CHAPTER 31
The architect has a reserved place in the gallery but prefers to attend Sun Day ceremonies among the common people, choosing a different spot each week. Every corner of the Sanctum should be beautiful and inspiring, and these are opportunities to inspect his work. I like to watch the people, myself. Their awe at their surroundings is contagious.
Today we have clear view of the Montcuirs in their section overlooking the altar. Simon is next to Juliane. It’s silly, but I’m jealous of her freedom to stand so close to him. If anyone knew I’d walked through that very area with him in the dark—and holding his hand—it would force Simon to state his intentions publicly.
Yet what are his intentions? After the morning he left for Mesanus and the night of Nichole’s murder, it’s obvious hisfeelingsare more than just friendship or partnership in the inquiry, and he’s worried about the killer targeting me, but what about when this is all over?
I know Simon wants to be free of dependence on the comte, yet I doubt he’d be comfortable being supported by me. Would he think it charity if the architect hired him or found him work?I glance at Magister Thomas, whose gaze and dreamlike smile is focused on the south window with its flower petal–shaped frames arranged to create one giant wheel. The morning sunlight glows through the stained glass, casting patterns of color toward the front of the Sanctum. He hadn’t designed that to occur—that would’ve been one or two masters before him—and I can see his admiration and envy.
And then, among the scattered hues near the altar, I see a familiar face.
A small number of Sisters of Light are tasked to launder the embroidered robes and altar linens, so they come every Sun Day with fresh ones and leave with those needing to be washed. It’s not an easy job either, as I can testify. Often the cloths are splattered with candle wax and ashes of incense, and—in the summer especially—sweat from the altum and his assistants drench the underrobes. Marguerite has never been assigned to collect or return them, but she’s here today.
I’m so eager to see her that when the final blessing is finished, I fight the tide of the departing crowd to get to her before she’s swept away by duty. Marguerite must have been hoping to see me, too, because she lingers as the other sisters move to begin their work.
Her arms are up to embrace me long before we’re close enough to touch. “Oh, Catrin, it’s so good to see you!”
I squeeze her back tightly, feeling the thick hair under her cowl bonnet. It will be gone in a few months, but I’m comforted it’s still there for now. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally snuck away from Mother Agnes.”
Marguerite pulls back, scandalized. “You don’t really think I’d do that, do you?”
“Of course not,” I tease. “I just can’t imagine her letting you out of your cage now that you’re her personal secretary.”
She wrinkles her snub nose. “That’s actually why I’m here. I have a message for the master architect from Mother Agnes.”
“Oh, well, you can just give it to me,” I say, holding out my hand.
Marguerite reaches beneath the plain smock covering her mantle but shakes her head. “No, I can only give it to the magister.”
I glance around, but only Remi is paying any attention to us, and he’s out of earshot. Since Nichole’s murder, he’s hardly let me out of his sight. Magister Thomas is speaking with the Comte de Montcuir while his family stands nearby. Simon’s eyes briefly catch mine, then he goes back to feigning interest in his uncle’s conversation.
“What’s it about?” I ask. When Marguerite shrugs, I frown. “Don’t be stubborn. I know you must have written it.”
“No, truly. I didn’t. But the thing is”—Marguerite lowers her voice—“I don’t think she wrote it either.”
Intriguing. “Who did, then?”
She fidgets under her habit. “I don’t know, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to show it to you.” The outer rectangular paper is folded like an envelope around a note inside, which immediately tells me it’s not from the abbey—they use only parchment. A mottled circle surrounded by flames is pressed into the wax seal. It looks like the moon. On fire.
It has to be from Gregor. But why would a Prioress of Light agree to pass on a message from a Person of the Night?
“Well, there’s no better time to deliver it,” I say, tugging her along to where the Montcuirs wait for their patriarch to finish his business. As we approach, Juliane peels away from the group and meets me with a smile. Her eyes dart nervously to Marguerite, probably worried she’s a hallucination, so I quickly introduce her. “Lady Juliane, this is my closest friend from my years at the abbey, Sister Marguerite.”
Juliane extends her hand, looking relieved. “Yes, I recall you from my own time there, finishing my education. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Marguerite curtsies as she grasps Juliane’s fingers. “I’m surprised you would remember me, my lady. I think I was barely nine years old. Most of the older girls never paid us any mind.”
I’m not surprised, of course. Juliane could no doubt list every day their paths crossed, the weather, and what they were both wearing, though in Marguerite’s case, that last wouldn’t be hard at all. The only difference between her outfit then and now is the hood which covers her hair.
Oudin glances over, but, seeing only me and a young woman he could never pursue, his attention quickly wanders again. I’d like to present her to Simon, but before I can catch his eye again, Remi inserts himself into our conversation. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Kitten?”
I roll my eyes. “Marguerite, this is Journeyman Remone la Fontaine. He also works for Magister Thomas.”
Remi has to tilt his chin whiskers into his neck to look down on tiny Marguerite, who blinks up with wide blue eyes. In her cloistered life, she’s probably never been this close to a man other than the abbey’s ancient chaplain, but I have to admit Remi can be intimidating if you don’t know him.
“I didn’t think they made sisters so young,” he says, flashing her a wide grin. “I thought they were born thirty years old with wrinkles and a double chin.”
Marguerite flushes red as a rose apple, and I kick Remi in the shin.