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An internal matter, Inquisitor Greyfax decreed, to be settled within the Adeptus Ministorum. As she stalked away, she saw the gleam of adamantium from the Ardent Blade, drawn swift as a crashing wave from its scabbard. She heard the strike of it as flesh and bone were split through, and the sound of Deacis’ body slumping to the ground. After that, she heard nothing. The distance between her and the scene had grown too great; the sounds in the aftermath of execution too soft to discern, the drip and pool of blood, Celestine's steady breath. Exhalation. Relief. Peace?
Greyfax brushed away the fleeting notion that she might reach out, touch the Saint’s mind. No, they'd seen too much of the other already. She did not need to seek confirmation, to look into Celestine's eyes before or after the act, there was no doubt. Not here. Not now.
The masses, bent and hewn by existence, looked to the Living Saint with fervor and worship and saw a being beyond doubt, so resolute, so steadfast, a shining beacon who carried their faith on her back and their salvation on the edge of her blade. Unwavering. Often, that was what she saw too. It was as addictive as it was repulsive for Katarinya to gaze upon. There had been times when she had been unable to look away and others when she had wanted to see nothing but that mesmerizing face.
Yet, there was more to her than that still, and Katarinya had been gifted the rarest glimpses of Celestine. Abomination. Witch. Idolatress. Vessel. Blade. Prophet. Human. Woman. An antithetical sum that comprised too much of a whole. Relentless in her duty to the Imperium and her incomprehensibility.
For now, Greyfax would leave her to it, the peace she sought. The moment would undoubtedly be fleeting and Celestine had earned every brief reprieve with hundreds of her lives.
Later, when the chapel was empty, Celestine worshiped alone. In divinity lay isolation. Fragrant censer smoke gently billowed from the shrine and she knelt before it in simple Sororitas robes.
Katarinya watched and knew to speak would be to interrupt, but she'd never held prayer in high esteem.
“I thought I would find you here.” The silence was broken. Derision laced Greyfax’s words. The venom in her voice was a shield and a crutch… and a tell. You're predictable, she had meant, I could find you anywhere.
“So, you sought me out.” Celestine turned, her profile cast a striking shadow in the flicker of candles.
This was their way, Katarinya would jab, a verbal thrust with her words as weapons, and Celestine would open her arms, ready to fall on the blade with a smile, ever a martyr. She would embrace the wound to shine her light on the truth. I would, I will find you anywhere was the revelation.
Greyfax huffed air through her nostrils, said no more, and moved through the chapel. Her heeled boots beat an echoed clack against stone. Celestine stood and made one final sign of the Aquila.
Then, side by side, they sat on a wooden pew.
“Did you find your moment of peace?” Celestine radiated a warmth that had nothing to do with holiness. Katarinya could feel it and, she realised, she had been cold for so long.
Celestine turned her hand where it rested between them in invitation.
“I think it is now.”
Katarinya swallowed.
Without her gauntlet, Celestine's hand looked soft, pale and welcoming. Katarinya thought of all those who had fallen, in some way, to that hand; the scum who had been purged with righteous fury and a graceful flick of that wrist. So delicate and deadly. Katarinya's mouth went dry as her imaginings shifted to what Celestine could do to her with that wrist, those fingers, her mouth and the press of her weight.
It would be simple to accept the offer and thread their fingers together. To unravel. To hold hands. Juvenile, that brittle part of her bristled, like a corralled animal, it rattled inside of her and urged her to flee back to the shadows and hide herself from Celestine's light.
Her eyes flicked to Celestine’s and the unfettered tenderness shining back heated her cheeks. She was a broken woman, shattered into shards, so sharp none dared to put her together, but Celestine looked at her as though she was the most holy of stained glass. Beautiful, intricate and held together with nothing but an astounding iron will.
The silence stretched taut, Celestine almost retreated, then cold fingers met hers and it snapped with a rough exhalation and a heartbeat that thrummed so loud out of time.
And so they sat, palm to palm.
“What happens when you die?” The question came unbidden, breaking the silence once more. It bubbled from her mouth without approval and Katarinya flinched at its utterance then flushed at its girlishness. Still, she did not retract it. Celestine had shared little more than propaganda on the subject, even when they'd been alone.
“Do you ask me as an inquisitor or as a friend?” Celestine looked at their joined hands like they were wondrous.
“Are we friends?” Katarinya looked at them as well, like they were a curiosity to be studied.
“A question with a question, I suppose you learn that technique on your first day with the Holy Inquisition.” There was teasing in Celestine's voice.
“Hmm.” Katarinya snorted her vague amusement. “Immediately after a lesson on the necessity of mistrust, actually.”
Celestine smiled and it was a sight to behold. So real that little lines formed around her eyes.
Greyfax had once thought it warp witchery, the dizzying, clenching pound of her blood that swept through her when she looked upon the Living Saint, but she knew now that this unsteadying feeling was more intimate in nature and far more dangerous.
It was torture.
Celestine sighed and pressed her fingers to Katarinya’s knuckles, savouring the feeling of bone and the slope in between.
“Sometimes, it is nothingness that greets me, an unworld, void but for the smell of salt drenched sand. I wait, I think I have waited centuries there. I know not the Emperor's peace of martyrdom, but I do not suffer. I am poised like a speartip in the breath before the strike. Parts of me drift away, everytime there is less of me, until I am hurtled to the front lines of war.
“Other times, I must prove myself worthy of His gifts, I am cognizant but absent my memories. I climb a mountain of bones. Some carrion picked white and others slick and soft with blood and rot… They are me, cleaved in two, crushed, burned, beheaded. And they are my sisters, beautiful in their sacrifice.
“I must fight, not only the daemons that pursue me, but myself. I must earn another chance to deliver His wrath.”
Celestine paused, that small figure with silken, black hair lingered in her mind. Her, maybe, or hers. Who could say? And, if there ever even was a home by the ocean, rivers of blood and centuries of war would lay ahead and behind of her in search of it.
“Once I find myself, I know what I must do.”
Katarinya hummed an acknowledgement. Celestine liked that about Katarinya, she liked a great deal of things about her in fact, from the down turned corners of her mouth that sometimes promised her a smile, to the sharp efficiency with which she conducted herself in word and deed.
There had been many times when Celestine had marveled as Katarinya's indomitable will had cowed all those around her and how she had faced impossible odds with grim, relentless determination. Even when Katarinya's faith in her was lacking, Celestine found her pulse quickened, her strength resolved and her heart fortified merely by being in Katarinya's presence.
But in this moment, what she wanted and she craved was Katarinya’s utter inability to revere a single thing that came out of her mouth. It made her feel real. It made her feel less alone.
If not now, when? Celestine thought, if not here, where? Always and everywhere. She wanted.
Her thoughts tangled, it was so rare that she was afraid. Her heart longingly chased the bravery her mind could not hold on to until Katarinya's voice anchored her once more to this present.
“And what now? You have, unlike His enemies, managed to keep your limbs intact, this time. I presume you will be given orders anew, another mad vision leading you to Throne knows where?”
“Yes,” Celestine replied. Finally desperately sure of herself without His hand to guide her. “But for now, I have this.” She moved and her robe slipped aside, Katarinya's eyes shot to the revealed skin. Then her bare knee bumped Katarinya's, and she raised their joined hands, shifting her grip, as she brought Katarinya's knuckles to her lips.
Katarinya's breath hitched in her throat and her heart thundered. A kiss for each, slow and sure. One, two, three, four. And not once did Celestine's steady, adoring gaze falter from her face. A chaste act that made her feel stripped and naked.
Heat coiled inside her.
“You are a beautiful fool.” Katarinya’s words were ragged. They would regret this, she was sure, but she could no longer deny that she wanted it, not now she'd had a glimpse of how it feels to have Celestine's lips against her skin.
A beatific smile curved Celestine's lips, more astounding than even the last, “I—” She began but a floodgate had been unlatched and, quick as a viper, Katarinya wrapped her fingers around the side of Celestine's neck and pulled her in close forestalling her reply with her mouth. Celestine was eager in return, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan as she grasped at Katarinya's waist as best she could.
Katarinya pulled back. She was almost lost to that sound, she wanted more but it couldn't be here. “Ten minutes, then follow me to my bunk.” One more glance at Celestine's kiss plumped lips and shining eyes, then she straightened her hat and left without looking back.
“Yes Inquisitor.” Celestine called and watched her go.