the bed.

Harper backed away and sat down on the floor. He stared up at the orange sun painted on the ceiling. When he had been a child, it had seemed magically real. The entire world had been as simplistic as that painting. Bright blue days and deep, sleepy nights had encircled his existence while his parents enfolded him in a constant sense of adoration. Harper wished he could still feel so perfectly happy.

He didn't know when exactly he had lost his hold on that life. Small, corrosive deceptions had steadily eaten away at his innocence. He had learned that his father was actually a stepfather and that Joan was only a stepsister. He'd often lied about that, sometimes even to himself. He had answered to two different names: Foster, at chapel, and Harper, at home. He wore gloves, as his sister and stepfather did, to disguise a Prodigal nature that he did not possess. He still wore them now. Sometimes, when he had been young, he would stare down at his gloved hands and forget that he was not one of them.

He had told lie upon lie about his family, about his beliefs and even himself. After years of it, all he could remember were the lies.

When his stepfather had asked him why he was becoming an Inquisitor, Harper hadn't dared to give him an honest answer. Harper had flushed with shame, knowing that what drove him was loneliness. He had burned with the desire to be with Prodigals. He had ached to caress their bodies, to kiss their hot mouths. But only an Inquisitor could consort with the sons of devils and not be suspected of heresy. He had wanted to find a Prodigal lover but not be hanged for it. He hadn't even known how to say those things. His longing had been shadowed beneath his fear and shame.

At last he had blurted out a string of lies, claiming a desire to avenge his real father. He had ranted over his family heritage, eight generations of service to the Cross. He had sneered at his stepfather and railed against the Prodigals in Hells Below. His words had tumbled out in a red-faced rush of confused passion. At some point he had crossed the line of forgiveness. Harper could still remember the pain in his stepfather's face.

Harper looked down at his bare hands. Clean, white priest's hands. They didn't seem like they should be his at all.

"Master William?" A soft female voice intruded into Harper's thoughts. Mrs. Kately smiled at him from the doorway. She was a plain woman, but her warm smiles lent her beauty.

"Giles said you brought a friend." She stepped into the room. "I was wondering which rooms you wanted aired—" She stopped the moment she caught sight of Belimai.

"He's very sick," Harper said. "Delirious."

Mrs. Kately closed the door behind her and then walked closer to where Belimai lay unconscious and shackled to the headboard. She frowned, but in that slight, controlled manner that was common among household servants.

"Should I send for a physician?" Mrs. Kately asked at last.

"No. He should recover on his own if we just let him rest and keep him fed."

"I see." Mrs. Kately continued to gaze at Belimai. Her placid, professional expression smoothed over any private feelings she might have had. Harper watched her, knowing that Belimai's freedom depended on her complicity.

He was always surprised at how much younger she was than he expected her to be. She had been pregnant and twice Harper's age when she first came to work at the estate house. At the time, she had struck Harper as a very old woman. She had been an adult and he, a child. The divide between the two had seemed infinite. Now the difference of ten years seemed like nothing.

Mrs. Kately looked at the ruined heap of clothes Harper had tossed aside.

"He's going to need something to wear," Mrs. Kately said.

"Yes," Harper agreed.

"He resembles the previous Mr. Harper, doesn't he?" she said suddenly.

"Yes." Harper knew there was no way of hiding Belimai's Prodigal blood from her, not at this point. Many people who had lived all their lives in the country had no idea of what a Prodigal looked like, but Mrs. Kately had lived in the capital when she was a girl. She had only moved out to the countryside once she discovered that she was with child and without husband.

Harper's stepfather had hired her and insisted that she be ad-dressed as "Mrs.," just as any decent woman would have been. In return Mrs. Kately had kept silent about Harper's stepfather and Joan. Harper hoped that she would be willing to keep Belimai's secret as well.

Mrs. Kately nodded slowly to herself and then looked back at Harper.

"He should probably stay here in the nursery until he's better. The other rooms can be drafty. I'll have the cook make soup for him. Hopefully he'll be able to keep that down." Again that minute, a frown twitched at the corners of her mouth. "We're going to have to look after him ourselves until he can be counted on not to give himself away."

"I'll take care of him," Harper told her.

"You'll need to sleep sometime." Mrs. Kately said it simply, not as if she were arguing with him, but rather commenting on the matter to herself. "I'll see if I can find some clothes for him, and you're going to need something to sit on other than the floor." She looked pointedly at where Harper sat on the floor.

Harper stood, suddenly realizing how foolish he must have looked. He hadn't hunched despondently on the floor since he had been a child. Standing, he was much taller than Mrs. Kately. She had to crane her head back a little to meet his gaze.

"I'll bring something up to eat as soon as the cook has it ready." Mrs. Kately started for the door.

"Thank you, for everything," Harper said.

Mrs. Kately looked back and suddenly gave him a full smile.

"It's good to have you back home, Master William," she said.

"It's good to be back," Harper replied, and for the first time in years, he realized that he wasn't lying.

Belimai slept often, and he dreamed of horrible things. Harper watched as, time after time, Belimai jerked awake, choking on a scream. On the fifth day Belimai's cries burst into a demonic roar. His voice tore through the air, exploding outward like thunder. Two windows shattered, and Harper dropped to the floor to avoid the rending force.

When Harper stood again, Belimai lay on his side, his arms still stretched out and cuffed to the headboard. He opened his eyes and slowly tried to pull his arms down to his sides. He frowned at the handcuffs and then glanced at Harper.

"What did you do to my hands?" Belimai asked as he again tried to bring his arms down.

"Handcuffs," Harper said.

"I had no idea you were in the mood for romance." Belimai's voice was weak but far calmer than it had been in days.

Belimai looked around the room as if he had just arrived there. He frowned at the clusters of white clouds, which burst out like rashes across the blue walls. The big gold sun painted over the ceiling received the same disturbed scowl.