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I study her as I fit in a question of my own toward the end. “Were there any other girls Torstem took under his wing at the orphanage who seemed uneasy about his guidance? Or who talked about maybe going in a different direction than dedicating themselves to a temple?”
Fyrinth merely looks puzzled. “Not that I can think of. We were all grateful that he took an interest in our futures at all.”
Her only sacrifice is the common one of a little finger, which possibly is what has allowed her to do this trick with the butterfly. When Stavros asks her about her choice, her smile turns a bit sad. “My mother had the same. I miss her a lot.”
She must have come to the orphanage old enough to have known her parents. My throat tightens with sympathy.
The younger girl, Delja, tumbles into the room with a cartwheel and perches on the top of the chair back with her feet on the seat cushion. “It’s a glorious day, isn’t it?” she chirps.
Well, the fourteen-year-old doesn’t look particularly disturbed either. And she quickly informs us that she opted to make no sacrifice at all, “Because Inganne was happy to have me either way.”
She’s just as pleased with Torstem’s presence in her life as the other two. And she rattles on at more length about her trip to the college. “I got to have lunch there. Never tasted food that good before! And there was an amazing statue of Inganne riding a dolphin—just beautiful.”
Stavros’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t show any other sign of concern through the rest of his questions.
When I ask, Delja claims she never saw any hint of trouble around Torstem’s visits. “He really was so nice!”
After she’s left, Stavros eases back in his chair. His forehead has furrowed. “There’s no statue of Inganne riding a dolphin at the college.”
Julita’s presence stills in the back of my head.That’s true. I’ve never seen it. But she’d have visited before I enrolled.
I pause. “Is it possible therewasand it was taken down? You’ve been teaching for less than a year, haven’t you?”
“I suppose. We’ll have to consult with Aleksi—he knows everything about everything.” He sighs. “Not that it would tell us much even if I’m right.”
“Yeah. What does it say if Torstem didn’t actually take these three to the college like he said he was? Even if he did something else with them or somehow messed with their memories of what they saw there, he obviously hasn’t used them for any evil purpose.”
“Exactly.” Stavros rubs his brow. “I don’t like it. We’ve gotten no evidence at all that he’s done anything except help a handful of kids determine their ideal path. Which isn’t any kind of crime.”
As we thank Cleric Cezari and make our way back to the horses, my stomach sinks despite the admittedly glorious day around us. I wait until we’ve reached the forest before speaking up again.
“We haven’t tackled every avenue. There’s still the matter of the women in the attic at The Night’s Calling.”
Stavros nods. “I could pull some strings and have the Crown’s Watch conduct a raid, come up with false pretenses so we don’t tip anyone off that it’s because of Ster. Torstem. It’ll take a little time to arrange.”
“Maybe that will get us somewhere.”
“Perhaps.” Stavros glances sideways at me. “Or you might have to accept that the law professor is nothing more than a letch who makes grand promises and has an unexpectedly generous soul. What does Julita make of all this, Thief?”
The question jabs at me more than it should.
Julia speaks up without further prompting.Ster. Torstem gives me the creeps, but I haven’t seen any direct evidence of scourge sorcery around him. This is all just… very odd.
“She thinks it’s strange and she doesn’t like Torstem, but she hasn’t picked up on anything specific,” I paraphrase. My gut has gotten as heavy as if I’ve swallowed a heap of stones.
All my sneaking and spying, and we don’t seem to be any closer to finding the culprits than Julita was before her death.
The gloom of that knowledge hangs over me the whole ride back to Florian. I’m only rattled out of my melancholy by a frantic ringing that peals on and on as we pass the city walls.
Stavros stares toward the distant spires of the capital hill. “That sounds like the palace bell.”
“And, what, it’s fifty o’clock?”
“Something’s wrong.”
He nudges his stallion to a canter, and I urge Toast after him. Thankfully my steed is more concerned with proving he can keep pace with the grander animal than defying orders.
We clatter over the bridge and across the cobblestones to the throughway between the Temple of the Crown and the adjoining outer walls of the college and palace. The road there is crowded with people, all looking up at the still ringing bell.
