‘A sacred stitch, forbidden to all but those who have pledged their lives to the service of the Temple. We are unable to reproduce it here.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
Both Holy and Base, 4th Edition
Mieka ushered me out of the room and to the servants’ stair, which was concealed in the wood paneling of the hall. At the base of the stair, where a small door led to the outside, a few rough cloaks hung on wooden pegs. I took one, whispering a silent apology to its rightful owner. I hoped I would look like an undermaid on her way home—perhaps to check on her family as news of the siege spread.
“What will you tell Patrick?” I asked Mieka.
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “He’s already paid me most of what he owes. If I lose a bit of coin over this, so be it. Zlata would only spend it at the hells, anyway.” She pulled the hood a little lower over my brows. “Keep Baldbeak under your cloak if you can. Just in case.”
Baldbeak squawked in protest.
“A lot of people saw her with a raven tonight,” Mieka explained to him, seeming to understand the meaning of his noise. “You want to keep her safe, don’t you?”
He gave a reluctantraark.I pressed my cold cheek to Mieka’s warm one.
“You can’t miss the Pontiff’s palace,” she whispered urgently. “It has a big dome on the top, with the Eye carved in it. You can see it from all over Mirthwater. The Pontiff left an hour ago. He will be there already, I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” I said. I hugged her thin shoulders, and her curls tickled my nose.
“Take care of yourself,” she said, stepping back and holding me by the shoulders. “The Pontiff is a powerful man. If your plan shows the slightest sign of not working, you get out of there, you hear?”
It was not difficult to find the Pontiff’s palace, as Mieka had said. Even at night, the golden dome glowed like a beacon. I kept it in sight and walked as quickly as I could through the streets without breaking into a run. Baldbeak made complaining noises from under my arm, and having his great feathery bulk pressed against my side was far from comfortable, but I saw the wisdom in what Mieka had said—anyone looking for me would be looking for my distinctive Hair and a raven. I couldn’t risk revealing either before I got to my destination. Still, he was heavy, and I was very much looking forward to putting him down.
The street opened up into a wide courtyard, with a semicircular carriageway around a large stone fountain at one end. The fountain depicted seven sculpted Priests standing in a circle, their hands clasped in prayer, water spouting from their fingers. In the center was the Eye, water dripping unpleasantly from what I supposed was meant to be its tear duct. The moss and algae that had collected around the waterspout, however, made it look like the One-Eyed God had a rather nasty eye infection.
I let Baldbeak out from under my cloak, and he shook out his feathers before returning to his usual spot, where he started to preen furiously. I let the cloak fall open to show the elaborate dress beneath, hoping I would continue to pass as a fine lady, and strode up the steps to the liveried guards who stood on either side of the carved doors.
“My name is Persinette Edevane, and the Pontiff will see me,” I said, holding my head high and hoping the large raven on my shoulder only added to the effect. The guards glanced at each other, and then one made his way inside, presumably to pass on the message. The other guard and I stood staring at each other.
“Is that a real bird?” said the guard at last.
Baldbeak croaked, fanning out his tail feathers. The guard stepped back.
The other returned, holding the door open. “He says he will see you, my lady.”
I gave a regal nod, or what I hoped was a regal nod, and tried to look like someone who regularly paid midnight visits to the highest authority in the Temple.
The second guard escorted me down the long halls. The Pontiff’s palace was very grand and very cold. Austere gray-and-white marble tiles made up the walls and floor, and the ceiling was vaulted to resemble that of a Temple building, but anything that could be gilded was gilded to within an inch of its life.
Shiny, said Baldbeak.
“Don’t touch anything,” I hissed.
The Pontiff sat at a late-night supper in his study—what looked like a simple meal of pottage and sweetmeats, but accompanied by an extremely large glass of dark red wine. He stood and bowed when I entered. I almost curtsied back, but managed to keep my back straight and my head high.I am not here to grovel at your feet, I said to myself silently.I am here to bargain.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I must say, I did not expect you to visit so soon and, er …” He craned to look behind me. “Unaccompanied?”
“Patrick is not with me.” Was he merely surprised, or was that relief?
“I see. Please, have a seat. May I ask, is that a crow?”
“A raven.”
“Ah.” He waved me to a seat by the fire and then sat opposite me in a matching highback chair, steepling his fingers. “And how can I help you, my dear?”
“You know what I want,” I said. “I want my mother’s book, and my mother, if you know where she is.”
