People said it was possible to use the Cathedral of the Gods to navigate Arnor City. The towering edifice dwarfed every other building in the city. Its four square towers of blue-grey stone were the first things anyone saw while approaching the city, whether by land or sea. They reached up something like two or three hundred feet. All anyone needed to get around the city was to pay attention to where they were compared to the Cathedral.

That might be true on some other day, but not this one. The swirling snow blocked sight of anything more than a few short feet away. Luckily, Quilla had made this journey often enough and knew the way because, even so, she was finding it difficult not to get lost. Nelli wasn’t too happy about it either. The poor horse had lived her entire life in Ninifin; she didn’t understand this cold weather. After the journey from the Palace, the snow had become too much for Nelli, and so Quilla had dismounted and was leading the horse on foot.

What rotten timing for a snow storm! Just one day before Garet’s funeral. If too much snow fell, no one would be able to get through it to attend the service.

The Cathedral of the Gods was just up ahead now. Its close presence blocked some of the snow and was making vision a little better. Nonetheless, when she looked up, she still couldn’t see the tops of the towers. She couldn’t even see the roof, which was only about half as high as the towers, though she could just make out the outlines of a couple of the many stone gargoyles that decorated the roof.

The doors were visible though. There were three sets of twenty-foot-high doors that provided entrance, each carved with intricate religious iconography. Quilla had never really paid much attention to exactly what was carved on them, though she recalled some mention of each door representing one of the gods. But it had never interested her much, and it interested her even less now.

All three sets of doors were closed right now, with armoured Royal Guards standing in front. They were there to keep out the throngs of people wanting to get a look at the funeral preparations.

Except there were no throngs of people. No one was out on a day like today.

Quilla couldn’t help feel bad for the guards. They must be freezing.

A figure approached her out of the swirling snow. Wide and stocky, for a moment, Quilla thought it might be Jorvan. It wasn’t, but it was an Isyar.

“Can you help me?” The Isyar was a little taller than Jorvan and bald like all other Isyar Quilla had seen. Although her wings gave her the stocky profile of all Isyar, she was slimmer than Jorvan.

“I’ll try,” Quilla said. “Are you lost?”

“No, not exactly.” Her voice had a deepness to it, and Quilla realised she couldn’t be sure the Isyar was female. There seemed something female about her, but she wore a loose garment similar to what Jorvan wore and it hid any hint of hips or breasts on the Isyar. Did female Isyar even have hips and breasts like humans?

“Then how can I help?” Quilla asked.

“I would like to ask you some questions if I may.” There was a female quality to the Isyar’s face and neck. No Adam’s apple. Did Jorvan have one? Quilla hadn’t paid attention to that before.

“About?”

“A variety of things. I know it may sound an odd request, but I am a traveller here, and I know little of this land. I thought perhaps you could tell me a bit about it and its history.”

“I’m very busy.”

“Oh, it will not take long. I will be as small an inconvenience as I can possibly be.”

Quilla shivered. The wind and snow were stinging her face. “Okay, but can we go inside first?”

“Of course,” the Isyar said.

“This way.”

Quilla continued towards the Cathedral. Would the guards let the Isyar in? Maybe because she was with Quilla, they might, but there was no guarantee. If they didn’t, it was hardly Quilla’s fault. She didn’t even know this Isyar anyway. She didn’t owe any answers to her questions.

The central doors were the easiest to reach, so Quilla headed straight for them. The guard on them held up a hand as they approached.

“Quilla Steranovist,” she said. “Prince Garet’s fiancée. I’m expected.”

The guard nodded towards the Isyar.

“She’s with me.”

The guard turned and pulled on one of the heavy doors. It opened slowly. Quilla didn’t want to let too much of the cold air in, so she let go of Nelli’s reins and hurried inside. The Isyar, however, was in less of a rush and took her time.

Inside, a young Eloorin boy with sandy brown hair approached her. He looked a lot like Corvinian and every time she’d seen the boy in the last two weeks, her heart had dropped and she’d had to force herself not to cry. As such, she hadn’t even been able to bring herself to ask the boy’s name.

“His Grace is expecting you, miss.”

“Nelli’s just outside. She needs stabling out of the cold.”

The boy grabbed some furs hanging just to the side of the doors and wrapped them around his robes. Then he rushed into the cold to deal with Nelli. The guard pushed the doors closed after him.

The Isyar was looking around her surroundings, turning her head gradually from one side to the other. There wasn’t much to see in this entry chamber though.

Quilla removed her cloak and hung it on one of the hooks on the walls. She shivered and considered taking the cloak back. Even with the doors closed, the Cathedral of the Gods got draughty. Unfortunately, the cloak would get in the way of the preparation work she needed to do. She would just have to suffer. That was her lot in life these days, anyway.

“This way,” she said to the Isyar.

As soon as they passed through the next doors, the Isyar stopped and gaped. Her head rose to look back above her and then to the sides.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen it?” Quilla asked.

“Yes.”

Quilla had to admit, it was a beautiful place. Coming here most days in the last two weeks had perhaps dulled her appreciation of it.

The vaulted ceiling was supported by massive pillars and wide, pointed arches covered in carvings. Some were simple geometric patterns. Others birds, animals, or people. Sometimes Isyar or maybe angels—it was hard to tell the difference this far below the carvings.

Along the walls were numerous stained-glass windows depicting religious scenes. Thousands of candles flickered throughout the church, casting shadows on the floor of white marble, which was painted with intricate geometric designs. Even the pews were not spared any elegance; they were carved as ornately as everything else. Very little space in the building was left unused. At various locations, monuments stood in remembrance of kings, patriarchs, and other people of historical significance. The elevated chancel at the front was not as wide as the nave, framed on each side by a gilded organ case. A third organ case was positioned at the back over the central great doors that Quilla and the Isyar now stood in front of.

At the far side, Ardon was descending the wide steps that led to the chancel, one hand on one of the golden railings for support. Within the chancel were stalls for the priests, choir, and other officials. Behind those stood the high altar with three gold candelabra around it, one each on the left and right sides, and one behind. A huge stained-glass window, almost as high as the wall, looked down on the altar. All-Father stood in the centre of it, Power on the left, and Nature on the right. Floating above All-Father’s outstretched hand was a globe. Around the three gods, angels, some with feathered wings and some with bat wings, flew. Beneath their feet, the blood-red eyes of Night raged in silent anger.

Quilla sat at the edge of one of the back pews. Since Ardon was already coming this way, she’d let him do all the walking. Zandrue said the best way to handle Ardon was to make him work for everything he wanted of them. Quilla was fine with that. She would just watch the Isyar gaze about.

The Isyar had moved forward and was looking at the right-hand side of the nave, her gaze moving from the first to the second of the two transepts along it. She then looked at the opposite side, one side of her face scrunching a little. “Is there not a fourth transept?”

Quilla shook her head.

Opposite the transept for Nature, there was just a blank area of wall where people might expect a fourth transept. It was the only space on the wall devoid of any decoration. No stained-glass windows, no carvings, no candles. The was only a single, small plaque. Quilla had read it many times: Lest we forget the Night.

“Interesting,” the Isyar said. She pointed to the back right transept. “Nature there, I see. And the front two?”

“Power on the right and All-Father on the left,” Ardon said, having made it most of the way across the nave now.

The Isyar frowned. “All-Father. Why do you gender the gods so? Know them so intimately?”

Ardon smiled and spread his arms. “Cosmos is the Isyar name, isn’t it?”

“That is the translation, yes.”

“I will concede that perhaps we should adopt that name,” Ardon said, reaching the Isyar and stopping, “but tradition can be a hard thing to overcome.”

The Isyar frowned again. “Is it true this place was built without magic?”

Ardon nodded. “Yes.”

The Isyar gazed about again, but shook her head as she did so. “That is incredible. How?”

“I’m not an expert on the exact building techniques,” Ardon said, “but it took very precise plans, considerable effort, and a lot of time. Do you not have such buildings in Isyaria?”

The Isyar stopped gazing about and looked at Ardon. “Not exactly, but we do have buildings as grand. But they were built with magic. I do not think we could build such a place without it. How long did it take?”

Ardon clasped his hands in front of him. “Three centuries. The first stone was laid in twelve forty-two and the last in fifteen forty-eight, and it has stood for the nearly eight hundred years since.”

“Twelve forty-two,” the Isyar mouthed. She repeated it a couple times.

“I am Ardon, Patriarch of the Universal Religion, and rector of this building.”

The Isyar scowled. “Universal Religion. A bit presumptuous don’t you think?”

Ardon lowered his head. “I did not name it, and it is not my place to rename it.”

“Let me guess, tradition is a hard thing to overcome.”

Ardon chuckled. “I take your point. May I ask whom I have the honour of speaking to?”

The Isyar’s wings twitched and she twisted her lips. It took her a few moments to answer. “Lisanacora.”

“We don’t get many Isyar here, Lisanacora, though I wish that were not the case. The last time an Isyar entered this building, as far as I’m aware, was at Princess Felitïa’s naming ceremony over two decades ago. I couldn’t tell you the last time before that.”

“Really?” the Isyar said.

“Not many Isyar come to Arnor City,” Quilla said, feeling she should add something to the conversation before they forgot she was here.

“True, but as I understand it, the main reason is that your own religious beliefs forbid you to enter a place of worship for a different religion.” Ardon peered closely at the Isyar. “Was I mistaken?”

The Isyar raised her thin, barely perceptible grey eyebrows. “I do not know. I am not an expert on religion.”

Ardon’s eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged. “Whatever the case may be, we are honoured to have you here now. What is the purpose of your visit?”

“Just to learn. Quilla offered to answer some questions.”

When had she told Lisanacora her name?

Right. She had announced it to the guards.

Had she made a mistake agreeing to answer this Isyar’s questions? She had assumed they would just be simple questions about how to get around in Arnor City. But the questions hadn’t even started yet and already, it seemed like the Isyar wanted considerably more.

Ardon came over to Quilla. “That was very kind of Quilla.” He sat in the pew in front of her and lowered his voice. “Making an old man walk this long distance. Taking lessons from Zandrue, I see.”

Quilla flinched. He had guessed so easily.

She straightened up and did her best to regain her composure. “We met outside. She seemed lost. I thought it would be good to help.”

“Always a good thing.” Ardon looked back over to Lisanacora. “What are your questions? I will be happy to help along with Quilla.”

Lisanacora walked over to them and smiled. “I have learned a lot already, thank you. But I do have one other question.”

“Go ahead,” Ardon said.

“Depending on your answer, you may find this question strange.”

There was silence for a moment.

Ardon just waited for her to continue.

“That’s okay,” Quilla said.

“What is the state of relations with the Volgs?”

Ardon tilted his head slightly. “You refer to the war?”

Lisanacora pulled back her head a little and tilted it as well, almost mirroring Ardon’s action. She hesitated. “Yes, the war.”

“Preparations proceed,” Ardon said. “I am not privy to all of them, and those I do know, I’m afraid I can’t reveal.”

Lisanacora nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

Ardon’s eyes narrowed. “Any other questions?”

Lisanacora opened her mouth as if to reply, but hesitated again. “No. That is all for now.”

Ardon stood. “Then Quilla here will show you out. It’s been a pleasure, Miss Lisanacora.”

“Just Lisanacora.”

“Of course. A pleasure. I hope we will see you here again sometime.”

“Perhaps,” Lisanacora said.

Ardon bowed his head to her and turned towards the chancel.

Lisanacora looked expectedly at Quilla.

Quilla stood up. “This way.” She led the Isyar back to the doors.

The boy who reminded her of Corvinian was back in the entry chamber. Quilla was about to call to him when Lisanacora put a hand on her arm.

“One last thing.”

“Yes?”

Lisanacora hesitated for several seconds. Then she lowered her voice. “I have a message.”

“A message?”

“For the Will-Breaker.”

Shit. Gods-damned fucking shit!

Why did everything always come back to Felitïa?

Quilla gritted her teeth. “I take it our encounter wasn’t just random then.”

Lisanacora looked aside, towards the boy. She kept her voice low. “Not as such, no.”

Quilla took a deep breath, tried not to explode at this person who had been misleading her. “What’s your message?”

“You must get the pearl to her.”

“Pearl?”

Lisanacora continued to watch the boy, who was watching them, waiting for them to call on him. “I do not have the full information. All I know is you must get the pearl to the Will-Breaker. I am taking a great risk saying this to you, but you will understand soon, I think. Get the pearl to the Will-Breaker. I must go before I put us both in danger.” She walked straight for the doors.

“That?” Quilla called after her. “That’s your fucking message? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? What pearl? I don’t know of any fucking pearl!”

But the Isyar was gone.

The boy was still in his place, staring at her. “Are you all right, miss?”

Quilla looked about her. There was no sign of Lisanacora. “Where’d the Isyar go?”

“Out, miss.”

“Out?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, miss. A moment ago. I took her out.”

Quilla shivered, but not from the cold. “You did?”

“Yes, miss. Just now. You must have seen. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“That fucking bitch.” She must have used magic on her.

The boy paled. “Miss?”

Quilla threw up a hand. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” She stormed back into the nave.

Ardon was most of the way back to the chancel, and Quilla had a suspicion he wasn’t going to come back this way. She would have to go to him this time. She needed to be at the other end anyway.

He waited for her at the chancel steps.

“The casket will be carried to here.” He indicated a spot in front of the stairs. “You will be seated in the front pew until then, but after it takes its place, you will need to move over here, just to the side. As Garet’s fiancée, you are his living representative, no matter how much the Queen might object.”

Quilla sighed and moved over to the spot he was indicating.

“Just a little more to your right.”

She groaned and adjusted her position. When was he going to come out with it?

“A little more.”

He was doing this on purpose. She was sure of it. She moved a little more.

“Better. What did she say to you on the way out?”

There it was. Would he believe her if she denied Lisanacora had said anything? Probably not, but it was worth a shot. She’d rather talk to Zandrue about this first. “Not much. Just thanked me again for helping her. She was kind of odd, wasn’t she?”

Ardon began up the steps. “I suppose you could describe her as odd. She was unaware we were at war with the Volgs, after all. That’s news I would have expected the whole world to know by now.”

Quilla followed him. “But she was asking about the war, wasn’t she?”

“No, she was asking about the state of relations with the Volgs. A very different question. She might have considered war was a possible answer, but she didn’t know it in advance.”

“But how could she not know about the war?”

He paused and turned back to face her. “How indeed? You’re sure she said nothing else to you on her way out?”

Quilla nodded, tried to look him straight in the eye. “Absolutely sure. What makes you think otherwise?”

“You came back very annoyed.”

“I banged my foot on the doors.” There was no way he believed that.

Ardon shrugged. “If you say so.” He walked to the pulpit. “When I tell you to, you will come up here and say whatever it is you feel like saying about Garet. Don’t worry about length. It can be as brief or as long as you desire. People will listen or they won’t. After you have had your say, I will call upon his Majesty to speak and then the other members of the Royal household. Any questions?”

Quilla shook her head. “No.”

“Good. I’ve decided the gifts should be arranged here in the chancel after all. You can decide exactly how you wish to place them. I’ll take you to the Great Hall so you can collect them. Merith and Durant will help you. Just be sure there is a clear walkway to both the altar and pulpit.” He returned to the chancel steps. “It’s a shame that odd Isyar did not say anything more. I would be very interested in knowing her true purpose, but oh well. Can’t have everything, can we?”

Quilla shook her head, maybe a little too fast—not that it mattered anyway. Ardon already knew she was lying. And he knew that she knew, and all that sort of thing. But she also knew that what Lisanacora said didn’t give any more insight as to her purpose.

* * * * *

Quilla sat in the front pew and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. It was freezing in the church, but she was still sweating. Moving all the gifts into the chancel and setting them up had taken awhile.

And after she’d spent the last week setting them up in the Cathedral’s Great Hall!

She was sure Ardon had changed his mind last minute like that for some political purpose or another. Or maybe it was to get back at her for not telling him what Lisanacora had said.

Gods, she saw ulterior motives in everything people did these days! She wished she could just take people at face value, but that was pretty much impossible.

Nothing was going well.

Over two weeks and nothing had turned up regarding Dyle or any other Darkers. The Palace was a big place, but even so, there were only so many places to hide, and only so many people living there. How was he keeping himself hidden?

And she still couldn’t remember what had happened that night he’d visited her.

She doubted she’d ever remember, but that didn’t stop her hoping it would all suddenly come back to her.

The Queen was in an eternal huff, of course—no, rage was a better word. Word had come in that Sinitïa had been spotted with Meleng and Jorvan in Beldrum, but they had escaped on board a ship. The King had declared Meleng and Jorvan fugitives of the state. They were to be caught and hanged.

Quilla had not been happy about that. She’d had it out with Zandrue.

“See what you’ve done?”

Zandrue took the reproach calmly. “Everything we do is a risk. You know that. At any moment, any of us could be sentenced to hanging. Better it’s one of us who’s far away, don’t you think?”

Quilla hadn’t really had her heart set into the confrontation as she knew Zandrue was right. Felitïa had said to blame her, and Quilla had had no compunctions against that. What was one more?

It had helped strengthen her relationship with Zandrue, at least.

Rudiger had been chumming it up with the Princes, so that was one thing that had gone reasonably well. He hadn’t learned anything useful though.

Meanwhile, Quilla had been trying to get to know the servants. That had not gone particularly well. Marna seemed to have accepted her, but everyone else still saw her as that not-quite-noble someone who pretended to be part of the nobility without actually being part of it, yet who had also abandoned the class of her birth.

And in the case of Marna, Quilla suspected the girl was under instructions to accept her and be friendly with her. One more way in which Ardon was running everything from behind the scenes.

Yet Ardon hadn’t learned anything about the Darkers either. As much as there were things about Ardon she didn’t trust, she did trust he was on her side when it came to Dyle and the Darkers. There was no reason for him to hold back information he might have—at least not all of it. Zandrue said Ardon was clearly worried, and Quilla had to agree.

“Quilla?”

Quilla looked up at the sound of the voice.

A familiar figure was walking down the nave, trailed by a pair of Royal Guards—someone Quilla hadn’t seen in a long while.

Quilla sprang to her feet. “Gabriella!”

The princess came forward and hugged Quilla. “I am so sorry, Quilla. The two of you were such a good match.”

“Thank you.” Quilla hugged Gabriella tightly for several seconds, holding back tears once again. Once she felt she had herself under control, she let go and stood back.

“Looks like I barely made it,” Gabriella said.

It had been well over a year since Quilla had last seen Gabriella. That was at a time before she’d met Felitïa, so she had never really noticed before how similar the two were. They weren’t identical by any means. Gabriella was taller, her hair curlier, and her eyes larger. Gabriella was also more athletic and muscular. Yet their hair and eyes were the same shades of brown, and they both had small, turned-up noses. There was no denying they were siblings, even if only half.

Gabriella also shared Felitïa’s trait of not giving a damn what her family thought of her, evident by the fact she stood here now in travelling clothes that included pants and no skirts.

“I’m glad you made it,” Quilla said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

Gabriella frowned and sat in one of the pews. “I didn’t even find out about it until I reached Porthaven. The news must have arrived just after I left Quorge. I’ve been travelling so much this past year. I’m constantly behind on what’s going on.”

Quilla sat in the pew in front of Gabriella and turned to face the princess, hanging her arms over the back. “I hear wedding plans are in your future.”

Gabriella shrugged. “It gets Father and the old shrew off my back, so I guess so.”

“Is he nice, at least?”

“Oh, he is. I like him a lot, but I wouldn’t marry him if there weren’t other reasons pushing me.” Gabriella crossed her legs and leaned back in the pew. She frowned. “Quilla, I know you’ve probably had to go through this a few times already, and if it’s too hard for you right now, I understand, but…”

Quilla had a good idea what Gabriella wanted, but she waited for her to finish.

“Would you mind telling me what happened? What I’ve heard has been garbled at best. I’d prefer to hear from someone who was there.”

Quilla took a deep breath. “Sure.” Once again, though, she was unsure just how much she should tell. How much about Corvinian? Felitïa? “Maybe let’s go somewhere a little more private though?” She nodded towards Gabriella’s two guards.

Gabriella smirked. “Oh right. I nearly forgot about them. My gracious step-mother supplied them for me.” She snapped her fingers at the guards. “Get lost. Both of you.”

“Your Highness we...,” one began.

“Of for fuck’s sake, I’m a better warrior than the two of you combined. I can take care of myself and don’t need your protection. Wait for me by the entrance.”

The guards snapped to attention, bowed, and left.

“Better?” Gabriella said.

Quilla smirked. “It’s a start, but you never know when someone else might come by. Come with me. Ardon’s given me an office to use until the funeral’s over. I’ve got some wine there too.” She wasn’t supposed to be drinking much of that right now, but…

“Quilla, you speak my language.” Gabriella hopped to her feet. “Lead on.”

Quilla led Gabriella into the back corridors of the Cathedral to her small office. There wasn’t much there except a table and a few things Quilla had supplied herself with. She offered one of the two chairs to Gabriella. When the princess had sat, Quilla poured them each a cup of wine. and sat.

The walk had given her a bit of time to think about what to tell Gabriella. Felitïa had said Gabriella might be a good ally, and Quilla had always gotten along well with her, the only one of Garet’s siblings she’d ever had a good relationship with before Felitïa.

“I’m going to tell you a bit more than I told the King and Queen,” Quilla said. “Can you promise me to keep it to yourself?”

Gabriella sipped her wine. “By telling me that much, you’ve given away there’s more to tell. I could go straight to my father right now without breaking any promises at all.”

Quilla nodded. “You could, but I bet you’re too curious now to do so.”

Gabriella smirked. “You got that right. Damn.”

“It could take awhile.”

Gabriella shrugged. “I don’t mind keeping my guards waiting.” She gulped down the rest of her wine. “As long as there’s more wine.”

Quilla smiled. She hadn’t felt much humour since Garet died. It was nice to feel some now. She poured Gabriella another cup and launched into the story.

Gabriella remained quiet except for the occasional smirk, chuckle, or sigh. She only interrupted once. “So let me get this straight. Garet was Felitïa’s accomplice breaking into the Volg apartments?”

Quilla grimaced. Should she have revealed that? Too late now. “Yes. That’s one of the things I didn’t tell the King and Queen. They don’t know.”

Gabriella laughed. “They better never find out, either. Gods, Garet was a character. I guess I’m not surprised to find out he was part of it. I’m more surprised to learn he wasn’t the instigator, but Felitïa was. I don’t know her, but I assumed she was the more level-headed one.”

“Garet could be a bit hot-headed at times, it’s true.”

“I never said it.” Gabriella smirked. “Please, go on.”

When Quilla finished, Gabriella leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Wow. That was quite...to be honest, I have no idea how to describe it. Felitïa really told you to blame her for everything?”

Quilla nodded. “She refused to come to the funeral.”

“Well, she has been banished. Do you really think they would let her in?”

Quilla shook her head. “No.”

“There you go.”

“But she could have tried! Everything she made herself out to be, everything I thought she was said she was the type of person who would demand access to her brother’s funeral. Hell, she could have used her magic to sneak in! Instead. she takes off to deal with her own problems and abandons me and everyone else. She also took Corvinian with her. She had no right to do that! None at all!” She banged her fists on the table, stood up, and started to pace.

Gabriella didn’t flinch. “Didn’t you say Corvinian wouldn’t accept you as his mother?”

“He just needs time. Time to spend with me, and he’ll realise who I am. He’ll come to love me as I love him! But he can’t do that with Felitïa dragging him to the other side of the fucking continent!”

“Perhaps,” Gabriella said. “Or perhaps he needs time away to figure things out for himself.”

“He’s ten years old, Gabriella. He needs a mother.”

Gabriella peered at her empty cup. The bottle was empty now, too. “Sure, but maybe he needs time to come to terms with that. He’s with Felitïa now. She’ll look after him, I’m sure.”

“Felitïa doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of children. She’ll walk right into danger with him. That’s what she does. Just walks right in.”

Gabriella gave a small, closed-eye smile. “Okay. If you say so.”

“Don’t patronise me, Gabriella.”

Gabriella sighed and put her cup down on the table. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to be patronising. But I do think you need to accept that Corvinian needs time. He grew up knowing one mother, had her snatched away from him, forced upon another person claiming to be his mother and now there’s a third person trying to take that spot. He’s probably confused and still hurting at the loss of the mother he grew up with. Shit, I’d be the same in his position.”

Quilla turned away and took several deep breaths. She didn’t want to be angry at Gabriella, but she was tired of everyone always defending Felitïa.

Maybe Gabriella was right though, a voice at the back of her head kept trying to tell her. Maybe Corvinian did need time. “Maybe you’re right. But surely he should still be somewhere close to me, or me close to him. That way he can get to know me, come to realise I don’t mean bad for him.”

“Perhaps.” Gabriella stood up. “Let’s get through Garet’s funeral first, eh?”

Quilla slumped forward. “I suppose you’re right.” She leaned on the table. “I’m just a mess. And I haven’t even told you what’s happened here since we arrived.”

“Tell me later. I think you need some food and then rest. Maybe some more wine.”

“Oh no. Wine is the last thing I need. That was too much already.”

Gabriella laughed. “You never were much of a drinker. Garet and I would drain several bottles while you worked on a single cup.”

“And I’m less of one now,” Quilla lied.

“Then let’s go with the food and rest. Shall we head back to the Palace?”

Quilla nodded. “I should just let his Grace know I’m leaving.”

“We’ll find him together,” Gabriella said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing him briefly before we go. That’s technically why I came here in the first place.”

Gabriella held out a hand to Quilla, and Quilla took it. Together, they went in search of Ardon.

* * * * *

The Cathedral of the Gods was…

Quilla sighed as she looked behind her at the pews. There were a lot of people, but…

The Cathedral of the Gods was not packed.

Was it petty of her that she cared?

She just wanted Garet to be acknowledged, to get the send-off he deserved. He was a gruff, rambunctious man in life, she knew. He rubbed some people the wrong way. But he was a good man, too, and she was going to make sure everyone knew when she gave her speech.

A hand touched hers, and she looked over at Zandrue beside her, and Rudiger on Zandrue’s other side. “Everything’s going to be fine,” Zandrue said.

“I just…” She couldn’t finish the words. Tears formed in her eyes and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief. She couldn’t let tears mar her appearance. Marna had worked so hard on her hair and make-up. She leaned against Zandrue’s arm.

“I know,” Zandrue said. “Just don’t worry about it.”

The King and Queen arrived soon after that. Their arrival was heralded by a train of armed soldiers who marched into the church and took up positions along the aisles. Only then did the King and Queen themselves enter, followed by Gabriella, Malef, Pastrin, Annai, and Thilin. Behind them came other court nobles like Barnol and Tianna Friaz.

Cerus had sent word from the south that he couldn’t make it. So had most of the ruling lords from across the country. Only Lidda Plavin from Plavin-Tyl had said she would try to make it, but as best Quilla knew, she hadn’t made it in time. She had a long way to travel. Cerus even more. It was understandable they couldn’t make it. But there were closer places, like Aristan, that surely could have had someone here. It was only a couple days’ journey from Beldrum.

The Royal Family settled into the pews on the opposite side of the aisle to Quilla, the King directly across from her. He reached out a hand to her. She took it, clasped it for a moment as he gave her a sad smile. Then he let go and she sat back, catching a glimpse of the Queen glaring at her through tears on her face.

Fuck you, bitch.

She wanted to say that, but she bit her tongue. She suspected the Queen’s tears were more for Sinitïa than Garet. And when she took a moment to think about it, Quilla couldn’t really fault the woman for being upset her daughter was missing.

But it didn’t make up for everything else.

After that, they waited in silence for a while.

Zandrue shuffled beside her. Quilla glanced over to see Zandrue was looking around the church, straining her neck to see over the heads of taller people.

“I thought you said not to worry,” Quilla whispered.

“I told you not to worry. You were just checking for numbers. I’m checking for who.”

“Who?”

“I want to know exactly who has and who hasn’t come to this funeral.”

“How will that help?”

Zandrue shrugged and looked back at Quilla. “I have no idea, but I might see something that gives me an idea.” She went back to straining her neck to see around the church.

At last, the choir appeared at the back of the nave. They marched forward in silence, followed by various priests or deacons or… Quilla had no idea what their titles were, just that they were all robed in clerical attire. At their back came Patriarch Ardon and then the pall-bearers with Garet’s casket.

The funeral was long—at least, it felt long. Quilla had no idea how long it actually took. Minutes or hours, she stopped caring partway through. All she could think about was the fact Garet was gone, that he wasn’t even inside the lavish casket on display here. It was just for show. She also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact Felitïa wasn’t here.

When she went to the pulpit for her own speech, she pondered tossing out what she had planned to say, and instead say something quick like, “I loved him,” and then get the hell out of there. It would have been easier that way.

But no.

She’d made a promise to herself to make them understand who they had lost, and she was going to keep that promise. So she took a deep breath and did just that.

“Garet had an impact on all our lives. On some of you, he had a greater impact than on others, but I don’t think there’s a single person here who did not experience his influence in some manner or other, even if only indirectly. Nevertheless, there are many of you who never knew who he truly was. To you, he was just a prince that you rarely, if ever, saw. Or he was annoying. He was brash and in your face. He was never afraid to give his opinion, whether it agreed with popular opinion or not. But he was a good man, in a way few of you ever knew. So I want to tell you a little about him. Because I knew him. Better than any of you. There are many of you who don’t like that, who will even deny it. But it’s true whether you like it or not. He loved me and I loved him, and I want to tell you why. I want you to know the man you never knew.”

Once the words started coming out, they poured out—faster than she had practised, but also more easily and passionately. She told them a little of how she and Garet had met, but mostly she focused on their time together. On the little things he did away from the discerning eyes of the court. The gestures of kindness, like the time he’d helped a young girl find her mother. How he had done everything in his power to reunite Quilla and her lost son.

When she finished, the church was silent. She couldn’t tell if she’d had any effect. No one reacted at all as far as she could tell when she gazed over the people and said her final words. Admittedly, the lighting in the Cathedral was dim and her vision was blurred by tears, so maybe people were more affected than she could tell. She hoped so.

“Thank you,” she struggled to say, choking out the words through sobs that threatened to overtake her.

She started to step down from the pulpit when her eyes fell on a figure standing at the corner of the entrance to Power’s transept. Her heart skipped a beat and she nearly stumbled.

Dyle?

The mas was dressed in clerical robes, which she wouldn’t have expected from Dyle, but the man was the same height as Dyle. His hair the same dark blonde. His face… Was his face the same? Her vision was still obscured by tears. Did he have the scar? She couldn’t tell. Maybe her imagination was getting the better of her, her fears taking over. Maybe it wasn’t Dyle, just someone similar.

She gathered her courage back again and proceeded down from the pulpit. Once she was back in her place by Garet’s casket, she could get a better look. It would be an obvious look, but it would be a better look and she was wiling to take it even if he noticed her doing it.

If it was Dyle, maybe Zandrue had noticed him.

Please, gods, let Zandrue notice him.

As she moved to her place, she took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

She didn’t need to turn to see him after all. She was facing the right direction as she approached the casket. She would only turn her back to him once she was in place.

With slightly clearer vision, she moved to her place, staring right at the man. He was looking right at her, a half-smile on her face. The smile crinkled his scar.

It was him.

Right there. Out in the open.

What would he do if she walked up to him and slapped him?

There was a guard near him. The guard probably assumed he was a priest and would come to his defence. She would look like the provocateur, and it would give some people more reason to hate her.

But fuck it.

She’d already passed her spot anyway.

She walked right up to him and raised her hand, but stopped. She had a better idea.

Dyle tried to look surprised, but that smile was still there. He had wanted her to see him; that much was clear.

“Get the fuck out of here,” she hissed at him. “You have no place here.”

Then she turned around and went back to her place.

Almost all eyes were on her. Most people looked confused at what she had just done. But that didn’t matter. Zandrue’s eyes were on Dyle, and that was what was important.

Ardon cleared his throat. “Thank you, Miss Steranovist, for that very emotional tribute to his Highness. Your Majesty, would you care to say a few words about your son?”

The King rose from his seat and straightened his military uniform. A courtier approached him, carrying a deep purple cape, which the King draped around his shoulders.

While this was happening, Quilla watched Zandrue kiss Rudiger on the forehead, then slide along her pew towards the All-Father transept. Then she dashed down the aisle towards the entrance doors. Rudiger slid over to follow her.

Quilla wasn’t sure why Zandrue was going that direction, but she had to assume Dyle had moved that way. But she wasn’t going to look. She’d already done enough to draw attention to herself; it was up to Zandrue from here.

* * * * *

The guards only gave Zandrue a cursory look as she slipped past them and into the entry chamber.

A couple young boys jumped up from where they were playing cards on the floor.

“It’s okay, boys,” Zandrue said. “The service isn’t over yet. A deacon just came this way. Which way did he go?”

The two boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Nobody came through here, miss.”

“You’re sure?”

They nodded.

That didn’t make any sense. Dyle had come this way. He must have come in here.

She rushed past the two boys to the doors Dyle should have come through.

Rudiger came into the entry chamber. “Have you—”

Zandrue held up a finger, then pushed open the doors back to the nave. The two guards on the other side looked at her. At the front of the chamber, the King was just beginning to speak.

“Did someone just come through these doors a few seconds ago?” Zandrue asked.

They shook their heads.

Zandrue glanced about. Could he have slipped into Nature’s transept? Or perhaps he had moved into the congregation? Someone in priestly robes amid the congregation should stand out.

Rudiger came up to her and started to speak, but she shook her head.

“Go back to the other side,” she said. “Stand by Night’s plaque and keep your eyes open.”

He nodded and hurried back across the room.

Zandrue stepped back into the nave and edged along the north aisle, past a couple more guards, towards Nature’s transept. As she went, she scanned the congregation. The church wasn’t packed, and here at the back especially, there was a lot of open space. There weren’t many places Dyle could be hiding. He should stick out.

But there was no sign of him.

She looked over at Rudiger, who was just taking his place on the south side. He caught her look and shrugged back.

Reaching Nature’s transept, she peered around the corner. It was completely empty of any people.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t just disappear.

Had he discarded his robes and blended in with the congregation somehow? No, discarded robes would be obvious. Though maybe shoved under a pew? Could he be under a pew himself? Bending down to check would draw a lot of attention, and she was drawing attention as it was.

Damn it! Where had he got to?

She headed back to the entrance doors again, motioning to Rudiger to stay put.

Maybe he had somehow gone past the guards without them noticing. They might not pay attention to a deacon going through the doors. And then they would just forget he had gone through? Maybe it was so unimportant to them, he never really registered with them. Once in the entrance hall, he could have slipped past the boys without them noticing.

If so, there were two options for where he went next: outside or up the northeast tower. If he went outside, he’d had more than enough time to get out of sight by now. She might be able to follow his footsteps in the snow for a short distance, but they would become obscured once he reached the street. There was no way she was catching him that way now.

That left the tower. She just had to hope.

But the door to the tower stairs was locked.

“Uh, boys? Do you have keys for the northeast tower?”

“What do you want to go in the tower for?” one of them answered.

“Looking for a friend. He might have gone up the tower.”

‘Only clergy and caretakers have keys,” the other boy said.

“He’s one of the clergy.” He wasn’t, but he could have stolen the keys.

“We don’t have the keys, sorry,” the second boy said. “Besides, I don’t think your friend went up there. We would have heard someone open the door. It makes a lot of noise.”

“Okay, thanks anyway.”

Shit! How did he keep disappearing like this? How was it no one knew who he was, yet never noticed anyone out of the ordinary?

She had almost certainly lost him by now, but she might as well try outside.

She had left her winter cloak back on her pew. The heavy gown she was wearing would help keep her warm, but it was going to hamper movement in the snow. Even if she did see him out there, she probably wouldn’t be able to catch up to him. But it was worth a try.

Zandrue walked through the north doors and into the cold. She blinked repeatedly as her eyes adjusted to the harsh glare of the sun off yesterday’s dumping of snow.

Something hit her in the side and she stumbled, slipping on an icy patch near the steps and nearly falling over.

“Hey bitch. Long time, no see.”

She steadied herself and looked up. Her vision still hadn’t adjusted to the brightness, but there was a large figure coming towards her. The figure raised a foot, which connected with her stomach, sending her careening backwards. Luckily, the snow provided a soft landing. Without it, the back of her head would have certainly slammed into stone.

She tried to scramble back, her heavy skirts tangling round her legs. Her eyes finally focused, and she recognised the person bearing down on her: a tall, bald Eloorin. He had been one of Dyle’s men all those years ago in Quorge. One of the ones who’d tried to hire her services because they knew what she was. One of the ones who had attacked Felitïa. One of the ones Zandrue had failed to kill.

He lunged at her. She rolled in the snow, tried to kick his legs. If she could disrupt his balance…

The tangle of skirts weighed down by snow meant she missed by a large margin. He kicked her in the side. She grunted with pain. If she cried out, would the guards inside hear her? For that matter, why the fuck weren’t there any guards outside?

“Help!” It couldn’t hurt.

He kicked at her again, this time at her face. She managed to roll aside, but the damn gown continued to be a hindrance.

“I always knew we should have killed you years ago,” the man said.

“Not my fault you’re a slacker.” She tried to roll into a position to regain her feet. Fuck those damn skirts!

He raised a leg and brought it down on her chest. Zandrue grunted again. She was going to have some bruised ribs with that impact, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t broken anything. It was also a mistake on his part, as he hadn’t removed his foot.

She grabbed his ankle and twisted it.

His foot barely moved. Damn, he was strong.

He pushed down harder.

She twisted her legs round, kicked at his other leg. Got him this time!

It probably didn’t hurt him much, but it did mess with his balance a bit. She twisted his ankle again and this time, he slipped and fell on his back. Something in the ankle she was holding cracked.

“Fucking bitch!”

Zandrue rolled again so that she could use her arms to leverage herself into a standing position. By the time she was up, he was already rising too. He had a limp though.

She fumbled at her outer skirt, trying to untie it. It did not want to give.

The bald man lunged at her again. She twisted round to the side, grabbed at his wrists as he tried to grab her. He was too strong for her to do much, but it distracted him just long enough for her to kick out, pushing his lower leg backwards as the rest of his body continued forwards.

He plunged face-first over the snow-covered steps of the Cathedral entrance. His chin hit the solid stone with a crack. He rolled over as she came at him. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth and from the centre of his lower lip, which was missing a chunk.

Kicking was too awkward, so Zandrue jumped, brought her foot down on his face. His head fell back against the stone with another thud and twisted to the side. This time, he grabbed at her ankle.

She twisted herself in the same direction he twisted her and let herself fall. She caught herself with her hands. Pain shot through her ankle, but it could have been much worse. She lashed out with her free foot at the hand holding her other one.

She missed.

Her foot hit his neck instead and he choked. He let go of her to clutch his neck, gasping for air.

Zandrue pushed herself back to her feet. Then she kicked him in the side of the head before he could get his breath back. She kicked him again. Then again, and again. She really wished she had boots on right now, not soft shoes. His mouth, nose, and one eye were bloody, but she wasn’t doing nearly as much damaged as she wanted—or needed.

On her next kick, he grabbed her foot again, pulling her off her feet once more. The back of her head hit the stone steps, and she groaned. He didn’t keep a firm hold though, so she slid away as he got to his feet again.

He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and spat out several teeth.

Zandrue scrambled to her feet as he limped towards her. Why the hell were there no guards? For that matter, where the hell was anyone? Surely people on the street could see what was happening.

She leaned over and grabbed two fistfuls of snow. There wasn’t any time to pack them, so she just lobbed them at him. Anything to distract him a little. He blinked and turned his head to the side. Then she balled her hand into a fist and lunged forward. She punched straight at the part of his neck that was already injured.

He doubled back, gasping for air again.

Zandrue continued forward. She punched to the side of his chin before he could regain air. He reeled, and she punched his neck again. Then she grabbed him by the ear and yanked to the side. He let out a gargled cry.

Despite interference from her skirts, she finally managed to hook her foot around his injured ankle. As he clawed at her hand holding his ear, she yanked his foot out from under him. He fell over backwards, the back of his head smashing into the stone steps. Zandrue was right on top of him. She slammed her foot down into his face. He went still, but she did it a second time for good measure.

She shook out her hand, clenching her teeth against the pain she was only just noticing. “Fuck!” He knuckles were bloody. She hated having to resort to fists.

She looked around. There was nobody on the Cathedral grounds. However, there were many people passing the open gates at the end of the walkway leading up to the Cathedral entrance. Did no one really look this way to see what was happening? She also needed to have a word with somebody about the security arrangements here today.

She knelt beside the big man and made a quick check of his condition. He was still breathing, if raggedly. She would love to kill him, and could easily do so now, but it would be more useful to question him. Instead, she quickly searched him in case he had something useful on him.

A rope to tie him up with would be nice.

No such luck.

She stood up again. He was too heavy for her to carry, especially with so many parts of her aching right now. Even dragging him would be awkward. Rudiger could do it. She’d go get him, though she had no idea where they were going to take the man.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she told the man’s inert form.

She headed back up the steps to the entrance, patting herself down as she went, wiping away bits of snow. Her dress was a mess. It was soaked. The skirts were out of place. There were several tears in both shoulders. She dreaded what her face must look like. She was going to present quite a sight walking back into the funeral. Luckily, few people would be looking in her direction.

The two boys jumped to their feet as she entered. “Are you all right?” they asked.

Zandrue walked straight past them. “I’ll be fine.”

She opened the south doors a crack and looked through. Rudiger was still standing where she’d told him to, his gaze slowly sweeping the large room. She really should have taken him with her.

At the front, King Wavon was still speaking. Virtually all eyes were on him.

She hissed at Rudiger.

The guards on the door turned to look at her. “Your face,” one whispered. “Are you all right?”

“I slipped and fell. I’ll be fine.” She nodded towards Rudiger. “I’m just trying to get my friend’s attention without causing a disruption.”

The guard who had spoken motioned to one of the guards along the south aisle nearest Rudiger. Once he had the other guard’s attention, he indicated Rudiger and then made a motion to come here.

The guard near Rudiger hissed softly at him, and Rudiger turned. The guard pointed back to the doors. As soon as Rudiger saw Zandrue, he hurried over to her.

She opened the doors wider to let him through, then closed them behind him.

He looked her over and reached for her arm. “What happened?”

She allowed his touch briefly before marching towards the north entrance. “I got jumped. Knocked him out, but I’ll need your help moving him. He’s one of the men who attacked Felitïa in Quorge years ago. I’m sure of it. It’s been a long time, but I’ll never forget those assholes.”

She headed out the doors and over to—

“Motherfucker.”

Rudiger came up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s gone.”

“Must not have been as knocked out as you thought. Come on, can’t have gotten far.” Rudiger moved forwards. “Some bloody spots in the snow here.”

Zandrue nodded. “Yeah, that there is where he was lying when I left him. I smashed his face up pretty bad.”

“No clear footprints though. You two flattened most of the snow over here.”

“Yeah well, he was trying to kill me, Rudiger.”

“I know, I know. Just pointing out the obvious. Sorry.”

“That’s all right. Sorry.”

“Can’t see any trails through undisturbed snow, so he probably—”

“Gods fucking damn it!” Zandrue kicked on of the pillars at the top of the steps. “How do they keep doing this? How do they keep slipping past us every fucking time?”

“It’s all right,” Rudiger said. “We’ll figure it out.”

She screamed and rounded on him. “And where the fuck did Dyle go? He was right there in plain sight, yet somehow vanished in the space of just a few yards. And what’s the point? If it was to lure me outside here, then why not just stab me and kill me with a knife? Why the fucking brawl?”

Rudiger came back over to her, and put his arms around her. She felt like pounding on his chest, but stopped herself, and just rested her head against his chest instead.

“How the fuck do they keep getting away?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

She stood there awhile and just hugged him. The wind was cold, but he was warm, and the aches and pains in her body felt somehow lessened while he held her. She barely noticed the cold.

She couldn’t stand here forever though. As soon as the funeral was over and she could get him aside, she needed to talk to Ardon. Dyle had been wearing a deacon’s robes. Ardon would want to know about that. And Dyle had to have gotten the robes from somewhere. If they could track down whose robes he’d used, that might provide a lead.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s catch the end of the funeral.”

Rudiger nodded and she reluctantly let go of him. They headed back inside the Cathedral.