Many months ago, Halbert had sent a query to Terra. The response arrived, and in very brief terms it confirmed his suspicions: No ship surpassed Litany in weddings. So Halbert donned a chaplain's robes to join the burdened clergy and investigate the cause. After a week of ceremonies, he sat with the ship's rector and assisted with clerical work, reviewing engagements and proposals and all the paperwork. He had yet to find what was special about this crew or this voyage.

He finished the day's duties and rose to leave the cathedral offices. The other priests stood from their desks respectfully, and the rector bowed, "Thank you again, Inquisitor. It was good of you to share your experience with us."

Halbert blessed them all with tired gestures. "I was glad to have you by my side to refresh my memory."

"There's no heed to be humble, Inquisitor. We are overwhelmed serving a Battleship for a year. But you were the sole priest on a planet for two decades."

Calondria. Halbert's lips tightened. "Yes. I was once made to relate my experience to a Planetary Governor. He said my job was much like his but without the dull bits. And he didn't get to kill everyone at the end of the day."

Dark humor made one smile strain. Another priest winced at the levity. Halbert continued with a more appropriate, somber, tone. "Calondria wasn't all weddings."

The priests waited for a story. He relented. "I once executed two traitors to our race. A man and a woman, each caught in congress with the Tau. Separate incidents; This was common practice-" he hand waved the total degeneracy- "but they shared an execution." His eyes focused on the memory, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. "As they hung beside each other, I was struck by what a nice couple they would have made."

It happened on a wooden pier, in full view of the surfers and the schoolchildren. The heat of the sun made Halbert sweat under his ceremonial greatcoat. Seabirds cawed. Ocean waves. The rustling of palm fronds. But a hundred-thousand people stood on that beach and were afraid to be heard so much as breathing.

The miscegenators gurgled and kicked until the ropes turned them to face each other in their death throes.

The twelve best men in Calondria brandished a line of rifles at onlookers. It was terrorism, and it was the first homily that anyone on the planet really listened to.

Humankind spit on the traitors' corpses and called them freaks and thanked the Inquisitor for coming from space to bring decency back to the world.

To the priests aboard the Litany, Halbert said, "We have too many weddings aboard this ship. These are happy days." He realized suddenly why he'd fallen into the role of mentor. Not one of these men was within a hundred years of him. So he mentored, "Harder times will come. Cherish the days you grew tired of weddings."

His walk back to his own quarters was long. He pondered the mystery of romance aboard Litany. He donned his comm bead and called Odia.

{Inquisitor?}

"Are any of you trained counsellors?"

{I studied to be a courtier, though my training is incomplete.}

He specified, "A marriage counsellor."

{Sister Fidea is qualified and sanctioned.}

"Lend her services to the lay clergy. Tell her to report anything unusual."

{By your order, Inquisitor.}

Halbert closed the connection and glanced at the tram's clock. He had more thinking to do, and he owed Laika a walk.

Odia sat with her sisters at a round table in their chambers. Here, they could remove veils and sit comfortably, assured of privacy and each other's company. There were no lay people to stand tall for, and conversation could flow without the responsibility of enforcing virtue on the wayward. Without armor or duties to attend, the only hierarchies were beauty and fitness. There was never the tension of fearing a momentary slip up or change in dynamic. Only comfort, food, and conversation.

Spera began with a question. "O-odia, you… Have more life experiences than us."

Odia glared at her. "You refer to my age."

Fidea smiled. Spera averted her eyes and pushed, "You knew our Lady, Mother Superior-"

"-Saint," Odia corrected.

Spera nodded. "You knew Saint Diomede. I was too young. What was she like?"

Fidea watched this conversation with interest.

Odia gathered her thoughts with a frown, then said, "On her deathbed, Saint Diomede said to me that I was not meant to be a nun."

Spera and Fidea stared. Odia frowned harder, thinking, then continued. "A very long time ago, we were not called the Daughters of the Emperor, but his Brides. She told me that I am neither. That I love another than our Lord."

Spera had assumed saints were pleasant and nice. She asked, "Saint Diomede scolded you on her deathbed?"

"No," Odia scoffed. "Her scoldings were more vicious than that. She was asking my forgiveness, for raising me the only way she knew how. I expressed my eternal gratitude, of course. She instructed me to specialize my studies against the Aeldari and swear an oath of hatred against them. Then she cried. I asked her why…" Odia stopped here to swallow and close her eyes. She took a breath, and continued. "I asked her why she cried, and she said it was for us. That she couldn't bear to watch over us as we aged and withered and died."

Odia stopped again, to wipe away a tear and clear her throat. "Daily, in my novitiate kitchen duties, I stole a thumb of sucrose to suck on in bed. And every day I had lived in fear of disappointing her with my weakness. Her dying words terrified me. I realized that she would catch me next time."

Fidea shaded her eyes with one hand and her shoulders shook with suppressed mirth and sorrow. Spera was captured by wonder. She tried to form a reaction, but could only pose her mouth oddly. She finally asked, "Is that a way to speak about the saints?"

Odia smirked, "That they inspire us not to sin? Of course. And I am honored to have known a saint. But she is Saint Diomede to you, and to me, she was the mother I wish I had been born to."

Spera lowered her eyes and reflected on that. She returned quickly with a question. "The Saint said you weren't supposed to be a nun at all? If you weren't supposed to become a nun, then how did you join the Sisters of Battle?"

"Unwillingly, at first. Then, in an attempt to join royal society."

Fidea raised an eyebrow. Spera squinted, "How would a convent help you join royal society?"

"I was under many misapprehensions at the time. I thought I could treat the church as a jobs program and become an ecclesiastic courtier. When that failed, I joined again as a petitioner."

Fidea's gaze sharpened. She'd caught the admission, that Odia had twice been removed from the church. Spera was about to inquire into this sensitive topic, so Fidea reached her hand under the table and tapped the younger to stop her.

As a change of topic, Fidea caught Odia's eyes and nodded towards a package near their rations.

For this week's treat, they had pooled their resources to buy a loaf of wheat bread in the ancient style. They set it on the table and began their prayers.

When they were ready, Odia took charge, for she had read up on how to share bread. She began by breaking the bread into three parts. She took an end piece of the loaf and turned it over in her hands. There was a hard exterior and a soft interior. She hadn't read about this. She wondered which part to bite into first.

Spera took the middle piece and started picking off the corners with her fingers, eating them one at a time. Fidea watched her silently, then turned to wait and see what Odia would do.

Odia bit the hardened corner off. Fidea thought about this and decided to excavate the soft innards from her center piece. After a while of chewing, Odia admitted, "I don't think this is meant to be eaten alone."

They rose from the table and prepared their soup rations.

Fidea set her loaf aside to enjoy just her soup. Spera tried dunking her loaf in the soup, but it dissolved before she could get it back in her mouth.

Odia sighed, "What an incredible waste of funds this was."

They all fell into snickering.

Odia had to broach the topic of assigning more duties to Fidea. When they had given up on the bread, she asked, "You were not originally planning to be an Adepta Sororitas."

Fidea nodded.

Spera looked on with interest.

Odia continued. "It is good that you have practice as a confessor and therapist. The Inquisitor has need of you."

Fidea had a spoon part way to her lips. She hesitated, thinking, then lowered it. "He's noticed, then," she hummed.

Spera choked on her soup and spit it out. "Sister Fidea! Your vow of silence!"

Fidea straightened indignantly. "I don't have one."

Spera looked to Odia. Odia was looking at her quizzically. Spera turned back to Fidea. "I have never heard your voice before! In… Three years we've worked together."

"I was praying."

"For three years?!"

"I take breaks."

Spera stared. Fidea raised her spoon and slurped her soup.

Odia interrupted, "The Inquisitor noticed what?"

"The constant marriages," Fidea said. "But no additional overhead for marriage counselling. There is a great deal of stress involved with marriage aboard a ship. Reassignment of quarters and labor, adverse schedules, the prohibitive rules on low-gravity pregnancies. Something unusual is happening. The only counselor who sees an increase in clients is too busy to answer my messages anymore."

"Who?" Odia asked. "Perhaps this is the clue the Inquisitor needs."

Fidea gestured to the sciptorum, where their only dataslate was charging. "Counselor Soloveng."

"Where is his office?"

Fidea blinked. "He doesn't have one."

"What?"

"I've been to Matrimonium Consiliarium. The offices are accounted for, but he wasn't among them. I only realized when you asked."

Odia's heartbeat doubled in excitement. "We were warned about this, Sisters. When we were assigned to the Inquisitor. Everything strange should give you an itchy trigger finger."

They all grinned with excitement.