“I’M WARNING YOU—”
“You’re warning me? What are you going to do? Break down the door?” I laughed harder. “Actually, do it. I dare you.” Turning my attention back to his journal, I continued to read. ‘I must confess, she still haunts my thoughts. Days and nights blur together as one, and I struggle to focus on anything but her memory. My training suffers. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. There is only her.’ Good God, Chass, this is getting depressing. Romantic, of course, but still a little melodramatic for my taste—”
Something heavy crashed into the door, and the wood splintered. My livid husband’s arm smashed through—again and again—until a sizeable hole revealed his brilliant crimson face. I laughed, chucking the journal through the splinters before he could reach my neck. It bounced off his nose and skidded across the floor.
If he hadn’t been so obnoxiously virtuous, I think he would’ve sworn. After reaching an arm through to unlock the door, he scrambled inside to collect the journal.
“Take it.” I nearly cracked a rib from trying not to laugh. “I’ve already read enough. Quite touching stuff, really. If possible, her letters were even worse.”
He snarled and advanced on me. “You—you read my personal—my private—”
“How else could I get to know you?” I asked sweetly, dancing around the tub as he approached. His nostrils flared, and he looked closer to breathing fire than anyone I’d ever known. And I’d known quite a few dragonesque characters.
“You—you—”
Words seemed to be failing him. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable.
“—you devil.”
And there it was. The worst someone like my upstanding husband could invent. The devil. I failed to hide my grin.
“See? You’ve gotten to know me all by yourself.” I winked at him as we circled the tub. “You’re much cleverer than you look.” I tilted my head, pursing my lips in consideration. “Though you were stupid enough to leave your most intimate correspondences lying around for anyone to read—and you keep a journal. Perhaps you aren’t so clever after all.”
He glared at me, chest heaving with each breath. After a few more seconds, his eyes closed. I watched in fascination as his lips subconsciously formed the words one, two, three . . .
Oh my god.
I couldn’t help it. Truly, I couldn’t. I burst out laughing.
His eyes snapped open, and he gripped the journal so hard he nearly tore it in half. Spinning on his heel, he stormed back into the bedroom. “Ansel will be here any moment. He’ll fix the door.”
“Wait—what?” My laughter ceased abruptly, and I hurried after him, careful of the splintered wood. “You still want to leave me with a guard? I’ll corrupt him!”
He grabbed his coat and stuffed his arms inside. “I told you,” he snarled. “You broke trust. I can’t watch you all the time. Ansel will do it for me.” Jerking open the door to the corridor, he shouted, “Ansel!”
Within seconds, a young Chasseur poked his head in. Wildly curly brown hair fell in his eyes, and his body had the appearance of being stretched somehow, like he’d grown too much in too little time. Beyond his gangly frame, however, he was actually quite handsome—almost androgynous with his smooth olive skin and long, curling eyelashes. Curiously, he wore a coat of pale blue rather than the deep royal blue typical of Chasseurs. “Yes, Captain?”
“You’re on guard duty now.” My infuriating husband’s gaze was knifelike as he looked back at me. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Ansel’s eyes turned pleading. “But what about the interrogations?”
“You’re needed here.” His words held no room for argument. I almost felt sorry for the boy—or I would have, if his presence hadn’t foiled my entire evening. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t listen to a word she says, and make sure she stays put.”
We watched him close the door in sullen silence.
Right. This was fine. I was nothing if not adaptable. Sinking back onto the bed, I groaned theatrically and muttered, “This should be fun.”
At my words, Ansel straightened his shoulders. “Don’t talk to me.”
I snorted. “This is going to be quite boring if I’m not allowed to talk.”
“Well, you’re not, so . . . stop.”
Charming.
Silence descended between us. I kicked my feet against the bed frame. He looked anywhere but at me. After a few long moments, I asked, “Is there anything to do here?”
His mouth thinned. “I said stop talking.”
“Maybe a library?”
“Stop talking!”
“I’d love to go outside. Bit of fresh air, bit of sunshine.” I motioned to his pretty skin. “You might want to wear a hat though.”
“As if I’d take you outside,” he sneered. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
I sat up earnestly. “And neither am I. Look, I know I could never get past you. You’re much too, er, tall. Great long legs like yours would run me down in an instant.” He frowned, but I flashed him a winning smile. “If you don’t want to take me outside, why don’t you give me a tour of the Tower instead—”
But he was already shaking his head. “Reid told me you were tricky.”
“Asking for a tour is hardly tricky, Ansel—”
“No,” he said firmly. “We’re not going anywhere. And you will address me as Initiate Diggory.”
My grin vanished. “Are we long-lost cousins, then?”
His brows furrowed. “No.”
“You just said your surname is Diggory. That’s also my unfortunate husband’s surname. Are the two of you related?”
“No.” He looked away quickly to stare at his boots. “That’s the surname all the unwanted children are given.”
“Unwanted?” I asked, curious despite myself.
He scowled at me. “Orphans.”
For some unfathomable reason, my chest constricted. “Oh.” I paused in search of the right words, but found none—none except . . . “Would it help if I told you I don’t have the best relationship with my own mother?”
His scowl only deepened. “At least you have a mother.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I do.” Truer words had never been spoken. Every day of the last two years—every moment, every second—I’d wished her away. Wished I’d been born someone else. Anyone else. I offered him a small smile. “I’d trade places with you in an instant, Ansel—just the parentage, not the dreadful outfit. That shade of blue really isn’t my color.”
He straightened his coat defensively. “I told you to stop talking.”
I fell back on the bed in resignation. Now that I’d heard his confession, the next part of my plan—the, uh, guileful part—left a sour taste in my mouth. But it didn’t matter.
To Ansel’s annoyance, I began to hum.
“No humming either.”
I ignored him. “‘Big Titty Liddy was not very pretty, but her bosom was big as a barn,’” I sang. “‘Her creamery knockers drove men off their rockers, but she was blind to their charms—’”
“Stop!” His face burned so vivid a scarlet it rivaled my husband’s. “What are you doing? That—that’s indecent!”
“Of course it is. It’s a pub song!”
“You’ve been in a pub?” he asked, flabbergasted. “But you’re a woman.”
It took every drop of my willpower not to roll my eyes. Whoever had taught these men about women had been heinously out of touch with reality. It was almost as if they’d never met a woman. A real woman—not a ludicrous pipe dream like Célie.
I had a duty to this poor boy.
“There are lots of women in pubs, Ansel. We aren’t like you think. We can do anything you can do—and probably better. There’s a whole world outside this church, you know. I could show you, if you wanted.”
His expression hardened, though pink still bloomed in his cheeks. “No. No more talking. No more humming.
No more singing. Just—just stop being you for a little while, eh?”
“I can’t make any promises,” I said seriously. “But if you gave me a tour . . .”
“Not happening.”
Fine.
“‘Big Willy Billy talked sort of silly,’” I bellowed, “‘but his knob was long as his—’”
“Stop, STOP.” Ansel waved his hands, cheeks flaming anew. “I’ll take you on a tour—just, please, please stop singing about . . . that!”
I rose to my feet, clasping my hands together and beaming.
Voilà.
Unfortunately, Ansel started our tour with the vast halls of Saint-Cécile. More unfortunate—he knew an absurd amount about each architectural feature of the cathedral, as well as the history of each relic and effigy and stained-glass window. After listening to his intellectual prowess for the first fifteen minutes, I’d been mildly impressed. The boy was clearly intelligent. After listening to him for the next four hours, however, I’d longed to shatter the monstrance over his head. It’d been a reprieve when he’d concluded the tour for dinner, promising to continue tomorrow.
But he’d almost looked . . . hopeful. As if at some point during our tour, he’d started enjoying himself. As if he weren’t used to having anyone’s undivided attention, or perhaps having anyone listen to him at all. That hope in his doe-like eyes had quashed my urge to inflict bodily harm.
I couldn’t, however, be distracted from my purpose.
When Ansel knocked on my door the next morning, my husband left us without a word, disappearing to wherever it was he went during the day. After the rest of my wardrobe had been delivered, we’d suffered a tense, silent evening together before I’d retired to the bathtub. His journal—and Célie’s letters—had both mysteriously disappeared.
Ansel turned to me hesitantly. “Do you still want to finish your tour?”
“About that.” I squared my shoulders, determined not to waste another day learning about a bone that might once have belonged to Saint Constantin. “As thrilling as our excursion was yesterday, I want to see the Tower.”
“The Tower?” He blinked in confusion. “But there’s nothing here you haven’t already seen. The dormitories, dungeon, commissary—”
“Nonsense. I’m sure I haven’t seen everything.”
Ignoring his frown, I pushed him out the door before he could protest.
It took another hour—after feigning interest in the Tower’s stables, training yard, and twenty-three cleaning closets—before I finally managed to drag Ansel back to the metal spiral staircase.
“What’s up there?” I asked, planting my feet when he tried to lead me back to the dormitories.
“Nothing,” he said swiftly.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He tugged on my arm harder. “You’re not allowed up there.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not.”
“Ansel.” I stuck out my lip, wrapping my arms around his skinny bicep and batting my lashes. “I’ll behave. I promise.”
He glowered at me. “I don’t believe you.”
I dropped his arm and frowned. I had not just wasted the past hour waltzing about the Tower with a pubescent boy—however adorable he might be—to trip at the finish line. “Fine. Then you leave me no choice.”
He eyed me warily. “What are you—”
He broke off as I turned and dashed up the staircase. Though he was taller, I’d guessed correctly: he wasn’t yet used to his gangling height, and his limbs were a mess of awkwardness. He stumbled after me, but it wasn’t much of a chase. I’d already raced up several flights before he’d worked out how to use his legs.
Skidding slightly at the top, I peered in dismay at the Chasseur sitting guard outside the door—no, sleeping outside the door. Propped up in a rickety chair, he snored softly, his chin drooping to his chest and drool dampening his pale blue coat. I darted around him to the door, heart leaping when the handle turned. More doors lined the walls of the corridor beyond at regular intervals, but they weren’t what made me lurch to a halt.
No. It was the air. It swirled around me, tickling my nose. Sweet and familiar . . . with just a hint of something darker lurking underneath. Something rotten.
You’re here you’re here you’re here, it breathed.
I grinned. Magic.
But my grin quickly faltered. If I’d thought the dormitories were cold, I’d been wrong. This place was worse. Much worse. Almost . . . forbidding. The sweetened air unnaturally still.
Two sets of clumsy footsteps broke the eerie silence.
“Stop!” Ansel tumbled through the door after me, lost his footing, and crashed into my back. The guard outside the door—finally awake, and much younger than I’d first assumed—followed suit. We fell in a whirl of curses and tangled bodies.
“Get off, Ansel—”
“I’m trying—”
“Who are you? You aren’t supposed to be up here—”
“Excuse me!” We looked up as one toward the tinny voice. It belonged to a frail, teetering old man in white robes and thick spectacles. He held a Bible in one hand and a curious device in the other: small and metal, with a sharp quill at the end of a cylinder.
Shoving them both away and climbing to my feet, I searched frantically for something to say, for some reasonable explanation as to why we were wrestling in the middle of . . . whatever this was, but the guard beat me to it.
“I’m sorry, Your Reverence.” The boy shot us each a resentful look. His collar had creased his cheek during his nap, and a bit of drool had dried on his chin. “I have no idea who this girl is. Ansel let her in here.”
“I did not!” Ansel colored indignantly, still out of breath. “You were asleep!”
“Oh, dear.” The old man pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose to squint at us. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all.”
Throwing caution to the winds, I opened my mouth to explain, but a smooth, familiar voice interrupted.
“They’re here to see me, Father.”
I froze, surprise jolting through me. I knew that voice. I knew it better than my own. But it shouldn’t have been here—in the heart of Chasseur Tower—when it was supposed to be hundreds of miles away.
Dark, devious eyes settled on me. “Hello, Louise.”
I grinned in response, shaking my head in disbelief. Coco.
“This is highly unusual, Mademoiselle Perrot,” the priest wheezed, frowning. “Private citizens are not allowed in the infirmary without advance notice.”
Coco motioned me forward. “But Louise isn’t a private citizen, Father Orville. She’s Captain Reid Diggory’s wife.”
She turned back to the guard, who stood gaping at her. Ansel wore a similar expression, his eyes comically wide and his jaw hanging open. Dumbfounded. I resisted the urge to stuff his tongue back in his mouth. It wasn’t as if they could even see her figure beneath her enormous white robe. Indeed, the starched fabric of her neckline rose to just below her chin, and her sleeves draped almost to the tips of her fingers, where white gloves concealed the rest. An inconvenient uniform if I’d ever seen one—but a most convenient disguise.
“As you can see,” she continued, skewering the guard with a pointed look, “your presence is no longer required. Might I suggest resuming your post? We wouldn’t want the Chasseurs to learn about this horrible miscommunication, would we?”
The guard didn’t need to be told twice. He hastened back out the door, stopping only when he’d crossed the threshold. “Just—just make sure she signs the register.” Then he closed the door with a rather relieved click.
“Captain Reid Diggory, you say?” The priest stepped closer, tipping his head back to examine me through his spectacles. They magnified his eyes to an alarming size. “Oho, I’ve heard all about Reid Diggory and his new bride. You should be ashamed of yourself, madame. Tricking a holy man into matrimony! It’s ungodly—”
“Father.” Coco placed a hand on
his arm and fixed him with a steely smile. “Louise is here to help me today . . . as penance.”
“Penance?”
“Oh, yes,” I added, catching on and nodding enthusiastically. Ansel stared between us with a bewildered expression. I stomped on his foot. Father Orville didn’t even blink, the blind old bat. “You must allow me to atone for my sins, Father. I feel absolutely wretched about my behavior, and I’ve prayed long and hard about how best to punish myself.”
I slipped the last of the Archbishop’s coin from my pocket. Thank goodness Father Orville hadn’t yet noticed my pants. He’d probably have had a fit and died. I stuffed the coin into his palm. “I pray you’ll accept this indulgence to alleviate my sentence.”
He harrumphed but slid it into his robes. “I suppose caring for the sick is a worthy pursuit—”
“Fantastic.” Coco beamed and steered me away before he could change his mind. Ansel trailed behind as if unsure where he was supposed to go. “We’ll read them Proverbs.”
“Mind you follow protocol.” Father Orville gestured to the washroom near the exit, where two pieces of parchment had been affixed to the wall. The first was clearly a register of names. I drifted closer to read the tiny script of the second.
INFIRMARY PROCEDURES—WESTERN ENTRANCE
As decreed by HIS EMINENCE, THE ARCHBISHOP OF BELTERRA, all guests of the cathedral infirmary must present their name and identification to the initiate on duty. Failure to do so will result in removal from the facilities and lawful action.
Feuillemort Asylum representatives—
Please check in at Father Orville’s office. Packages are distributed from the Eastern Entrance.
Clergymen and healers—
Please utilize the register and inspection form located at the Eastern Entrance.
The following procedures must be observed at all times:
1.The infirmary must remain clean and free of debris.
2.Irreverent language and behavior are not tolerated.
3.All guests must remain with a member of staff. Guests found unaccompanied will be escorted from the facilities. Lawful action may be taken.
4.All guests must wear appropriate garments. Upon entry, healers will distribute white robes to don over layperson garments. These robes must be returned to a member of staff before departure from the facilities. These robes aid odor control throughout Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine and Chasseur Tower. They are required. Failure to don robes will result in permanent removal from the facilities.
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