TERROR

Matthew drove Rebecca and Diana's body to Sept-Tours, where he pulled up directly in front of the entrance. Margaret, Mary, Elizabeth, and Agnes followed closely behind in Margaret's car. They were met at the door by Marthe, who, with Rebecca and the witches, carried Diana's body to the library where a willow casket filled with wildflowers awaited her.

Matthew had said his goodbye to Diana's body, but her absence was so palpable it was choking him. Unable to face the throngs of visitors, Matthew went straight to the chapel and fell to his knees on the ground in front of the altar. Twined through his clasped fingers was the rosary that was gifted to him by Pope Innocent VI in 1360. His head was bowed so that his forehead rested on his joined hands and he was feverishly praying, the words pouring rapidly out of his mouth in a frantic whisper.

Pie Jesu, Domine, dona ei requiem. Pie Jesu, Domine, dona ei requiem, sempiternam.

He prayed for her peace. He prayed for her safety.

Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine et lux perpetua luceat ei.

He bent over and prostrated himself on the altar, begging for forgiveness, begging for strength, begging to be heard if only for Diana's sake.

Tali animatus confidentia ad te, Virgo Maria, confugio, ad te curro, ad te venio, coram te gemens et tremens assisto. Noli, Virgo Immaculata, a me peccatore faciem tuam abscondere, sed ad me clementer respice…

Her loss became more unbearable with each passing moment. How could he possibly go on like this? He grew frantic, and began to pound on the floor of the altar. Something inside of him was screaming that he was a sinner and that his prayers for Diana's eternal rest were being spurned by Heaven. He grew terrified that Diana would pay for his sins in the afterlife.

Indignus sum gratia et cunctis miserationibus tuis minor, peccatis meis obstantibus…

He heard the door open behind him, the sound echoing throughout the empty church. He smelled Fernando's scent of saffron and blood orange, but even if he hadn't, he'd have known who it was. No one else, not even Ysabeau, would dare enter the church when Matthew was in prayer.

Preces meae non sunt dignae, sed tu, bonus, fac benigne...

At the sight of Matthew in his frenzy, Fernando bolted up the aisle and was by his side in a fraction of a second. Fernando put his arms around him to restrain him, but Matthew spun around and, with jet-black eyes and a feral growl, grabbed him by the neck and threw him into the pews, which splintered and collapsed under the force of Fernando's weight.

"Get. Out," Matthew snarled and crouched down, ready to strike if Fernando made any move toward him.

With Matthew in this blood-raged delirium, Fernando was risking his life just by being in the same room as him. Fernando scrambled to his hands and knees and held his hand out to Matthew in a defensive but conciliatory gesture. "Mateus…" he began.

Matthew, coiled to spring, kept himself angled between Fernando and the altar, his arms spread out protectively as though he were shielding something behind him. There was nothing there. "She's mine!" he roared, his voice reverberating throughout the church.

"Of course she is," Fernando replied cautiously, and slowly moved to stand, but Matthew lunged at him the instant he detected a trace of movement. Luckily for Fernando, Matthew had lost all control, which gave him a significant disadvantage as the clear-headed Fernando could easily anticipate his actions. Matthew flew at him face first, and Fernando caught him by the neck and twisted him down so that he was on his back with Fernando over him, ensnaring Matthew's hands in his and trapping him under his weight. Matthew flailed in vain, kicking his legs wildly, wriggling his torso, trying desperately to free his hands.

"Preces meae non sunt dignae, preces meae non sunt dignae, preces meae non sunt dignae," Matthew rasped in agony. My prayers are not worthy. The reason for Matthew's irrational defense of an empty altar dawned on Fernando. He feared for her soul. Until Matthew was convinced that Diana's soul was safely in the hands of God, it was still his to protect here on Earth. This was far worse than Fernando had feared. If Matthew had to assuage his own guilt before he could let Diana go, the path ahead was very long indeed; guilt and self-loathing were woven into his very being and always had been. And until he let Diana go, Matthew couldn't even begin to manage his own pain, not in any meaningful sense.

"Matthew!" Fernando yelled. "Matthew, look at me, look at me!" When Matthew's glassy black eyes found his, he continued, "Diana is not in any danger from me and neither are you. Do you understand? Diana is not in danger from me, and neither are you." A rim of jade circled Matthew's pupil and his efforts to free himself calmed little by little. "Well done, stay with me," Fernando coaxed. Recognition slowly overtook Matthew's face, swiftly followed by a look of defeat and then disgust, a familiar sign to Fernando that Matthew was emerging from the acute attack of blood rage. Fernando looked at him guardedly and slowly lessened his grip on Matthew's hands and then, when he was satisfied that Matthew was no longer an immediate danger, climbed off of his body.

When Fernando let him go, Matthew rolled over to his side limply and sobbed, "Christ, Fernando, I'm going mad. Aidez-moi, Seigneur!"

Fernando placed a hand on top of Matthew's. "It feels like that now. It won't forever."

"Forever," Matthew whispered. He didn't know how to get through the next minute without Diana, the very concept of forever was hell to him. He began to shake violently, and clumsily gripped both of Fernando's hands and pulled himself up so that he could place his forehead against Fernando's. "I'm ill!" he cried in fear.

"You're not. This was bound to happen, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. We will help you. You are not alone."

"I am alone!" Matthew rasped, still shaking violently, bloody trails of tears running down his cheeks.

"You're not," Fernando insisted. "Look at me, you are not alone."

"Without her, I am alone!"

"You have your children, you have the twins, you will get through this together."

Matthew let go of Fernando's hands and dropped back onto his side on the ground, hugging and rocking himself. "None of that matters, I need Diana!"

"The twins are Diana, Mateus!" Matthew, though still trembling, was stilled by the intensity with which Fernando uttered those words. "The twins are Diana, and Diana is the twins. Her blood flows through their veins, they are formed from her body and her soul, they were nurtured and loved by Diana, and they carry her within them. As do you!" Fernando pulled Matthew up by the shoulders and forced him to meet his eyes. "As do you," he affirmed fervently. "She will always be with you—in your children, in your body, in your blood, in your heart."

Matthew shook his head. "I don't have a heart. She took it with her."

"Do you really believe she would do that to you?" Fernando challenged.

"She didn't know!" Matthew snapped defensively. "She couldn't have known." At once, his eyes brightened, and he grew increasingly excited, almost giddy. "She didn't know! She didn't know what she was asking me. If she had known, she never would have asked it." His eyes rose to the rafters that soared high above them—the rafters from which he jumped when he had lost all hope after Blanca and Lucas's deaths over 1500 years before. "If she'd known, she'd understand that I have to take my life!"

Fernando tightened his grip on Matthew's shoulders. His eyes were stony and his voice stonier. "You do not have that luxury, Mateus!" Matthew shook off Fernando's grasp and turned his back on him, pacing restlessly. "You are the head of our family!" Fernando continued to Matthew's back. "Hundreds of creatures rely upon your leadership and strength, now more than ever now that Diana is gone! You took on that responsibility—"

"No, no, no, it was forced upon me—!" Matthew interrupted in a fury.

"It wasn't!" Fernando walked up to Matthew and forcibly grabbed his arm and made him look at him. Matthew's pupils were enormous and his breath was quickening. "You did it because you knew that if you didn't, then fear and prejudice would have prevailed, and you and hundreds like you would have spent your lives hunted down as criminals. Oh, you didn't want it, I grant you, but you chose it, and when you did, you forfeited the right to do something so petty and selfish as to commit suicide."

"Perhaps you don't understand, Fernando!" Matthew bellowed, drawing himself up to his full height so that he towered over him.

"How dare you say that to me?" Fernando thundered, pushing Matthew away from him in disgust. "You forget, you are not the only one who has lost a mate, Mateus!"

Pushed beyond the bounds of speech, Matthew let out a crashing roar. He sped over to the niche containing the memorial he had built to Hugh and fell to his knees in front of it, his strength sapped. Measured footsteps echoed over the sound of Matthew's gasps as Fernando walked slowly to meet Matthew at the makeshift monument devoted to his deceased mate. He placed a heavy hand on Matthew's shoulder and squeezed. "You were there for me when I lost Hugh. Let me be here for you now. Sieur."

"You know, you were right." Fernando waited in silence for Matthew to continue. "Years ago. Before the twins were born. You told me that it didn't matter how long or short my time with Diana was, that when your mate dies, a piece of your soul dies with them." He didn't believe it at the time, but now he understood. Whether they'd had six years or sixty or six hundred was inconsequential. Millenia with Diana wouldn't have made his heart any less broken.

Fernando gazed upon the collection of items that had belonged to Hugh. He imagined the hauberk filling out as Hugh's form materialized within it. If he tried hard enough, could he imagine it into being? If thoughts and wishes and tears could bring him back, Hugh would be standing with them at that moment, rather than being scattered around the globe as ashes. Fernando stroked the shield that was propped up against a painted wooden board.

"I believe in you, Mateus. You have more experience than anyone living when it comes to controlling your actions and emotions. You are well-prepared for what lies ahead."

"Really?" Matthew scoffed. He inclined his head toward the pile of splintered lumber that used to be church pews. "I appear to be off to a rather inauspicious start."

"That was just your grief."

"Yes, it was my grief. It always will be my grief. Grief is what I am."

"It won't always be that way."

"How can I believe that when it gets worse by the moment?"

"You don't have to believe it. You just have to march on."

Matthew held out his hand to Fernando for assistance in standing. He was still shaking, and weak. Wordless, Fernando helped him up. They'd said all they needed to say for the time being.

Matthew trudged over to his former place in front of the altar, retrieved his rosary that he'd discarded to the floor, and twined it through his fingers once more. Fernando left Matthew as he had found him, on his knees, his head bowed low over clasped hands, praying.

Dimitte me
Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine:
et lux perpetua luceat ei.
In memoria aeterna.