The Game of Arts and Powers
The prior of Bec…waved away her honest respect. “I’m a man like any other, lady.”
She arched a brow. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said.
“There is the matter of…” She flicked her hand. The lamps went out. In the sudden dimness she bade a light grow, shimmering over her fingers, unfolding from them like a strange flower.
He quelled her working with a gesture. That same gesture, completed, restored the lamps to their former condition. “This too is God’s gift,” he said.
“Surely,” she said, “but it’s given to few, and to precious few in such measure as yours.”
“Or yours, lady. You will be stronger than I.”
“But not yet.”
“You are young,” he said, “and while not foolish, perhaps not granted such judgment as will be yours with greater age and maturity.”
She had had enough of dancing around the point. “Yes, I made a mistake. Yes, I know what mistake I made. And what part do you play, Father Prior, in this game of arts and powers?”
“A small one,” he said, “by the grace of God.”
That was disingenuous. She swept it aside. “So. You’re a Guardian of Gaul. Have you come to impose sentence upon me for dereliction of duty?”
“If anyone is to do that, lady” he said, “it should be your father. No; I came to offer such aid as I could….”