Law of Faith
Private reception room.
Unlike the grandeur and solemnity of the docking hall, this room was more restrained.
The space was not particularly large, and its furnishings were simple and substantial.
The walls were dark gray alloy, free of unnecessary ornamentation, inset with lamps that cast a soft, warm glow over a broad solid-wood conference table in the center and several heavy chairs sized for Primarchs around it.
The air held a scent reminiscent of ancient books and cold metal. The only ornament was an antique bronze candlestick on the table, its flame burning quietly.
Lorgar gestured for Fulgrim to take the guest's seat, then walked to a recessed storage cabinet.
He took out a dark glass bottle and two crystal wineglasses, then returned to the table.
The bottle bore no label, only a layer of dust accumulated over the years, showing how long it had been stored.
"There's little aboard worth offering a guest," Lorgar said as he deftly uncorked the bottle. Dark red wine flowed into the glasses with a faint gurgle.
"This was the oldest dated bottle I could find in the officers' stores. I hope it suits your taste, brother."
He slid one of the glasses toward Fulgrim across the table.
Fulgrim accepted it gracefully.
His long, fair fingers, seemingly carved from the finest jade, held the slender stem steady. Rather than drinking at once, he slowly raised the glass to eye level and gently turned his wrist in the lamplight.
The deep red wine left viscous trails along the clear crystal before slowly sliding down.
He watched for several seconds. A highly professional, even exacting scrutiny passed through his perfect violet eyes, then gave way to teasing amusement tempered with goodwill.
"My dear Lorgar," Fulgrim began, his voice still pleasing, though his words