CHAPTER 57
When I arrive at the Sanctum shortly before noon, I busy myself inspecting the damage from the killer’s chase and fall. The reed platform I slashed went unnoticed during yesterday’s efforts to clear the wreckage inside, but I mostly search for places he may have sabotaged the outdoor scaffolds. My fear has me using a safety rope in almost every situation.
Remi lets me do whatever I want and even leaves me in charge while he goes to inspect a load of stone at the city gate before it’s hauled up the hill. In some ways, it’s a welcome change, but I almost miss the teasing and superior air that had defined our relationship until this morning. When the workday is over, I wind the rope around my waist several times and wear it like a belt before climbing to the top of the south tower.
I’ve seen neither Lambert nor Oudin near the Sanctum all day. Likely they’re combing the city for Simon. Hopefully, there’s no reason for them to search the Quarter, as tightly as Selenae control it. They’ll think it more probable Simon left Collis than managed to gain sanctuary there.
I sit behind a column to shield myself from the setting sun as I watch the moon rise in the east. As long as I stay out of directsunlight, I have my senses, and I stretch my hearing toward the Quarter, listening for any signs of disturbance. Few are moving at this early moon hour, however, just as many Gallians sleep an hour past dawn.
I feel the vibration of his steps and hear Remi long before I see him. “There you are,” he calls when he reaches the top of the spiral stairs. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I inspected all the scaffolding that’s still up,” I tell him. “There’s some incidental damage. Everything I found is marked.”
“Yes, I saw.” Remi plops down across from me in the window and leans on the opposite side, facing the sunset. The orange light brings out the reddish tones in his tawny complexion, and makes his eyes appear almost black under the reflected glare. His legs are so long he could tap my knee with the toe of his boot without stretching, but he keeps them folded. Giving me space. “Thank you.”
How rarely he’s thanked me before. “Just doing my job,” I say. “But you’re welcome.” I pick at a loose thread on the knee of my breeches. “It felt good, so thankyou, for letting me come back. I’ve lost so much over the past few days that I don’t know what I would do if the Sanctum was taken away from me, too.”
“I’m here, Cat. You haven’t lost me.”
I smile a little. “I can’t get rid of you.”
“Like a wart,” he says cheerfully. “I’m under your skin.” Remi hops up and offers me a hand. I take it, and he pulls me gently to my feet.
Something catches my eye as I rise. “What’s that?” I ask, flicking what looks like a tiny tail hanging from his waist.
“Oh that.” Remi flushes, and his heartbeat speeds up. “It’s for luck, but I didn’t have it the day of the accident.” He unhooks a small ring from a notch on his belt and holds it up. A braid of hair loops around the metal, attached with some kind ofresin. “Mum gave it to me when I left last fall. She said all her gray hair was from me, so this way I could take her worry and prayers with me.”
I can almost hear her telling Remi that. Most of the hair matches Mistress la Fontaine’s familiar shade, but it’s not the only color in the braid. One of the three woven strands is dark brown. I trace my thumb along its curves. “What about this part?”
“That’s yours,” he says shyly. “I added it because… well, now you know why. I cared. Even back then. I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you.”
My stomach twists into a knot. “When did you take it?”
“Don’t tell Magister Thomas, but I cut it while you were sleeping.” He grimaces. “That is honest to Light the only time I’ve set foot in your room.”
I fumble to think what a girl would say if a young man admitted such a thing to her. “I won’t tell.” My own voice sounds like it’s echoing from the far end of the Sanctum. “But you could have just asked.”
Remi takes the braid back and rehooks it to his belt. “I will next time. Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes.” I suppress a shiver as I take the arm he offers. We go down the steps and through the Sanctum out to the square together. Every step jolts up my leg with what I’ve realized.
An attachment to his mother. Problems with women—or at least one woman. Highly intelligent. Physically fit. A stressful promotion and problems with his work. An employer who stood in his way. Hatred of Simon. Pushed himself into the investigation.
Unaccounted for on all the nights that mattered.
The killer isn’t Lambert. It’s not Oudin or the Comte de Montcuir or anyone in their household. Simon’s picture of the killer perfectly describes the one person I never considered.
Remi.