Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
On the day of Sin's trial, Rissa was pulled out of her care bay and dressed in the official robes of the Ingénue.
However, she wasn't taken to a data center.
Instead, her technician turned her towards the receiving room with no question or information about the problem she was to solve.
Her wrist was scanned, and without a word, Rissa was propelled into the waiting area.
Sin wasn't there. She wanted to scan the room, but if she looked too interested, her employers might become suspicious.
All she could do was search for the deep blue color used by priests—and she found it.
Over by the door, a stout man stood in the formal suit-style robes of Legion priests—not armor.
"Brother," the priest corrected, and Rissa recognized the voice as Trent's. "Ok, Princess, how am I supposed to operate you?"
"She will follow you, Brother," the technician said. "All Ingénue are encouraged to be mindful and respectful, so they follow directions well."
"Mm," Trent murmured. "Well, then follow me, Princess, because I sure won't remember your numbers."
"Yes, Legate," Rissa replied by rote.
But her heart wanted to race. She had to adjust her endocrine levels to prevent that.
Her mind wanted to spin, so she concentrated on keeping herself just behind and beside him.
A million questions hung on her tongue, making it clear how spoiled she had become from her time with Sin, and every step they took towards the doors seemed like it made the distance increase.
Outside, a long line of cars waited directly before the doors.
Without a word, Trent led her to the biggest of the bunch.
It was clearly some type of limousine, but the windows were darkened and Rissa couldn't ask.
Not with the security surveillance on the parking lot.
But when Trent opened the door, he politely asked her to find a seat, and then closed her in before her eyes could even adjust.
"Good evening, Ingénue."
Rissa's eyes jumped to the man's shoes. She'd learned just how much a person's preferred footwear said about them, and it wasn't considered rude to look at their feet.
This time, she found a very worn pair of leather loafers.
They were brown, which did not match the white cloth spread around the man's ankles.
Deep blue trim and various religious symbols made it clear she was in the presence of a very high-ranked priest.
So Rissa dared to lift her eyes a little more, landing on the man's hands—and the ornate signet ring he wore.
"Praetor," she breathed.
Her inspection had taken less than a second, and yet she had a feeling this man had noticed it all. His soft chuckle, however, made it clear he didn't mind.
"Do you know why you're here today, Ingénue?" the Praetor asked.
"No, Your Grace," she replied.
He chuckled again. "Can you guess?"
And that was when her eyes jumped up to find his waiting.
The man's smile was the kindest thing she'd ever seen.
His eyes were a shade of blue she hadn't expected.
Pale and ghostly, age had faded them to hint at the memories held in this man's mind.
She could also see wisdom, and maybe a hint of something mischievous from the tension at the corner of his mouth, but all of that made her feel more comfortable.
It was as if Praetor Benedict had been designed to make people trust him.
"Legate Sinclair," she said, answering his question, "has requested me as a witness in his formal hearing."
"Mm-hmm," he agreed. "And can you help him, child?"
"Yes, Praetor."
"Benedict," he corrected. "And you, I was told, are Rissa."
Her entire body stilled. "Not officially, Benedict."
"Ah, but we all know that official things are merely the gaps between the reality we live in. It's what we put on the papers to make ourselves look good. What I want to know, Rissa, is what you think of Brother Sin."
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, the movement hidden by her veil.
"I think Legate Sinclair Cassis is the finest in the Legion.
He is an honorable man who has an intense temper and an impeccable sense of justice.
He helps those who cannot help themselves, and actually follows through with it—even if he is brash and coarse.
" She dropped her eyes to his hands again.
"I think Brother Sin is a good priest, and he makes me able to understand the beauty of religion, even if I cannot believe in what you call God. "
"And how do you feel about him?" Benedict pressed.
Her eyes traced the cuticles on the man's nails, jumping from finger to finger.
"Brother Sin is my handler, protector, and I hope his friendship is true, because I have never had one before.
" And then, before he could ask yet another question, she dared to add, "And I'm concerned about your health, Praetor. "
"Still Benedict," he reminded her.
"Yes, Benedict," she agreed. "Your name, however, does not change the color of your nails. There is a hint of blue near the quick. That is often an early sign of heavy metal poisoning."
"Mm..." the man murmured again, nodding his head slowly.
"So you are as brilliant as he claimed." Then he reached over and patted her clasped hands.
"I suspected as much. My health has recently taken a turn, but that's in God's hands.
My bigger concern is whether or not you can prove Sin's innocence. "
Once again, her eyes jumped up to his face. "Yes, Benedict. I have made sure the visual and audio memories have all been recorded and time stamped. If you have a port and a monitor, I will be able to show you exactly what happened that night."
"That's my girl," he praised.
"But you need to seek treatment for your condition," Rissa went on. "Praetor Benedict, the Legion needs you at this time, and—"
"No," he cut in. "Rissa, in a conflict like this, someone must be sacrificed. I am that person."
"But—"
Again, he cut her off. "I am old, Ingénue.
I'm sacrificing a year of my life—maybe five—for many decades of Sin's.
You know as well as I do that if I am cured, he will be the next target.
That is why I need you to promise me you will not tell him about this.
Sinclair needs to watch over the flock. You, Rissa, need to lead him the right way.
To do that, you must first fight for him. "
"I cannot fight," she pointed out.
Benedict just tapped his head. "With your mind.
Make sure he is innocent. Make sure he is taken care of.
Make sure the greatest Legate I have ever known is willing to step up and be the true hand of God—for all those who need him—even when it's hard.
Can you do that for me?" He lifted a finger.
"It will be just as hard for you as it will for him. "
"I cannot do much from the Enclave," she said softly.
"And the enhanced are not slaves," Benedict told her. "Fight back, Rissa, even in small ways. In order to fix the problem within the Legion, we must also address the problems with our city. People make the faith just as much as our God does."
"I don't know how," she admitted.
He murmured at that. "I believe you do. You've simply never tried before."
"But that doesn't change the fact that your health is compromised, and—"
"And the purpose of life is to be lived," he reminded her. "Oddly, that answered the real question I had for you."
"Which was?"
He smiled. "Whether enhancement is good for our people or should it be eradicated as something against God's will. I was hoping you'd be able to guide me in my decision as to which side of this conflict I should be on. You have, inadvertently."
"Which is one more reason you need to seek treatment," she countered. "To have the Praetor ease the conflict will lessen the impact and save lives."
"But I'm not sure that is what will really happen," he said. "I think I took too long to admit there was a problem, and now we've reached the point of no return. Something will happen, Rissa, and I am not the right man to fix this."
"Brother Sin is," she breathed, realizing what he was implying.
Benedict dipped his head slightly, then quickly glanced out the window. "Ah, good. We're here. I believe we're also on time."
"Sir?" she asked.
He lifted a brow. "Benedict."
"OutLink expects me to follow a very specific set of protocols, Benedict," she said quickly. "To do otherwise would give them cause to retrain me."
"Then you behave as a good Ingénue should," he said, "and I will behave like a very old and tired Praetor. I think it should give the world something good to gossip about."
The words were barely out of his mouth before the door opened and Trent was there again. This time, he assisted Benedict out first, offering the old man a loving smile. Only when the Praetor was with another priest did Trent reach in to offer his hand to Rissa.
"Ingénue, please watch your head," he told her.
She stepped out as gracefully as she'd been taught and followed their procession into the massive cathedral called the Legion.
The ceilings were three floors tall. Real gold trimmed the edges, and the architecture had been designed to impress, with vaulted arches and alcoves for statues.
Rissa might not be allowed to gawk at it, but she did look, doing her best to memorize every single detail she passed.
The church Sin considered to be his home was not only magnificent, it was also intimidating.
The sounds echoed due to the acoustics of the high ceilings.
The massive amount of stone and metal created a ringing effect with every step.
And there, at the back of the main room, was the golden eye of their Lord. It was much larger than she'd expected.