Jeremiah won a pardon from his regular duties, so he could attend to Gabriel during his recovery. His strength often failed him, and he ate little even when pressed. Jeremiah fretted over him like an anxious mother.

"I'm just tired, Brother, truly," Gabriel protested.

Jeremiah was intent on feeding him a hearty bowl of porridge.

"You're wasting away, Gabriel."

"I cannot eat if I'm not hungry, and I am not hungry. I swear I will eat something, but later."

Defeated, Jeremiah returned the bowl to the tray. "I'm worried about you."

"I would not have known that at all," Gabriel quipped. Jeremiah threw him a frown and he smiled. "You have duties to attend, Brother. Why are you playing nursemaid?"

"If I paid attention that night, you wouldn't have gone back alone." Jeremiah's shame was plain and Gabriel shook his head at him.

"You couldn't have stopped me, and our Brothers needed someone steadfast to lead them home. Thomas was busy being obstinate. You can't feel responsible for what I chose to do. You did come back for me. You owe me nothing."

Jeremiah held his eyes for a moment. It was two weeks since that horrible morning. He thought his heart would burst when he saw Gabriel falling off that horse. "I didn't find you alone, you know," he said.

Gabriel looked up from the book he was flipping through. "Oh?"

"Father Myka allowed me to ride out, to search for you."

"You went to him?"

"He came to me in the stables, and when Father Daniel was questioning me."

Gabriel closed the book and rose from the bed. "We should thank him."

"I haven't seen him since."

"We know where to find him." Gabriel left the room without his cloak.

Jeremiah pulled it from its peg and caught up to him. He laid it across Gabriel's shoulders with a frown. "You keep forgetting it."

"I see no reason to wear it, Brother. I'm not in the Hunt right now."

"But you are a Hunter," Jeremiah pointed out. "You are the best of us."

Gabriel shook his head and adjusted the cloak. "All for the sake of appearance?"

"Appearance is important, Brother. There are those that believe you may no longer be Pure."

A smile curved Gabriel's lips. "Yet, I've heard nothing of a Questioning."

Jeremiah shrugged. "Rumors need no proof. Only one to speak them to one who will speak them again."

"Thomas," Gabriel sighed.

Jeremiah frowned. "You'd think since you spared him the worst of fates, he would speak well of you. Yet all he can spout is anger for your 'impertinence'."

"I was insubordinate," Gabriel said softly. They turned down a rarely used corridor, drawing near the door to Myka's tower.

"You are never wrong about the Darklings, Brother," Jeremiah defended him.

"There are other ways to approach such a matter," Gabriel demurred. "I expect to be disciplined eventually. The fathers cannot allow my actions to go unpunished."

Jeremiah gaped at him as he studied the heavy door. The locks on it were huge, bigger than any he'd ever seen, but they were all open. That was unusual. Father Michah's tower was not open to visitors and the reclusive Father guarded his privacy vigorously.

"How can you accept his ingratitude?" Jeremiah wanted to know as Gabriel pulled the door wide.

"I didn't go back for gratitude," he answered, glancing up the long staircase. "I went back because even the most stubborn ass can make a right turn occasionally."

Jeremiah burst into laughter. Gabriel shrugged and started the climb. As they made each level, lamps along the way flickered alight. They shared a glance but said nothing. Despite its air of disuse, the staircase was clean. There were even signs of a recent sweeping. When they drew near the top, Jeremiah was surprised to hear music wafting down to them. Gabriel never paused. He went to the door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open.

"Welcome boys," Myka called out to them. "I've just put the kettle on. Come, sit."

Bemused, Jeremiah followed his Brother into a cozy sitting room. The stone floor was muffled under thick carpeting of richly colored rugs and the walls were hung with a wealth of tapestries. Lamps burned clean, light-smelling oil and the music was coming from a large box resting against a far wall.

They found Myka standing beside a winged armchair. There were two more pulled up around an ornate ebony table, inlaid with silver and mother of pearl. He smiled and bustled about as they approached, arranging a silver tea service on a wheeled cart nearby.

Myka was a stout man, with smooth copper-toned skin, long, springy-curled dark brown hair, and almond-shaped eyes dark as warm chocolate.

"It seems you were expecting someone," Gabriel remarked.

"Just the two of you," Myka answered. "I wouldn't go to such trouble for just anyone. Please, sit. That's a vicious climb, even for the young."

"But you make the climb," Gabriel said, settling in one of the chairs with his back to the wide balcony.

"When it suits me," Myka admitted wryly.

"We wanted to thank you, Father," Jeremiah said.

"No need." He dismissed it, turning away. Myka disappeared behind a beaded curtain and returned with a silver tea kettle, steaming and whistling. "Any fool could see you needed to do what whatever was necessary to bring your Brother home."

"But how did you know?" Jeremiah asked.

Myka took his chair and sighed, folding his hands in his lap. "There are ways of knowing that have nothing to do with being told, or hearing."

"Like Gabriel knows the Darklings are near?"

Gabriel frowned, giving a quick shake of his head.

"No fear, my boy," Myka assured him. "This is one of the things I know without hearing or being told. You possess an uncanny ability to see Them. It's in your blood."

Jeremiah sat agape while Gabriel shrugged his cloak off his shoulders. "Why?"

"Some of us know far more about Them than others pretend to," Myka replied very quietly, then reached for the tea kettle. "Do you take sugar or honey?"

"Honey," Gabriel watched the older man.

He busied himself preparing tea for all of them, then retrieved a covered dish from the cart. He lifted the lid to reveal a small cake, dusted with cinnamon.

"How do you come by such fine things?" Jeremiah asked suddenly.

Myka sat back then, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. Gabriel felt a great sadness descend upon him and blinked sudden tears away.

"Gifts," Myka whispered. "From another time. Another life."

"You must have served the Order for many years to have gained so much," Jeremiah remarked.

Myka's dark gaze narrowed. Gabriel felt a wave of irritation that Jeremiah could presume such things. He didn't know Father Myka well, but he didn't strike him as the sort to spout pious diatribes like Daniel.

"I don't believe Father Myka is one to serve, at least, not as you would think, Brother," Gabriel murmured. He stirred his tea with a delicately wrought silver spoon. "These things are far older than the Order. Nothing of this style is even crafted any longer."

Myka smiled at that, regaining his light mood. "No, they don't make things as they once did, do they? Even swords and such are done differently."

"How else would one Serve if not the way we do?" Jeremiah persisted.

"This is not something to pursue, Jeremiah," Gabriel warned quietly. "You are prying into Father Myka's private affairs."

Wide-eyed, Jeremiah hurried to sip his tea.

"How are you feeling after your ordeal, Gabriel?"

"Better than Jeremiah believes," he answered. "He wants to feed me every time I turn a corner."

"Only because he wants to see you well."

"I am well. I just don't feel up to the Hunt."

"No small wonder. Your last time out was hardly uneventful."

Gabriel frowned. "I don't understand how I did it," he said. "I only remember firing one arrow and then pain."

"How many were there?"

"Three at the crypt. I know I shot one of them. The other two," Gabriel shook his head, "I cannot say."

"You can feel them," Myka pointed out. "That chill down your spine tells you they're near. The colder the chill, the stronger the one you face."

Gabriel slowly lowered his cup to his lap. He never told anyone what he felt when the Darklings were near.

"When the chill becomes painful," Myka continued, "you've come upon a Master. One so old and so strong he commands others younger and weaker."

"There was a fourth," Gabriel whispered.

"A fourth who is a Master. And," Myka sighed, leaning forward to refill his cup, "did not fall upon you as some would have you believe Them all capable of."

Jeremiah's cup thumped to the table. "Father, what are you saying?"

"That not all of Them choose to become Walkers of the Night, nor are all of them dark, craven creatures, boy. If that drivel is true, then all White Hunters are as selfless as Gabriel, or as earnest as you, and we all know that is not the case."

"He said that," Gabriel recalled the Darkling's claim. "He said he didn't choose it."

"This is the same one you met before?"

"It had to be," Gabriel left his cup on the table and rose. "He wanted to talk to me, but when I struck at him, he fled. He never moved to attack."

"You felt no pain the first time," Myka surmised.

"Just the chill," Gabriel murmured. "He's grown stronger."

"How could it do that in so short a time?" Jeremiah asked.

"He may have a mentor," Myka answered. "An Elder who thinks enough of him to share his power."

"How?" Jeremiah was bewildered.

"Blood," Myka said, just as Gabriel murmured the same. Jeremiah blinked and Myka smiled.

 "Their life is sustained by blood," Gabriel went on. "When one has seen so many decades, that blood grows in power. Giving it freely to another of their kind grants a portion of that power."

"And knowledge," Myka added.

"How can you know this, Gabriel?"

He returned to his seat frowning. "I just know," he sighed. "He was stronger, and he didn't touch me or Thomas, even though were both senseless, completely helpless. Why?"

"He had no need. He is not a monster, simply a creature not unlike us making his way with the hand fate dealt him."

Gabriel sat staring at Myka in silence. Jeremiah sipped his tea as the two locked eyes.

"You've heard that before." Myka was not asking.

"Who are you?" Gabriel demanded.

Myka's smile turned sad, his dark eyes swimming with tears of an unspeakable loss. "Someone who recalls a less trying time."

Jeremiah placed his cup on the table and rose. "We appreciate your hospitality, Father," he said, "but we should be along. Eve Bells will sound soon, and we must attend Mass."

"I'll join you later, Jeremiah," Gabriel said, never turning his gaze away from Myka.

Jeremiah paused, shocked. Gabriel never missed Mass. He crawled from bed too weak to stand on his own to attend.

"Your Brother is concerned for you," Myka said quietly.

"He's always concerned for me."

"Never take such a thing for granted. It is to be cherished."

Gabriel lowered his gaze slowly. He smiled up at Jeremiah and stood. Jeremiah reached for his cloak and together they moved to the door.

"Come again soon," Myka called. "I'll save the cake."

***

Gabriel paced his room after chasing Jeremiah off. He sat on a trunk dozing until Gabriel shook him awake and shooed him out the door.

He was certain that Myka knew far more than he was willing to say in front of Jeremiah. Deciding before he could question it, he left his room and stole along the silent corridors until he reached the tower. He found the door open, this time. The oddity didn't surprise him. He simply slipped within and closed it softly behind him.

The climb took him far less time alone. He found Myka's door open as well. When he entered, Myka stood silhouetted against the night sky. The double doors of his balcony were thrown wide, and the night air gently drifted throughout, bringing him the scent of the gardens far below.

"Where were we?" Myka asked quietly.

"Who are you?' Gabriel asked again.

"I'm like you," Myka answered.

"I presume you have much to tell me."

"Most of which you are not ready to know. What I can tell you, I shall."

Gabriel was satisfied with that. He moved forward and Myka met him halfway. When they stood face to face, Myka held out a thick volume. The binding appeared to be made of dark stone.

"What is this?"

"A history of sorts," Myka replied. "To know who you are, who I am, you must know who They are."

Gabriel touched the book and frowned. Sensation sizzled along his arm from the contact, but he did not pull away. "This is a history of the Darklings?"

"One of many volumes. It was begun at a time forgotten and is not yet complete." He laid the book open in his arms, showing Gabriel the heavy silver along the edge of each page.

"There's nothing written here!" Gabriel cried.

"Not that can be read by this light, no."

"Then how does one read it?"

"The book must be exposed to sunlight."

Gabriel slowly took the volume from him, the sizzle growing as he made fuller contact. "I cannot take this to my room, can I?"

"Not safely, no. We would both be branded as heretics."

"Why would you be accused?"

Myka gave a rueful smile. "I am the only one who holds such things. So long as I hold them in secret, I'm merely an annoyance to be tolerated."

Gabriel moved to sit in the chair he left hours ago, the book lying on his lap. He ran his fingers down the thick silver plating the edges. "No Darkling could have written this."

"You presume facts not in evidence, my boy."

Gabriel looked up at him with a quick frown. "No Darkling can withstand silver this pure."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course!" Gabriel exclaimed.

"Why?" Myka challenged.

He opened his mouth to answer and stopped.

How is it you know them to be teaching you the truth, as it is...

"There is not one truth, but many," Myka said softly. "Each of us must seek our own Truth."

Gabriel shook his head. "How do you know what he said to me?"

"I only know what I believe."

Gabriel tore himself away from those dark eyes, shimmering with golden sparks. He was drowning in them. He blinked hard, closing the book with a snap. "This feels like I'm betraying everything I believe."

"Everything you've been taught is slanted, Gabriel, to the fallacy of One Truth. There are too many different walks of life for one truth to be true for all. Logic proclaims it so."

Gabriel stood, leaving the book on the tea cart. "And you know something of these many truths."

Myka nodded, watching him. His dark eyes held hope and a yearning so strong that Gabriel had to look away again.

"How are we so similar in our abilities to see and know Them?"

"It's in our blood. It's in the blood of many of your Brothers, Jeremiah among them."

"Why can't he see Them as I do?"

"When you speak of Them, what do say?"

"I don't understand."

"You do not call the one who approached you 'it'. Jeremiah does. He wholeheartedly believes in the One Truth. He believes They are indeed creatures wrought of purest evil and must be destroyed."

"I believe that as well, Father," Gabriel reminded him.

"You do not believe Them mere things without thought or feeling. That is the difference. You bear Them no ill will. Even when you slay Them, you do so without malice."

Gabriel took a step back, then another. "Are you one of Them?"

Myka laughed suddenly, shaking his head. "No, I'm not. I have known Them, in a way that I hope I can help you know Them."

"Why do I need to know Them?"

"Your blood calls to me, Gabriel," Myka said softly. "We are Brothers in a way few of your White Brothers will understand."

"You knew Them," Gabriel said, also speaking softly. "How?"

Myka closed his eyes. "That, I cannot answer. I will say this: I was never abused. I was never in danger. I was never a slave, nor was I ever forced, by Them, to do anything against my express desire."

"They do not keep us as slaves?"

"Not then, no. And, I believe, not now. I believe many live as I once did, and I envy them."

Gabriel drew near enough to feel Myka's breath on his face. He stared into dark eyes for a long time. "You will never lie to me, will you?" he realized, his voice touched with wonder.

"Never. We are kin."

Gabriel closed his eyes as Myka pressed a light kiss to his forehead. Warmth spread through him, and peace settled over him. He smiled as Myka took his shoulders and pressed a cheek to his.

"I've never had kin," Gabriel breathed.

"Not that you knew."

Tears stung his eyes then, and Gabriel dropped his head to Myka's shoulder. A quiet sob escaped him as Myka closed the embrace and held him.

After a time, Myka pulled back enough to look into his eyes. "You should rest now. We will speak again soon."

Having no words, Gabriel nodded and left the tower. He didn't remember going back to his room or getting undressed. He simply woke a short time before dawn. He lay in his bed, not moving. When Morning Bells tolled, he rose and washed, dressing in the white leggings and blouse he put aside these last two weeks. He picked up his cloak and threw it over his shoulders as he left the room.