The Divine paused to give Leander a swift, searching look, as though seeking his approval. Then she took a deep breath and wrung her hands before stepping forward. Her sweet, youthful voice spilled across the square.
“People of Bonsaint.” She sounded breathless in her earnestness. “The Lady has delivered us from danger. By Her grace, the Dead have been driven from our fields.” Had Leander convinced her of that? He wasn’t watching her, instead gazing coldly across the crowd. “On this day, we honor her by denouncing the Raven King, bringer of the Sorrow, ruin of the Age of Kings. May his face remain forgotten. May history scorn his name.”
“May history scorn his name,” echoed the crowd.
“Lady, we give thanks.” The Divine made the sign of the oculus and bowed her head.
The crowd held its breath. Everyone knew what would happen next: the ravens would descend on the effigy in a great black cloud and tear it apart, straw by straw, just as they had the king’s real body three hundred years ago, when they had been sent by the Lady to destroy him. He had been known only as the Raven King ever since, his true name struck from Loraille’s records in disgrace.
The held breath stretched on. And on, and on, until confused murmurings started to fill the square. Not a single raven had budged. No longer flapping or croaking, they roosted in watchful silence, hundreds of dark eyes gleaming. As the sun sank below the rooftops, the slice of red light illuminating the effigy slipped upward, casting more of it into shadow. Soon only the crown blazed against the darkening sky, like it had been set on fire.
The Divine stood frozen, a pale blot in the shadows. Her hands tightly gripped the platform’s rail. Beside her, Leander spoke. Whatever he said seemed to jar her from her horrified trance, and she quickly bent her head in prayer. Leander joined her, but I could tell he wasn’t truly praying; instead, he was watching the crowd beneath his lashes.
I had never heard of this happening before. The Lady always answered. Beside me Marguerite was gripping her pocket, consulting her shade. “Does the revenant sense anything?” she whispered, her eyes wide and frightened.
“Not yet,” it snapped, preoccupied. I got the impression that it was extending its senses as far as it dared. I shook my head, and almost jumped when Marguerite’s other hand reached out to seize mine, holding it as tightly as Sophia had in the crypt.
The murmurs were growing agitated. “Artemisia!” wailed a voice suddenly. “Artemisia of Naimes!” At once, a confusing outcry filled the square. I couldn’t tell what had prompted it until another voice shouted, “The white raven!”
Leander’s head jerked up, his gaze fixing on the statue of Saint Agnes. I followed it to see that Trouble had landed on the statue’s head, his white feathers striking in the gloom. My stomach plunged. Some of the people here had to be refugees; they must have seen Trouble in the aftermath of the battle, diving at the clerics to aid my escape. And if they had made the connection between me and Trouble, Leander certainly had too. Looking back, I found that he had gone very still, his fingers poised over his onyx ring. Beside him, the Divine looked overwhelmed, glancing around as though searching for someone to tell her what to do.
The shouting continued, growing bolder. “It’s a sign! Saint Artemisia is with us!”
“There’s something here,” the revenant said suddenly. “An unbound spirit. It reeks of Old Magic. It’s possessing someone.”
I cast a horrified eye over the hundreds of people gathered in the square. There were too many possibilities. Dozens of soldiers, visibly uncertain whether to contain the crowd or help disperse it; the monks who had helped set up the effigy; even the clerics and knights standing on the platform with the Divine. Each of them Sighted, vulnerable to possession.
Nearby, alarmed cries rang out, more of disgust than fear. I learned forward, trying to see the cause of the disturbance. People were jumping away from something on the ground. It was rats—rats scattering beneath their feet, fleeing across the cobblestones.
“There it is,” the revenant hissed triumphantly.
Marguerite’s shade must have sensed it too. She was staring at a shape in the crowd, a dark figure limping along behind the rats, shoving people aside. My breath caught as the dwindling light glanced from a piece of metal on the figure’s brow. It was the beggar from earlier, the one playing the part of the Raven King. He was still wearing his crown and cloak of feathers. Now his face was contorted, his teeth bared in a grimace. His head wagged from side to side like a maddened bear. I felt the revenant recoil at whatever it sensed within him.
“That human wasn’t possessed when we saw him earlier. Nun, the spirit inhabiting him knows we’re here. It’s looking for us.”
As though it had heard the revenant speak, the thrall jerked to a halt. The beggar’s eyes met mine across the crowd, flashing silver in the dusk.
“It’s been sent to find us.”
NINETEEN
The beggar bared his blackened teeth in a rictus grin. Then he ducked his head and continued shoving through the crowd, his limbs moving in labored fits and jerks.
“It’s powerful,” the revenant was saying, speaking more to itself than to me. “Fourth Order, certainly, but the stink of Old Magic is obscuring it… Nun?” It sounded alarmed. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”
All I cared about was that the thrall had come for me, which meant that anyone nearby was in danger. Charles wasn’t carrying his sword; even if Jean had had one, he was in no condition to fight. And I couldn’t let anything happen to Marguerite.
Roughly, I shoved her hand away. “I need to go,” I grated out, and jumped off the awning, hardening myself against her cry of protest.
“Nun!”
I didn’t answer. As soon as my boots hit the cobbles, I was weaving through the crowd, shoved from side to side by the unpredictable lurch of bodies. I paused to let the beggar catch sight of me, willing him to follow. Then I yanked my hood over my face. If I managed to lead him out of the square, I might be able to fight the spirit inhabiting him without anyone getting hurt.
“You are the worst vessel I’ve ever had,” the revenant hissed.
At first my strategy seemed to work. I caught a few glimpses of the beggar over my shoulder, twitching and grimacing as he prowled along my trail. Then I heard a scream.
“Blight!” someone shouted. “The Dead are among us!”
As though this were a signal, the ravens took flight at last, erupting over the crowd in a storm of beating wings. Their voices echoed the cry of “Dead, dead, dead!”
I jerked to a halt as panic raged around me. The thrall had stopped in the middle of the square near the statue of Saint Agnes. His bloodshot gaze locked on mine as his hand snapped out and grabbed a passing woman’s wrist. He let go as soon as she screamed, and she was carried away by the crowd, terror boiling in her wake. No one else could see the silver sheen that glazed his eyes. As far as these people knew, anyone around them could be possessed; the square could be full of spirits, and none of them would be the wiser.
The message was clear: it wasn’t going to let me lure it away. It would hurt people until I stopped and faced it here. Whatever it was, it was intelligent, or it was following Leander’s orders.