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“Ow!” he yelps. “Watch it, Kitten. We’re on Holy Ground.”
“Call me Kitten one more time,” I say through gritted teeth, “and you’ll feel my claws.”
“Promise?” Remi sidesteps my attempt to stomp on his foot.“So how didyouescape the abbey, Sister Marguerite? You don’t look like the climbing type.”
Marguerite’s answer is too soft to hear. Remi leans down so close his wiry black hair brushes against her hood. “What’s that?”
She mumbles again, and he stands straight, apparently able to understand her this time. “I can take it to him.” He snatches the envelope from her hand.
“Give it back, jackass!” I yell. “It’s not for you!”
Remi raises the envelope up high, thinking it’s beyond my reach, but he underestimates me. I not only leap high enough to grab it, I manage to put my knee into his stomach as I do. My heavy skirt reduces the effect, however, and he barely grunts before grabbing me around the waist with his free arm. I wriggle in his grasp as he laughs.
“Children,” says a quiet, angry voice. The pair of us jump apart and face the architect, shame-faced. Well, Remi has no shame. “What in the Sun’s name are you doing in this hallowed place?”
I hold up the note before Remi can say anything. “This is for you, Magister. Sister Marguerite brought it for you and you only, but Remi thinks he deserves to know your business.”
Sighing in exasperation, Magister Thomas holds out his hand. To emphasize Remi’s wrongness, I pass the note back to Marguerite. She scurries up to the architect and gives it to him. “Thank you, Sister,” he says kindly. “Please refrain from telling Mother Agnes about Catrin’s behavior—”
The architect breaks off as he focuses on the wax seal.
The comte, Lambert, Simon, and even Oudin all strain to get a look at what’s caused him to stop so abruptly, but Magister Thomas shoves the note in the sleeve of his robe. “Where were we, gentlemen?”
Montcuir chuckles. “I think I’ve occupied enough of your time today, Magister. It looks like you have matters to attend to.”
Juliane is wringing her hands and muttering. Though I’d been focused mostly on Remi, it hadn’t escaped my attention that our argument had affected her. The stress of this investigation and all these unpredictable situations always have, now that I think on it. She does best when her surroundings are tightly controlled, which was why she was so level-headed after spending days in her room. Our conflict, on top of being around hundreds of people and meeting Marguerite, may have tipped some delicate balance.
Simon notices it, too. He takes her arm, speaking softly as he leads her away with her family. The envy from before rises in my chest. Even if Juliane is getting the help she needs, I wish I could be as close to Simon as she is.
The architect glares at Remi and me, then makes a gesture with his finger that commands us to come with him. We follow contritely, as does Marguerite. She reaches for me, and we walk hand in hand like we used to ten years ago.
Once we’re safely inside the house, Magister Thomas turns on us, his gray eyes dark as storm clouds. “I have never been more embarrassed than I was today, and in the Sanctum, in front of the provost and his entire family. There is no doubt the high altum will hear of it. Both of you have been behaving like children for the last few weeks and yet expect me to give you more freedom and responsibility than ever.”
He pauses to take a deep breath, but neither Remi nor I dare interrupt. “Catrin, you will spend the rest of the day repairing the miniature of the south window, and you will not leave the house until it is finished to my satisfaction.”
I only manage to stifle my groan because I suspect Remi’s punishment will be worse. The architect pivots to him.
“Remone, your work on the ceiling is suspended for two full weeks, and your teams will be directed to other sections. If you disobey or I hear a single word of protest, I will remove the vaulting from your supervision entirely. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Magister,” we chorus like naughty seven-year-olds.
The architect blinks, noticing Marguerite cowering behind me. “Why are you here, my dear?”
She steps out to face him, blue eyes brimming with tears—over my punishment, of course—and curtsies. “I wasn’t to leave without your reply, Magister.”
“Very well. Give me a moment please.” He turns toward the kitchen as Remi heads for the stairs. “And Remi,” Magister Thomas calls to him. “Be a man and stop pulling pigtails to show your feelings.”
Remi hunches his shoulders and slinks away, and I’m left to pick my jaw up off the floor. The magister can’t be serious. Remi acts the way he does because he’s a brat, not out of some expression of puppy love. But at least now maybe he’ll leave me alone.
“I’m sorry to have gotten you into trouble, Cat,” whispers Marguerite.
I sigh. She would blame this on herself. “And I’m sorry I won’t get to walk you home now.”
A minute later, Magister Thomas returns to the workroom, holding the blank and creased sheet of paper which had been folded around the note itself, minus the wax seal. He hands me the page, saying, “No need to waste this,” then addresses Marguerite. “Please tell Mother Agnes I will come tonight to discuss the next step.”
The architect shuffles to the stairs, looking wearier than I’ve ever seen him. “You may escort Sister Marguerite back to the abbey, Catrin, if you don’t dawdle.”
That’s for Marguerite’s benefit and comfort, but I’m not goingto complain. Before we leave, I grab a straw hat from a peg near the door to shade my eyes, then we stroll down the hill, holding hands again.
