After several minutes' thought, he still couldn't come up with a reason; all he knew was that he didn't like it. He finished his tea and was going over to the prie-dieu when there was a knock on his door.
He swore briefly under his breath—the last thing he wanted right now was a visitor!—but went to answer it, grinning despite himself when he saw Ivan's new collar insignia. "Come in, Colonel sir. Congratulations."
Illyanov bowed, smiling. "Thank you, Michael. May I ask your professional assistance?"
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
"Assist me in setting up the Enforcement Service Her Grace has just established, with me as its head."
"Gladly. Want some tea?" Odeon put his problems out of his mind, more than ready to exchange them for some practical work.
Friday, 20 March 2572
Cortin lay awake, seriously worried about Odeon. Physically there was no longer anything wrong with him, but his emotional state was frightening. He'd withdrawn further into himself over the past three days, despite Ivan's efforts to draw him out, not speaking except when it was necessary to carry out his duties, not smiling at all even during the Protector's services—though he still seemed to take some pleasure in those—and not touching anyone when it could possibly be avoided.
There had to be something she and the rest could do to help, she kept telling herself, but nothing they'd tried so far had had any effect. She, Sis, and Betty had all tried to get him to make love, but he'd rejected all of them with what seemed like near-panic, and she and Sis were agreed on the reason: he was convinced Shayan had somehow contaminated him, and was terrified of passing that contamination on to them. That, as Sis had told him, was foolishness—but they couldn't convince Mike.