Daybreak cracked open over the village, and Jude had still not returned.
Maeve hadn’t left her window-side vigil in hours, limbs frozen in a state of forced intermission. She couldn’t move forward nor back, simply wait, eyes locked on the street below like Jude’s sudden reappearance was the spark that would jog her back to life. The memory of his shadow was yet to leave her alone. Blackness spilled like ink on the snowy cobbles, lingering even when its master had long since vanished. The bedroom glowed violet and cobalt, the crisp white of the sheets untouched. She wouldn’t let herself picture Jude there. Embarrassment and hurt dug in claws.
She’d moved too quickly. Asked more than he was ready to give.
Her breath clouded the glass as she leaned closer to the window. Hearth smoke rose in pale columns, fading into a low-hanging, bluish fog. The horizon rippled, the shapes of the far-off buildings vacillating like a quickly moving cloud was rushing to cover it. Maeve rubbed her eyes. The faintest hint of a spire pressed against the visage. The glimmer of a too-familiar rose window—
She shoved to her feet, bracing both hands on the glass to look closer.
The shape of the Abbey was unmistakable.
As soon as she recognized it, it was as though the veil obscuringthe village melted away, replaced with razor-sharp clarity. They weren’t in a village on the outskirts of Whitebury – they were in the town already. And Maeve hadn’t even noticed.
Before she could process any further, two guards crossed the street below, their black cloaks sweeping around their legs. They moved slowly, gazes moving up and down the narrow road. A flash of motion caught her eye. Curtains in a boarding house a few doors closed across the window, the faint yellow of candlelight extinguished.
Maeve held her breath. One of the guards continued on while the other stopped, bending to peer into a gap in the curtained window, hands cupped around his eyes.
What were they looking for?
Suddenly, the guard below looked up. Their gazes locked.
Maeve flew back, heart in her throat. She shifted to sit against the wall, the window to her right. Panic wavered her vision. Surely, he hadn’t seen her. She was two floors up and her window was dark… and what if he had? She was doing nothing wrong.
Not yet.
She forced a calming breath through her nose. If there were guards below, if they found Jude—
She’d give it an hour, then go out and look for him. She understood needing a walk to clear your head, but all night, in the snow? Did he even know they were in Whitebury? Did Elden, wherever he was?
A sudden shout sent her twisting back to the window. The two guards were still there, but now, they weren’t alone. Another had joined them, and they were wresting a man to the ground. Beside them, a fourth person Maeve hadn’t noticed at first glance fell to their knees and began vomiting. A horrible pool of bile sank into the gaps between the cobbles. A half-full pint glass sat next to their prostrate form, a puddle of freshly spilled beer and shattered glass beside it.
Had the guards broken up a tavern brawl? She wouldn’t besurprised based on the unsavoury crowd they’d witnessed earlier. She winced as the man bearing the brunt of the fighting suddenly collapsed. The guards bore him backwards, shoving a cloth into his mouth.
Just before a hand clamped over his eyes, Maeve saw his face.
Jude.
Fear as cold as a knife blade slammed into her. She pummelled her hands on the glass. ‘No!No– stop! Jude!’
The guards didn’t even pause as they hauled him to his feet. Maeve raced for the door. How had the Abbey found him? What were they going to do with him? She froze, hand on the doorknob.
She knew… she knewexactlywhat they were going to do.
Half-formed and foggy memories of the intercessions, of the Call of the Sun, swirled in her mind, leaving the stain of violence behind like ash after a fire. She thought of Siobhan, dead, her saint tattoo burned off. A figure on an altar, hands raised. Voices calling higher; blood spilling on the ground. Ecstasy and brutality, hand in hand.
A sacrifice. A martyr.
Her sweat-slicked palm slipped off the doorknob on the first go. She tried again. The door wouldn’t budge. Someone had locked it from the outside. She pounded on the wood, crying out for help and rattling the doorknob desperately. Her throat ached with her pleading screams.
No one was coming.
The Abbey had Jude, and she was trapped.
Maeve raced back to the window in time to see the two guards loop Jude’s arms over their shoulders and begin walking him towards an alley cutting away from the main thoroughfare. His head lolled back as his limp legs dragged tracks through the muddied snow.
‘No,’ Maeve begged. ‘No.’ She pulled at the latch with numb fingers, prising at it with her nails. If she could open it, she couldshimmy down the drainpipe to the slanted roof below and jump down from there. Her fingers slipped against the rusted metal.
The only figure remaining slowly pushed to his feet. A man, broad-shouldered and hooded. His back moved with heaving breaths as he stared at the pool of vomit surrounding him. Slowly, he began shuffling towards the corner where the street split into two opposing roads. Every few seconds, he stopped to look around, the movement mechanical and jerky. It reminded Maeve of a pantomime show she’d sneaked out to see years ago. The overdone looks, the stilted walking.
