“Dalimil will likely be seated near the front. Repeat again what he looks like.”
“He’s six foot two, approximately sixty years old,” Nicoleta says, barely hesitating a moment to think. “Fair features and a crooked nose. His most notable characteristic is his one blue eye and one green eye.”
“That will require Nicoleta to get rather close,” I say.
“You’ll have several opportunities to do so. First, when he is entering. Second, in Up-Mountain weddings, every member of the congregation must throw flower petals into the water the priest shall bless. And third, while leaving.” Chimal studies me. “Sorina, you’ll need to cast an illusion to conceal Nicoleta when she makes her move. Then you must quickly get the three of youout.Dalimil is a large man, but Nicoleta should have no difficulty carrying him. There will be a carriage waiting for you outside.”
I stare at the blueprint of the cathedral in front of us on the table. The congregation appears massive, easily several thousand people. I don’t have that sort of range. Or endurance.
“I have a horrible feeling that this isn’t going to work,” I say.
“Three fortune-workers have already prophesized that we will be victorious.”
As Luca would say, you shouldn’t put too much stock in fortune-workers.
“We cannot lose, Sorina,” Chimal says.
“We cannot lose,” I echo. I certainly hope he’s right.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The two-hundred-and-four-story Cathedral of Saints Dominik and Zdena is fabled as the tallest building in the world. Constructed of solid black stone, it towers over the skyline, not unlike the spires of the Menagerie. It appears like a giant spindle, though it is meant, when the sun is positioned directly over its peak, to resemble a torch. I now understand why Chimal was so eager initially for Hawk’s help, as Hawk could easily enter from above and descend the likely thousands of steps below, completely unnoticed.
It’s difficult to imagine that, in a mere hour, I’ll be in that cathedral.
Four of us approach the city from the hillside road, our carriage freshly painted to appear more regal than anything owned by Gomorrah. Chimal has shed his normal red and black captain uniform for the clothes of a passing peasant. Villiam wears his usual suit, as elegant as any of the other wedding guests. The many layers of Nicoleta’s gown take up nearly an entire seat in our carriage, leaving me only a foot of space in the corner. With the peach fabric, the peachier rouge and her pale complexion, she resembles any Up-Mountain patron who visits Gomorrah. Her transformation is nearly unnerving, especially when she speaks in her practiced accent.
Where Nicoleta is all beauty and elegance, I look—as Venera would say—frumpy and old. The black clothes of a postulant cover every inch of my skin, complete with gloves and heavy leather boots. I’m thankful I told Luca not to come. I feel ridiculous. But at least the absurdity of the costume makes the situation feel lighter.
We’re about to risk our lives.
In the distance, toward the city, a hillside fire clouds the sky with the smoke of Agni’s jynx-work, meant to distract the guards as guests arrive. That, too, is a comfort, even if it’s blacker than the smoke of Gomorrah behind us.
Villiam kisses my forehead. “Be strong.”
“I will be,” I say.
“I love you so much. And I’m very, very proud of you.”
His praise strengthens my resolve, and I smile at him. “I love you, too.”
Even as we grow closer to the city, the cathedral’s tower still seems far in the distance. I don’t believe in Ovren or any Down-Mountain god, but it feels as though a higher power is observing us from that tower, aware of our ill intent. I am no fortune-worker, but I sense doom.
The carriage pauses so that Villiam and Chimal can leave. I hug my father once more, but I don’t say anything. I want to appear strong. I am Sorina Gomorrah, daughter of this city, and this is my destiny.
We abandon them on the hills.
Our driver, a member of the Gomorrah guard, says nothing. He has instructions to remain in the vicinity of the cathedral and await our return, no matter what.
We enter the city gates. They aren’t as impressive as the gates of Cartona, yellow and gleaming. Just as Cartona was the golden city, Sapris is gray, blending into the stone of its hills, silent and shrouded. Even with all our preparation, I’m not certain what awaits me there.
“You look tense,” Nicoleta says. “You need to relax.”
“I’m trying to,” I say.
“It’s just another performance.”
“A performance? My job is to be invisible.” I fiddle with the edges of the nun sleeves, which, on close inspection, are the darkest shade of navy, rather than true black. I hope it will go unnoticed. “Nothing about this is certain. We aren’t even sure that Dalimil is the Alliance’s leader.”
