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Lyall had become quite good at harvesting spirits in the last months, his collection of luneocite acting as lodestones for the newly untethered before they could move to the afterworld. Somewhere within the clear stones, Golightly’s spirit awaited its promised rebirth. And not just any body would be suitable; no, he deserved something grander than a canine or common cottager, and Arceneaux would make sure he got it.
Father Edgar of the Stella Regina was waiting just inside the doorway on the first floor. If he could smell the decaying body from downstairs, he was too polite to say so. “Hello, Magistrate,” he said, his eyes cautious and disturbingly large behind his thick spectacles. “I was surprised to receive your message.”
“Not as surprised as I am that you actually answered it,” Arceneaux replied.
“It is my duty as an Ursonian monk to offer knowledge and assistance to the Empyrea’s servants wherever I can.”
Arceneaux gave a small hmph at that. Then, “As lovely as it is to be in your company, Father, it is your archive I wish to spend some quality time with. I’ve heard many accounts of Saint Urso’s predictions. Indeed, King Theobald heralded the monk as a true high mage. A seer chosen by the Empyrea herself.”
“Urso had keen foresight; that is true enough.”
“I’m looking for one prediction in particular,” Arceneaux said. “I’ve encountered several references to it in my own studies of King Theobald’s Empyrean visitation at the Stella Regina. One that has to do with the timing of the Goddess’s return to the earth. The writings I came across mentioned a ‘red moonrise.’ I would like to spend some time in your library to see if I can’t find that passage and study it in its entirety.”
“I’m sorry, Magistrate, but the Stella Regina sits on Greythorne land, and now that Lord Fredrick has claimed seclusive rights to his property, there is no way to arrange such an appointment, even if I wanted to.”
Arceneaux’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if I am not allowed on Greythorne land, perhaps you can bring whatever records you have on the matter to me instead.”
“Can’t do that, either, mistress. What remains of Urso’s writings are very precious and cannot be moved from the safety of the Stella’s archives.”
“Not even by order of a magistrate?”
“Not even then.”
Arceneaux’s lip curled. This little country priest was so small and mousy, she hadn’t expected this kind of insolence. “That’s very disappointing,” she said. “But I’m not the type to be so easily dissuaded. I will just have to find another way.”
Father Edgar turned to go, but Arceneaux had motioned to Lyall, who was now blocking the door. “Pardon me,” Edgar said. “I really should be getting back.”
“Oh, there’s no hurry,” Arceneaux said smoothly. “Lyall, take him upstairs, won’t you? Father Edgar is a scholar. I’m sure he’d love to see some of your work. Perhaps even participate in the research.” She smiled as Father Edgar fidgeted. “In fact,” she added, “I insist.”
13
We waited out the night next to the ashes of our stomped-out fire, and in the morning, Rosetta went about skinning one of the wolves with well-practiced proficiency. She would not carry the freed hide afterward, however, claiming that Kellan or I, in our squalid states, were better suited to the task. But Kellan retched again the moment he tried to heft it, so the responsibility fell to me by default.
We’d already gone most of another mile through the tightly packed trees before I had the sense to ask why she needed the thing. No one in her right mind would want to wear it or sleep beneath it.
Rosetta did not answer the question. Her only response was “Keep walking.”
To be fair, there was no real indication that Rosetta was in her right mind.
Kellan also tried to initiate conversation with her. “We had another friend who went ahead to find you. She was supposed to let you know we were coming. Have you seen her?”
Rosetta said, “No,” with a note of finality that silenced us both.
She may have been taciturn to us, but her interaction with our horses was friendly and familial, as if she’d known them for a long time and was pleased to be finally catching up with them. Madrona’s reluctant fondness for me had been hard-won, but she was immediately enamored with Rosetta; she trotted alongside her like a carefree puppy. As I labored under the smelly wolfskin, I mentally vowed to sneak Madrona more apples. I was not above winning favor with bribery.
“How much longer?” I wheezed after another mile—I thought. It was hard to know how far we’d gone. Everything looked the same so far off the known paths and in the endless twilight of the forest. Rosetta could have just been walking us in circles for her own amusement, and we’d never know.
“We’ll go until we stop,” she said, leaning over to whisper in Madrona’s ear, which flicked back and forward in response.
“What do you think those two gossips are talking about?” Kellan asked. He walked several feet to my left to avoid my smell.
“Probably something about my hair. Or clothes.”
“In all honesty, it is not your best look,” he said. “Even before it got all covered in . . . wolf sludge.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “I was just telling myself how much your wolf sludge suited you. I think you should wear it more often.” I tried to hand the wolfskin off to him, but he jumped away, laughing.
Rosetta stopped abruptly, hand up in the air. “Shhh,” she said, and we fell silent, suddenly wary.
