Kateesha poured water into the basin and ordered him to wash. He splashed his face and checked in the cracked mirror. The smeary reflection looked back with violet eyes and hair the color of crimson. The same color as the priest's blood. The man had been a priest, a holy man. Someone who was good. Sacred. Verchiel knew that or thought he did, though he wasn't sure how. Was he the kind of man who would kill a priest, or was he the kind to venerate them? Perhaps he'd been one of them ...