A sense, she thought, dazed and faintly irritated, of home.
29
Rielle
“I don’t know what either of you were thinking, and God knows I don’t want you to explain it to me. But, if you need a place to hide or flee, know you can always come to me. Not even His Holiness knows of all the secret places in this city and how many of them belong to me.”
—Message from Odo Laroche to Lady Rielle Dardenne
May 24, Year 998 of the Second Age
When Rielle left the House of Night archives the evening after she’d been caught with Audric, her eyes burned from reading far too many books about the physicality of shadows and the life of Saint Tameryn—all so meticulously annotated by Sloane that the sheer size of the woman’s notes rivaled the books themselves.
Rielle’s shoulders ached; her nerves felt as though they’d been sliced open and left hanging, frayed. She could think of nothing but the haven of her rooms and the fresh cinnamon cake Evyline had promised would be waiting on her bedside table.
But at least now, with the shadow trial in a mere two days’ time, the plan that had been brewing in the back of her mind had solidified.
She pulled the archive doors shut behind her, Evyline and two others of her guard flanking her, then turned—and froze.
Ludivine sat in the hallway across from the archives, on an iron-footed settee fringed with fine dark tassels. Her golden hair fell down her back in waves. The gray gown she wore shimmered beneath a field of elaborate burgundy, dark-blue, and russet embroidery: Sauvillier colors.
Rielle could think of nothing to greet her with except “Oh.”
Ludivine stood, a small smile on her face, and held out her hand. “Walk with me, Rielle.”
“I don’t want to.”
Ludivine took Rielle’s hand and tucked it through the crook of her arm. “I insist.”
Rielle glanced back at Evyline, whose hands rested on her sword.
Evyline nodded grimly. She and the other guards would, of course, stay near.
So Rielle took a deep breath and walked with Ludivine downstairs, through the quiet, dark hallways of the House of Night, until emerging into the central chapel. Dozens of worshippers had gathered throughout the room to pray—at the rims of black marble fountains, on floor cushions and prayer benches. Some knelt at the feet of Saint Tameryn’s statue, which stood at the heart of the room. Daggers in hand, she looked up through the open rafters at the deepening violet sky.
At their entrance, everyone in the crowded chapel looked up from their prayers.
The silence was deafening. The whispers were worse.
Rielle planted her heels, determined to walk no farther. “Lu, please don’t do this to me.”
“Oh, come now,” Ludivine murmured. “We’re just going for a walk. What’s the harm in that?”
So Rielle allowed Ludivine to lead her on through the room. At the feet of Saint Tameryn, Rielle and Ludivine knelt, kissed their fingers, touched the napes of their necks. Ludivine murmured greetings to everyone they passed. Rielle tried to do the same, tried to smile, but her words sounded strangled, and her smile felt like it had been fixed to her face with nails.
Once outside the House of Night, Rielle could no longer contain her frustration.
“Are you going to say nothing to me?” she whispered, as Ludivine guided them through one of the outer temple courtyards. Whistblooms, their pollen glowing a powdery white to match the stars, had begun to open along the paved path. “Will we parade about the city in awkward silence until I faint from the stress? Is that to be my punishment?”
“Calm yourself and act ordinary,” said Ludivine under her breath. Then, louder: “Good evening, Lord Talan, Lady Esmeé. Aren’t the whistblooms lovely this time of year?”
The courtiers in question bowed their heads, their eyes darting back and forth between Rielle and Ludivine as they murmured brief greetings and glided on through the foliage. Once a few paces away, Rielle heard their furious whispers begin.
Heat crawled up the back of her neck.
“Just a little farther,” said Ludivine softly, but it wasn’t until they’d passed through the outer courtyards of each of the seven temples that Ludivine finally turned them off the temple roads and onto a narrow side street.
Rielle felt weak with relief once they passed into the shadows of the apartment buildings crowding overhead.
“And that wasn’t punishment?” She wiped her face with her sleeve, her hand shaking.
“No,” said Ludivine calmly, leading Rielle down the tidy cobbled road. Patches of soft torchlight from brackets in the walls lit the way. The first Grand Magister of the Pyre had, centuries earlier, designed the torches in the temple district to light on their own at nightfall. “If you’d stop panicking for a moment, you would see I’m trying to help you. And please, put up your hood.”