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CHAPTER 47
A bank of cold, wet clouds rolls over Collis the next morning, shrouding the Sanctum towers in low-hanging fog. I drag myself out of bed two hours after Remi has already left. My climbing clothes are still damp from washing, so I put on my skirt, tucking the pouch with the two stones in the inner pocket where I keep my key to the back door. Though I won’t have a chance to use them during the day, their presence gives me some comfort.
When I join him at the work site, Remi is too preoccupied to complain about my tardiness. The wet weather gives him the perfect excuse to shift work indoors and start raising the ceiling’s rib stones to the platform. I consider telling him off for doing exactly what the magister had forbidden, but little can progress outside with so much rain coming down.
I opt to work outdoors despite the steady drizzle, seeing as it’s the first time the newly aligned drainage system is truly being tested. Also, I want to be where Remi isn’t. Even with the magister’s old waterproofed jacket over my clothes, I’m soaked to the bone by noon, when a voice from the ground calls my name. I look down to see Lambert Montcuir waving at me. Since I’m wearing a long skirt, I walk along the edge of the roof to thesouth transept tower and take the stairs rather than climb down the scaffolds, and Lambert waits patiently just inside the door.
His cheeks are ruddy with more than the cold day. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him for news of the magister or if, against all expectation, Simon has sent for me, but he’s the son of a comte, and therefore always gets to set the topic of conversation.
“Good day, Catrin,” Lambert begins. “Is there a problem that requires you to work outside today?”
Raindrops fly from the oiled cloth tied over my hair as I shake my head. I don’t know why I bother. The moisture in the air has my hair springing out in every direction. If I’d let it get soaked, it would be too heavy to do anything but hang in clumps, but at least I wouldn’t look like a wild bramble patch. “Just making sure there are no leaks and all the rain is flowing in the right direction, my lord,” I say.
He frowns. “You insisted I call you Catrin yesterday. I’d hoped we were on friendly enough terms that you might just call me Lambert.”
I’m not sure how to react. There’s a world of difference between dropping Miss or Master for people of low rank like Simon and me and omitting the noble title of a superior. Remi is casual with Oudin because of their friendship, and when it comes to men and women, only siblings and engaged or married couples tend to have that closeness. I am none of those things to Lambert—nor do I want to be—but I suppose after yesterday’s visit to the gaol, we share a secret of sorts, though so does Oudin. The thought of him makes me grimace.
Lambert misunderstands my expression. “Or that’s not necessary,” he says quickly.
“Oh, no!” I say. “I was just thinking of someone else.”
“Do you mean Simon?” The soggy feather in his velvet cap droops down next to his face, making him look forlorn.
“No, no,” I assure him. But I don’t want him to believe I think about Oudin a lot, either. “Remi. I mean, Remone, the architect’s assistant. We got into an argument over that topic, is all.”
Of course, that was about my familiar address withSimon, not him.
“Remone la Fontaine.” Lambert’s voice is flat. “You’ve known him many years.”
The last person Lambert ought to be jealous of is Remi. “Yes. He’s like a brother,” I say. “A big, annoying brother who makes you want to shove his face in a bowl of porridge.”
Lambert smiles at that, and I relax.
“I don’t want to take you from your work for too long,” he says.
I push a wet spiral of hair off my forehead. “It’s time to break for the noon meal anyway.” I deliberately avoid using his name. “I was about to head home to eat. Would you care to accompany me?”
“Nothing would please me more,” he says, offering his arm. I take it, and we walk outside. Mercifully, the rain has stopped for a few minutes, but he’s still much drier than I am. Lambert clears his throat. “Don’t take this as an insult, Catrin, but you don’t look like you’ve slept well.”
“I haven’t,” I reply. “I’m worried sick about the magister, but Simon won’t tell me anything, and meanwhile work must continue here. In a way, having something to do is helpful, but it’s difficult to concentrate.”
Lambert stops. “Simon has managed to delay any kind of trial,” he says. “The architect is in no immediate danger.”
“Yes, but he’s not young,” I say. “His cell is cold and damp,and I can’t imagine he’s fed very well. He could easily become sick.”
Lambert coils a finger around one of the curls which escaped my hair cover. “I hate to think of all the burdens you carry, with no one to share them with.”
He’s looking at me in an unmistakable way. Light of Day, this is my fault. Yesterday I hung on his arm and cried and kissed his cheek to get what I wanted, and somewhere in all of that I crossed a line and made him think I feel more for him than I do.
Lambert leans a little lower, dipping his head close to mine. I have no doubt he’s one second away from kissing me—and in public where anyone could see. In fact, anyone on this side of the Sanctum has a full view.Remimight be watching us.
I take a quick step back, yanking my hair from his grasp, trying to think of something to say. Anything that will end this moment without hurting him. “Do you hear that?” I gasp.
He looks back at the Sanctum, eyes wide. To my surprise, there’s a commotion on the roof. Workers are running and shouting where I was walking only a few minutes ago. As we watch, the whole structure groans and shudders. Lambert wears a stunned expression. “What’s happening up there?”
Muffled cracks and pops are suddenly interrupted by the shattering of windows. As the noise of glass fades to a series of almost musical tinkles, the sound of splintering wood becomes louder. Through the openings I can see objects inside—one looks like a person—falling from the highest scaffolds, and I hear thuds and bangs as they hit the marble floor.
Light of Heaven, Remi, what have you done?
I’m already running back to the Sanctum with Lambert on my heels, my heavy, damp skirt clinging to my knees, as the last of the crashing noises echoes out and across the plain below the city.
