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The architect huffs in frustration like he does when he runs a hand through one of the gray streaks in his hair. When hespeaks, it’s too muffled to understand. I sit up, searching for the moonlight. None is within reach while keeping my head where it needs to be. Suppressing a groan of frustration, I pivot to lean against the wall under the window. A few minutes later the Selenae man—Gregor, I repeat to myself—leaves the same way he came.
I’ve heard enough to understand both men know more murders are coming—and sooner rather than later, but then the conversation had turned to me.
Have you considered that perhaps she wasmeantto find that girl?
That was almost exactly what I’d told Simon yesterday. Gregor called it instinct, but I know it’s something more because I heard Perrete scream when she was unable to make a sound. Herbloodcalled to me across the moonlit air. If that’s not magick, I don’t know what is.
Magister Thomas doesn’t believe in magick, however, and trying to tell him or Simon that blood speaks to me through moonlight will have them thinking I belong in Mesanus.
I’m still fully clothed, so I undress as quietly as I can. Magister Thomas remains in the kitchen, and it’s easy to imagine him smoking his pipe and staring into the hearth fire as he does when he’s troubled. Just before I pull my nightdress down, I pause to study the bruises on my stomach, which have faded from blue-black to deep purple. There’s a line across my middle from the safety rope but also seven distinct ovals spread out at random. No wonder it hurts to wear a skirt.
As I crawl back into bed, I can’t help thinking of Gregor’s assertion that while moonlight doesn’t cause madness, it does make it believe it’s safe to come out.
