I couldn’t wrap my head around it: the man I had met on the rooftop had been mischievous, for sure, annoying, but he didn’t seem evil. Was he really working in the kitchens of Montmartre just hours after he had set off a bomb that killed a man in cold blood? I couldn’t imagine it. I had felt such a strange pull toward him. Could my instincts really be that off?
“That’s… horrible,” I responded, the events of last night tumbling over and over in my mind.
“Lutesse is his latest battleground. He thinks that he will find it to be sympathetic to his cause because the city remains soliberal.” Seff sneered at that last word. “Everything here is about art and poetry. There are no real Scion values. Artists are being led down the same evil path of the Demon Queen. Before long Ciaran Fahy will have everyone convinced thatwewere wrong. He is looking to continue to fight the war that was already won. They are fighting a lost cause. But they will do dangerous things in their attempt.”
A part of me bristled at this. Was I not an artist? There was no demonic presence entering my mind. I couldn’t care less about some holy battle taking place in realms that I wasn’t even sure I believed in. But if it was making Ciaran and his people become a violent presence in our city, then I supposed it was not good. Strongly held ideals like his lead to deadly consequences. The war had proven that much. On either side.
“Seraphina, promise me that you will stay away from him. No matter what. He might be targeting you because of your relationship with me. He might be trying to get back at my father. No matter what he says or does, promise me that you will stay away. He is our enemy.”
So I promised to stay away from Ciaran Fahy, and I agreed that he was dangerous and an enemy. But I couldn’t help be just a little bit bothered that when it came down to it, Seff had been more concerned about what people would think than he was about my safety and well-being.
I was admittedly still shakenby the revelation of who exactly I’d met on the rooftop. And Seff’s outburst in the cafe had done little to calm my nerves. I hadn’t even finished my coffee, but I was as jittery and jumpy as I would have been if I had drank three on an empty stomach.
Seff seemed to have a plan in mind as we left the cafe, stepping into the morning chill. “Where are we going?” I struggled to keep up with his long stride through the cobbled streets. I was not yet so familiar with this north side of the Sequana. I spent most of my time on the south side of the river, and I had no idea where Seff was headed.
“It’s Sunday,” he said. Not an answer.
“Yes. And?” I said, clopping along beside him.
“Mass.” He smiled down at me.
I stopped mid-stride. After everything that had occurred, the thought of spending the morning in church didn’t exactly hold a lot of appeal. I had assumed that Seff would want to go back to his place or possibly just spend some time together, since I had very few days that were free from rehearsal. “Oh,” was the only response I could muster, disappointment flooding through me.
“My parents will be there. I figure you can make things right with my father this way,” Seff continued, his long strides leading us in the direction of the massive cathedral.
Oh. Ohh.There were a lot of things I wanted to say tothatstatement. For instance, perhaps Seff’s father should be trying to make things right with me, since he had spent the better part of the previous evening insulting me, my parentage, my life choices, right down to my body. But instead I stuffed that response down. Things were already more complicated than they needed to be. I didn’t need to turn this into an argument too. So I smiled sweetly and looked up at this man I wassureI adored, and I told him that I would love to go to Mass with him. I closed the door on the part of my mind screaming that this was wrong.
DREAMWEED
Iheard the solemn toll of the cathedral’s enormous bells long before we reached the giant spectral building. Built from the same limestone that characterized Lutessian architecture, the cathedral loomed over the north side of the city. Before the war, it had been owned by the city and was open for all citizens to explore and enjoy. Now, it had been reclaimed by the theocracy, and it was the centre-point from which the Church operated. The archbishop of Lutesse, now the most powerful man in the city, reigned from the sharp spires of the cathedral’s flèche.
At first glance, the building itself was beautiful. It was certainly one of the most impressive pieces of architecture within the city, with its colourful stained glass, flying buttresses and menacing stone gargoyles. But upon closer examination, the scenes depicted within the artwork of the stained glass and the reliefs carved into the facade were violent and bloody. The Scion iconography, a mighty fist holding a handful of seven arrows dripping blood, was everywhere, and the message was clear. We are watching. God is watching. Obey or perish.
We entered through the heavy oak doors at the front of the cathedral. I had never been inside before, despite spending somany years living in Lutesse. I was struck first by the cloying scent of incense. It was too sweet, with slight notes of citrus and smoke. It invaded my senses and ignited a dull ache behind my eyes.
Seff placed a firm hand on my lower back and began to steer me toward where we would be seated. I didn’t know where to look. The vaulted ceiling seemed impossibly tall. Rows of wooden pews stretched down the length, extending endlessly. There were even more depictions of violence and shows of strength on the walls inside. Bloody battles, great judgement being meted from above, wrathful messengers of a wrathful god reigning down fire and brimstone. It was impossible to look away. But Seff didn’t stop or slow his pace to let me take it all in. We made our way through the entranceway, footsteps echoing in the cavernous space, and then down the rows upon rows of wooden pews that led to the altar.
The viscount stood, a menacing presence at the front of the congregation. A thin, frail looking woman was kneeling at the pew beside him. Her head, bowed low in prayer, was covered with a delicate lace veil that draped down to skim the tops of her bony shoulders. A moderate gust of wind could have knocked her over. Seff’s mother.
“Seff. Glad you could join us.” Erik de Barras held out a large hand to his son. A muscle ticked in Seff’s jaw; the pressure to impress this man must have been overwhelming.
“And Saphira, right?” The viscount turned to me, getting my name wrong on purpose. He knew damn well what my name was. And I wasn’t going to play his games.
“Seraphina, yes. Nice to see you again.” To my own credit, I didn’t waffle, holding the gaze of this man who had insulted me so thoroughly.
“Right. Well, I hope you’re feeling better.” His face twisted in a sneer as he waved a hand toward his wife. “Theviscountess.” She turned her face toward us then, revealing hollow cheekbones and dull eyes, set within a narrow bony face. It was like the viscount had sucked out her very life force, leaving behind a shell. I gave her a warm smile even as horror twisted my gut, but she just nodded and returned to her prayers.
Seff’s hand on my back, a reassuring presence, pushed to direct me into the pew. I slid in to sit beside the viscountess, but Seff nodded wordlessly toward the kneeler. I was instantly uncomfortable but knelt anyway. Seff beside me did the same, bowing his head in prayer. The viscount walked away, toward the rear of the cathedral.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t pray. Never had. I didn’t even know if I believed in the God they worshipped in this church. If he existed, he had never done me any favours. So I took the opportunity to drink in the scenery. The image of seven arrows held in a strong male fist was everywhere. Seff had once explained that each arrow symbolized one of the cardinal virtues as well as one of the deadly sins.
The ominous knell of the enormous pipe organ began, and a solemn procession made its way down the middle aisle of the cathedral. Three small boys dressed in white robes were followed by the viscount, who had donned the ceremonial robes befitting his position as a deacon of the Church. Deacons were almost as well respected as the priests. They held almost all of the same privileges, with the exception of being able to hear confession and provide absolution. In this new theocratic state, they were also able to perform arrests and order executions if it was a crime that fell under the jurisdiction of the Church—crimes like heresy or witchcraft. It was a powerful position. As a viscount and a deacon, Seff’s father was an extremely powerful man in this city. I wondered if he would have been so well respected if the people in this church had seen how he wasbehaving at Montmartre, under the influence of so many Death in the Afternoon cocktails.
The archbishop of Lutesse followed the viscount. He wore gaudy robes of crimson trimmed with intricate gold filigree, the fist of Scion splayed in gold across the front. He was medium build and height, with sallow skin. What was left of his hair was dark and plastered to his shiny head with some kind of grease or oil. His nose was long and hooked, and his jowls hung down around a weak chin. The archbishop walked slowly, eyes straight ahead, his expression dour and serious. It was not a joyful start to the ceremony. Seff’s mother bowed her head in supplication as he walked past our pew.
The Mass itself made me feel very much like an outsider. Everyone seemed to know what to do and when: what words to answer, when to stand, when to kneel. The singing was the most shocking to me. It was so… soulless. The organ was haunting and beautiful, filling the cathedral up to the top of the vaulted ceilings with a deep vibration. But the congregation singing hymns? It did not stir anything in me. It sounded more like the droning of bees than music. This was how they worshipped their God? I started to tune things out and got lost looking up at the soaring ceiling, the sun filtering through the brilliant colours of the stained glass. The light glinting off the gilded accents on the altar.
Finally the archbishop finished a long reading from the scripture and allowed the congregation to sit while he began a more informal sermon. My attention snapped back to him.
