Mortressa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Marlowe. I don't recognize the bloodline."
The question beneath the question. If Mortressa was asking like that, Theresa knew she couldn't lie — not directly. A lie would surface eventually, and surface badly. But she didn't have to offer the truth either. She just had to avoid the lie.
"There is no bloodline. He's from the other world. One of the summoned."
A pause stretched between them. Then:
"The summoned are under the Seat of Radiance's direct oversight. All of them." Mortressa's voice had gone very soft — the kind of soft that preceded judgment. "Every summoning ritual is documented, every otherworlder is registered, every assignment is approved through proper channels." She let the words settle like stones into still water. "Are you telling me, Sister, that you have been conducting operations involving a summoned otherworlder without reporting to the central authority?"
'Careful. Careful now.'
