Mallory listed her head. “You weren’t sure, what? That we would come back?”
He hesitated. “When you disappeared that night, we worried… I thought you had left forever.”
The housekeeper’s frown carved lines even deeper than usual into her face, and Mallory could easily imagine the conversation they must have had the next morning.Nothing but liars and thieves, those witches. I told you they were up to no good, and now poor Julie is dead and they’ve taken two of our best steeds and a sack full of silver and humiliated you to boot. If you’d only listened to me…
“We have a job to finish,” she said, handing the reins to Gideon. “We went for reinforcements.”
The coach’s door swung open. Fitcher and Constantino emerged, their bodies draped with shapeless red robes that Anaïs had fashioned from a set of curtains and belted with beaded ropes. Though neither of them had chosen to shave their heads—not quite as committed to the role as Investigator Sophia Blaise had been—they nevertheless played the part of loyal acolytes to the Seven surprisingly well, approaching the house with serene,measured steps. Even Constantino had managed to mold his suggestive grin into something resembling piety.
“Count Saphir,” said Mallory, “may I introduce Initiates Fitcher and Constantino of the Order of the Fallen Veil. After what happened to Julie, I felt it would be wise to have a representative of Velos to assist with our… predicament. Anaïs and I rode to the temple north of Grevinny to request their aid.”
“Blessed morn,” said Fitcher. “We grieve for the soul of the victim and offer our condolences. Should anyone of the household require blessings, we shall happily bestow them.”
“I… thank you,” Armand stammered, bewildered. “And welcome. We are… honored to have you.” He said it a bit like a question, looking from Mallory to Yvette, who had puffed up with pride. “We shall have guest rooms prepared.”
Fitcher bowed. “Thank you for your generosity, but we have brought our own accommodations.”
“Are you sure?” asked Armand.
“They’re very particular,” said Anaïs. “They only drink water purified by the holy spring of Eostrig, and sleep with blankets woven by those who are Hulda-blessed. It’s really best to leave them to their own devices.”
Constantino cleared his throat. “Though we would not refuse some of your finest wine.”
A muscle jumped in Fitcher’s jaw.
“All wines, as all harvests,” Constantino added with a flourish of his hand, “are approved by Freydon.”
“Of course,” said Yvette. “Anything you require.” She hesitated, before asking, with some unease, “Whatdoyou require?”
“Very little,” said Fitcher. “But we wish to conduct our business as soon as possible. Has the deceased received her final prayers?”
“No,” said Armand. “Traditionally we have buried our own here.”
“We mean no intrusion,” said Fitcher, “but with your permission, we shall see to the preparations of the body ourselves. As for her interment, has a grave been prepared?”
To this, Armand nodded. “She is to be buried in our family cemetery, in the northwest corner of the estate. I would be most grateful for your assistance. It was not a job I felt qualified for, and not one I wished to pass off to any member of my staff.”
“Very good.” Fitcher craned his head. “With no objections, we would like to proceed at sunrise.”
“Sunrise?” said Armand. “Tomorrow?”
Mallory’s pulse jumped. “Is that a problem?”
“I… no. Maybe not. But tomorrow is… It is the anniversary of the death of Bastien Saphir.”
Mallory wondered if the murderer was peering back at her, even now.
She smiled coolly. “I doubt Le Bleu will have interest in a burial ceremony.”
Armand’s brow furrowed, as if he did not entirely agree with this statement.
“In the meantime,” Mallory added, “the acolytes have agreed to assist with the monster infestation as well. Would you have time today to show them around the estate?”
Armand, Fitcher, and Constantino emerged from the overgrown gardens four hours later. Though the day was cold, with a brisk wind coming from the west, Mallory sat on the terrace waiting for them, bundled up in furs that Armand had graciously provided. His hands had lingered cautiously as he settled a cloak across Mallory’s shoulders. He’d looked like he desperately wanted to say something to her, but with Anaïs and the “acolytes” lingering a few steps away, he’d instead muttered something about a croque-mitaine in the creek, then hastily retreated toward the forest, Fitcher and Constantino in tow.
Now, as they returned, he seemed unwilling to meet her eye, and Mallory wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Armand wasn’t the only one avoiding her. As soon as she and Anaïs had finished setting up for the next day’s ritual, sneaking about to avoid the servants’ questions, she’d gone searching for Triphine, to apologize for abandoning her.
