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CHAPTER 54
Simon objects, of course, but I feel reasonably safe going to the Montcuir home right now, even if one of them is a murderer. With sunset coming, many mourners will be there to share in the moment the Sun carries Juliane’s soul below the horizon.
Athene loans me her moonweave cloak. It’s eerie to walk the streets with everyone looking right through me, and I’m relieved to duck into an alley near the house and turn the cloak inside out to the magick-less solid black lining. The evening is warm enough that the cloak is actually a little stuffy to continue wearing, but Marguerite’s dress makes me feel almost naked. Normally a sister wears layers both under and over it.
I step back onto the street and join the noble and wealthy citizens arriving to pay their respects—to the comte, not his daughter. Juliane’s coffin lies in the center of the room, no one within arm’s length of it, while most people linger around the provost, wanting him to notice that they came. Her sallow and sunken face has people murmuring that she must have been unwell for a long time, and they lament how they would have done something if they’d only known.
For some reason that angers me. I doubt any of them would’veoffered their help if they’d understood her malady. Sicknesses of the mind are viewed with a shame not associated with illnesses of the body, but isn’t the brain an organ like the heart or lungs? People will shun an insane person more than they would someone with plague, which is ironic. Madness isn’t catching like a cough.
I’m also willing to bet more minor nervous complaints are fairly common. Maybe the shame would go away if people were just honest. Then mental affliction would be considered no stranger than swollen joints or digestion problems, and could be accommodated with the same compassion, as apparently it is in Mesanus.
As I look at Juliane, however, I realize how far that day may be. Her behavior had frightened and repulsed me, too. Had it not been for Simon’s example, I likely would’ve avoided her like anyone else.
The open space around her coffin means anyone in the room will be able to see what I’m doing, but sunset is only minutes away, and then her body will be covered to encourage her spirit to leave it behind and follow the Light. I glance at the comte on the far side of the room, accepting a steady stream of condolences. He’s not even looking at his daughter.
Taking a deep breath, I approach Juliane’s casket. Athene’s strongest bloodstone is in my right hand, almost numbing my fingers with its strange energy. I plan to act like I’m saying a prayer while I hold it to Juliane’s skin, but I worry after so many hours her last thought will be too faint to hear, especially in a room full of people.
Before I can reach for Juliane’s stiff hand, a gap in the crowd reveals Oudin sitting in a chair against the wall, bent over with his forearms on his thighs.
Staring at me.
I shift my cloak to hide Marguerite’s thin dress from his bloodshot gaze. Oudin rises to his feet unsteadily and steps forward to stand across from me, Juliane between us. Even without magick, he reeks of alcohol andskoniafrom several feet away. “Thank you for coming,” he says in a raspy voice.
Politeness was not what I expected. “I’m sorry for arriving so late.”
“Remi was here earlier,” he says, looking me over. “But he left to attend sunset service for the workers.” Though their souls should have left yesterday, with so little time to prepare beforehand, their farewell gathering will be tonight. “He said he hadn’t seen you since last night.”
“I was at the abbey, sitting with my friend.”
“The sister?” Oudin’s accusing look changes to concern in a flash. “Did she wake up? Does she remember anything?”
“Unfortunately not.” I don’t dare admit Marguerite is awake, let alone lucid, even if she remembers nothing. I clear my throat. “I haven’t seen Simon yet. Is he upstairs?”
“He’s run away, that bastard,” Oudin growls, rage flooding into his hollow black eyes. “You might want to reconsider your attachment to him.”
His wrath makes me take an involuntary step backward into something solid. The impact to my elbow knocks the bloodstone from my loose grip, and it drops down the fabric of my dress to skip across the floorboards with an audible clatter.
Oh no.
“Miss Catrin,” says the mass behind me, and I turn around to find Lambert. His eyes are red from weeping, but he manages a smile. “It’s so good of you to have come.”
I shuffle my feet modestly while also attempting to locate the stone but have no luck. “Juliane was very kind to me, and I felt I had to say goodbye.”
Lambert looks me over as Oudin did and tilts his head to squint at my hairline. “What happened to your head? I don’t recall seeing that during the rescue effort.”
I reach for the scab without thinking, then make a fist to hide the fresh scars across my palm and fingers. “It happened after that. I stayed behind, trying to find out what caused the collapse, and I brushed against a piece of broken glass in the dark.”
Oudin raises his eyebrows. “That must have bled a lot.” He casts a significant look at Lambert. “I hope you got help somewhere, seeing as you didn’t go home.”
Though I hadn’t anticipated having to explain my injury, I’m ready to lie about my whereabouts. “I did, thank you,” I answer. “I went to the abbey because Remi was so angry with me I didn’t want to go home. Then I stayed to help care for my friend. As I said earlier.”
Lambert frowns. “Why is the magister’s assistant angry with you? Surely he doesn’t blame you for what happened.”
The mist which rises in my eyes is genuine. “I told him the scaffolds were safe, but I was wrong.”
He grimaces. “That doesn’t matter, Catrin.Hewas in charge. Blaming you isn’t just shirking his responsibility, it’s immoral.”
I want to tell him I know who is responsible, but that man is likely standing across from us or on the other side of the room. At least half the mourners have gone outside for sunset, and the comte has an unblocked view of our conversation. I clear my throat. “I was hoping to see Simon, too, but Oudin said something about him running away?”
