Simon holds out his hand for the sketches, and I start to extend them automatically, then freeze. The drawing of Perrete is upside down—an orientation I’ve not looked at before.
Likely mistaking my hesitation for the overwhelming awkwardness of the last few minutes, Simon takes the pages just as they’re slipping from my grip in shock.
Now I realize where I’ve seen the pattern of her seven stab wounds—across my own stomach. I just never made the connection because I only ever saw mine from above.
My breath strains against the waist of my skirt, pressing the bruises against them.Don’t you remember?They seem to whisper as I follow Simon downstairs.You were there.Outside, Lambert holds the bridle of a small riding horse, a sturdy breed that can travel at a swift pace for several hours without resting. He smiles and makes small talk with me as Simon settles his bags and mounts, but I answer only with nods and half smiles.
Juliane joins us, offering Simon his cloak, and he folds it over the front of his saddle. The number of clouds in the sky has doubled in the last hour, so he’ll probably need it soon. Lambert offers his hand. “Safe journey, Cousin.”
Simon grips it firmly. “Thank you. Watch over Juliane while I’m gone.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses Lambert’s face. I imagine I’d feel the same if a new worker at the Sanctum instructed me to do something I’d done for years. “I will” is all he says.
When Simon looks at me again, I hold my breath. “Remember what I told you.”
“Which part?” I can’t help asking.
“All of it.” Simon nudges the palfrey around. Just before he turns away, he adds, “But especially the last.”
That should make me happy, yet all I can think about is how he believes I have nothing to hide when I have more to conceal than anyone.