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He kisses my forehead as Remi did. “And I love you.”
I back away so Simon can shake the architect’s hand, some silent exchange happening between them as their eyes meet, and they both nod. Then we walk down the vine-lined alley to the street. As soon as I see the abbey wall, I realize what I almost forgot.
“Wait!” I leave Simon and dash across the road to the repaired gate and ring the bell. Midnight prayers have just ended, and one of the sisters heading back to bed comes when I call, though she has trouble seeing me in my moonweave cloak. “I need to say goodbye to Marguerite,” I tell her.
She fetches the keys and lets me inside, and I run around to Marguerite’s cell just past Mother Agnes’s old sitting room. They haven’t elected a new prioress yet, so her chambers are still empty.
“Marga?” I call softly from the door. She wouldn’t have goneto the liturgy, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t say prayers from her bed. “Are you awake?”
She turns her head on her pillow, eyes alight. “Cat!”
I rush to her side before she harms herself trying to sit up. “I came to say goodbye.”
Marguerite sighs. “Sister Alix told me you were leaving Collis, but I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come until now.” I stroke her hand. “But I promise to write.” If the abbeys have one thing I admire, it’s an efficient system of sending messages to each other.
“Please do.” She settles back into her pillow, her eyes slightly out of focus from the earlier movement. Without bloodstones, her recovery is slow. Marguerite points to the small table next to her bed. “There’s something for you in the drawer.”
I open it, expecting prayer beads or similar, but find a dirt-crusted bag full of coins—the one I’d buried behind the garden shed over five years ago. “How did you know about this?”
“Because I know you.” She smiles fondly. “Take it. You’ll need money.”
Magister Thomas gave me more than enough. I shake my head and put it back. “You keep it. It’s not as much as your hair would have brought, but you can put it toward a new loom.”
She sighs. “There’s no way I can talk you out of that, is there?”
Her forehead is still bandaged, so I lean down to kiss her nose. “Not a chance.”
I wish I had more time, but Oudin is waiting outside the city with a pair of horses, probably very impatient by now. Promising again to write, I squeeze Marguerite’s fingers and whisper my last goodbye, then hurry back to the gate, thanking the sister who let me in.
The moonflower vines across the street are dotted with flowers open to the waning moon, their fragrance tickling my nose.From beyond the walls comes the sound of singing, and I can distinguish Gregor’s baritone, heavier than usual. Simon stands straight from where he leans against the abbey wall and hoists his travel bag back onto his shoulder.
“I couldn’t help thinking,” he says softly as he steps into the moonlight. “You could stay here, at the abbey, if you wanted. The comte would never know, and you could visit your family as much as you want.”
I shake my head. “You know I don’t belong there.”
“No,” he admits. “But I’m not sure you belong with me, either.”
“We’ll figure that out together.” I take his hand, lacing our fingers. “Are you ready to do this?”
Simon’s pulse echoes up my arm from our joined wrists. “No,” he says. “But I’m ready to do this with you.”
