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“That’s—that’s a great relief to hear,” I stammer.
Lambert’s cheeks turn pink at my gratitude. “I’m glad to be able to ease your fear somewhat.”
We continue uphill, and Lambert walks a little taller than before. I worry my earlier emotional appeal—I willnotcall it flirting—may have had more effect than I intended. Oudin’s assertion that his brother was more jealous than him flies straight in the face of his own behavior, but Juliane understands Lambert quite well. He likes the idea of a woman he can rescue.
Flattering as his attention is, I’ve never thought of myself as a damsel in distress. It’s not a comfortable image.
Lambert clears his throat. “I expect you’ll want to attend the prioress’s funeral this evening.”
My thoughts had been so completely occupied I’d forgotten about that. In Gallian tradition the soul is believed to follow the Sun into the Beyond with the first sunset after death. To discourage the soul from wandering away until that time, the deceased is never left alone until the funeral that evening. “Yes,” I answer. “Magister Thomas would want me to go.”
“It’s only proper,” Lambert agrees. “I, ah… my father has already ordered me to represent the family, and Simon wants me to observe who else is there.”
That means Simon isn’t coming himself. Does he hope his absence will embolden the killer to revisit the scene, or does he want to avoid seeing me? Suddenly I realize Lambert has asked a question. “What?”
His face is beet red. “I said, may I have the honor of escorting you there?”
Oh Sun, this is not something I want to encourage. “I worry that may not sit well with Lady Genevieve’s family,” I say to remind him of his betrothed. “Perhaps if you also broughtJuliane? She would be perfect for remembering who’s there, and her presence would be a great comfort to me.”
Lambert’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t think that’s possible. She’s not well. You know how.”
He’s so distraught I can’t help patting his arm in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” I say, careful not to reveal what I know about their mother. “It must be very difficult to watch.”
“It is.” He blinks away his emotions. “But you’re right, Miss Catrin, in how it might look to be seen walking the streets in the evening hours with you. Thank you for your consideration.”
“And I thank you for your concern for my welfare.” We’ve reached the north part of the Sanctum Square, which is much smaller than the other side due to the shape of the hill. There are far fewer people around, which allows me to pick out Remi’s face among those looking down on us from the roof. “I’d better get back to work. Thank you again for helping me today.”
Lambert leaves me with a polite bow and the promise to visit me again tomorrow—if that’s all right.
After what he’s risked for me, I don’t have the heart to tell him no.
That and because he’s my only connection to Magister Thomas.
Though the rain eases and the skies clear shortly after noon, Remi calls off work early and over dinner declares he will accompany me to the abbey. I should’ve known he’d insist on that. As we pass the vine-covered walls of the Quarter, I try to look into the windows, wondering which house Marguerite is in, but it’s unlikely to be one of the few I can see.
Selenae don’t allow outsiders into their neighborhood, especially at night, except by special invitation. Anyone who triesto sneak in—usually drunks or adolescent boys with something to prove—are always caught within a block and escorted out. I wonder what they’d do if I simply walked in, demanding to see Marguerite.
The waxing moon has risen above the rooftops, and already I can hear the ghostly songs drifting out of the alleys in praise of its light. Remi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s tense and sweating as we enter the abbey gate. It’s not yet repaired from him breaking it down last night. “Do you think they cover her face?” he whispers to me.
I shudder. “Merciful Sun, I hope so.”
Fortunately, the sisters have completely wrapped Mother Agnes in a clean shroud of embroidered silk. I hear a few murmurs from bystanders on the strange extravagance of that, but I know the fabric came from a trunk in her private cell. More than once I’d sneaked in to sift through its contents and marvel at the riches she’d kept from her marriages, wondering if she’d held on to them for financial emergencies or out of emotional attachment.
My heart seizes with a thousand other memories. I never got to say goodbye, to thank the prioress for giving me a childhood home so safe and secure. Magister Thomas had scolded me about her having little time left, but somehow I believed she’d live forever.
Lambert is already in the back of the chapel, scanning every face that enters, and he nods gravely as we pass. Beside him stands Oudin, whose expression is much less pleasant. I ignore him.
As the sun sets, everyone moves outside to the garden to watch, singing the hymn of farewell. The melody rising from the Selenae Quarter mixes between the notes in a perfect harmony, but no one seems to mind the blasphemous blend of songs. In fact, no one else appears to even notice it.
No one, that is, but the man standing on the edge of the crowd in a gray cloak. He sings the other tune in his soft baritone. As the sun slips beyond the horizon and the song reaches its crescendo, Gregor turns his eyes to meet mine from across the open area. Now that the moon is the only source of light, he addresses me, his scarred lips moving in a whisper I know only I can hear.
“Stay behind. The little sister needs your help.”
