words were tight, strangled, and more than a touch manic. “Because I have to confess that I assumed the last time was a fluke. I mean, it felt like a fluke to me. Did it feel like a fluke to you? I thought it was a fluke. But now I'm not so sure, and the ground is really cold, and I'm starting to have trouble breathing with you there, and that blade is awfully close to my face, when you think about it, so could you please let me up and say hello like a normal person?”
Her expression dazed and vaguely wide-eyed, not unlike a deer suddenly face-to-face with a shark, Widdershins rose. Maurice—Brother Maurice, properly, Order of Saint Bertrand and former assistant to the deceased archbishop of Chevareaux—practically inflated with a huge and desperate gasp. Whether it was relief that her knee was off his sternum, or that her rapier was no longer a mouse-stride from his eye, or both, was unclear. And, ultimately, unimportant, as the deep influx of winter air prompted a red-faced, chest-clutching coughing fit that lasted the better part of two minutes.
He looked very much as she remembered him: straw-colored hair cut in a tonsure; soft, but not remotely weak or decadent, features. The coarse brown of his traditional monk's robe was largely hidden beneath a thick white coat. His only adornment was the Eternal Eye, ultimate symbol of the Hallowed Pact, representing all 147 recognized gods of Galice.
And it stood out, primarily because—in utter disregard for the monastic traditions of simplicity and severity—it was crafted notfrom wood or ceramic or pewter, but from a silver that seemed to gleam without benefit of any sun in the sky.
Widdershins didn't even have to ask. She'd seen it before—not one like it, but that precise icon. For a moment her eyes flickered back to the stone façade of the mausoleum, and she could not quite repress a grin.
“He'd approve,” she said softly, then merely shrugged at the monk's questioning blink. “Sorry about that,” she said instead, though her tone suggested less genuine contrition than amused indifference. You snuck up on me.”
“Oh, I'm—”
“ Why the happy hopping horses did you sneak up on me?”
“Well, I wasn't entirely sure you were who I—”
“For that matter,” Shins broke in again, brain finally catching up with the circumstances and her eyes beginning to narrow in suspicion, “ how did you sneak up on me?”
“Uh, I'm not entirely sure what you…”
The indignant thief was, however, not listening to him at all anymore, but something else entirely.
“Oh, I see,” she grumbled. “And this by you was funny, yes? Just because you knew he wasn't a threat wouldn't make him any less dead if I'd stuck something sharp through something squishy! I—Oh.” She cast Maurice a tentative smile, genuinely apologetic now, when she finally noticed the gradual widening of his eyes and growing pallor of his face.
“We'll talk about this later,” she murmured from an upturned corner of her mouth. Then, more loudly, “Uh, I'm not sure exactly how much you know about—”
“Not here, in the cold, please. The caretaker's hut isn't far from here. We can get out of the wind, have some hot tea…”
“And get me out of sight of the guards?”
It was Maurice's turn for a tentative, almost-sickly smile. “I couldvouch for you, certainly, but there would be a lot of questions—you, um, didn't make your entrance in any proper manner, or I'd have been informed—and I'd just as soon not try to explain you right now. If I even could.”
Shins chuckled. “All right. After you.”
Nervously glancing back over his shoulder, as though afraid she might simply up and vanish, the monk guided her along the cemetery's many smaller footpaths, winding to one side of this crypt and behind that one, avoiding the main thoroughfares as often as he might. More than once he strode ahead to check that their way was clear, then held his visitor back until the nearby armsmen had
Her expression dazed and vaguely wide-eyed, not unlike a deer suddenly face-to-face with a shark, Widdershins rose. Maurice—Brother Maurice, properly, Order of Saint Bertrand and former assistant to the deceased archbishop of Chevareaux—practically inflated with a huge and desperate gasp. Whether it was relief that her knee was off his sternum, or that her rapier was no longer a mouse-stride from his eye, or both, was unclear. And, ultimately, unimportant, as the deep influx of winter air prompted a red-faced, chest-clutching coughing fit that lasted the better part of two minutes.
He looked very much as she remembered him: straw-colored hair cut in a tonsure; soft, but not remotely weak or decadent, features. The coarse brown of his traditional monk's robe was largely hidden beneath a thick white coat. His only adornment was the Eternal Eye, ultimate symbol of the Hallowed Pact, representing all 147 recognized gods of Galice.
And it stood out, primarily because—in utter disregard for the monastic traditions of simplicity and severity—it was crafted notfrom wood or ceramic or pewter, but from a silver that seemed to gleam without benefit of any sun in the sky.
Widdershins didn't even have to ask. She'd seen it before—not one like it, but that precise icon. For a moment her eyes flickered back to the stone façade of the mausoleum, and she could not quite repress a grin.
“He'd approve,” she said softly, then merely shrugged at the monk's questioning blink. “Sorry about that,” she said instead, though her tone suggested less genuine contrition than amused indifference. You snuck up on me.”
“Oh, I'm—”
“ Why the happy hopping horses did you sneak up on me?”
“Well, I wasn't entirely sure you were who I—”
“For that matter,” Shins broke in again, brain finally catching up with the circumstances and her eyes beginning to narrow in suspicion, “ how did you sneak up on me?”
“Uh, I'm not entirely sure what you…”
The indignant thief was, however, not listening to him at all anymore, but something else entirely.
“Oh, I see,” she grumbled. “And this by you was funny, yes? Just because you knew he wasn't a threat wouldn't make him any less dead if I'd stuck something sharp through something squishy! I—Oh.” She cast Maurice a tentative smile, genuinely apologetic now, when she finally noticed the gradual widening of his eyes and growing pallor of his face.
“We'll talk about this later,” she murmured from an upturned corner of her mouth. Then, more loudly, “Uh, I'm not sure exactly how much you know about—”
“Not here, in the cold, please. The caretaker's hut isn't far from here. We can get out of the wind, have some hot tea…”
“And get me out of sight of the guards?”
It was Maurice's turn for a tentative, almost-sickly smile. “I couldvouch for you, certainly, but there would be a lot of questions—you, um, didn't make your entrance in any proper manner, or I'd have been informed—and I'd just as soon not try to explain you right now. If I even could.”
Shins chuckled. “All right. After you.”
Nervously glancing back over his shoulder, as though afraid she might simply up and vanish, the monk guided her along the cemetery's many smaller footpaths, winding to one side of this crypt and behind that one, avoiding the main thoroughfares as often as he might. More than once he strode ahead to check that their way was clear, then held his visitor back until the nearby armsmen had
Similar Books
Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance
Sandra Chastain
Cougar's First Christmas
Jessie Donovan
Anarchist Book 4: (An MC Serial Novel) Book 4
Jordan Silver
Legends of Marithia: Book 3 - Talonsphere
Peter Koevari
DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS
Mallory Kane
Starting from Scratch
Marie Ferrarella
Red Sky in the Morning
Margaret Dickinson
Loaded Dice
James Swain
The Mahabharata
R. K. Narayan
Mistakenly Mated
Sonnet O'Dell