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It must be nearing spring here if snowdrops were blooming enough to use them as decoration. Callum’s hold tightened briefly, his only sign he’d heard me.

As the street grew even more crowded—impossibly crowded—I watched Callum through my lashes, trying to keep my attention subtle. His smile was warm and welcoming without any sign of worry or stress. Even as I watched, one of the onlookers reached a hand out, something small and delicate in their hand. Callum slowed long enough to take the item—a small piece of plain paper. A moment later, it lifted in a sudden, soft breeze. It twisted on itself, reshaping, until it hung suspended in the unmistakeable shape of a lotus. The child just beside the man jumped and laughed. With a flick of Callum’s wrist, the lotus landed in the child’s upturned palm, the edges of the petals a deep indigo like they’d been dipped in a pot of dye.

Callum offered another smile to the crowd as more cheers arose. Though I could understand some, they were drowned by the overall din of the onlookers. One voice cut across the others.

“Welcome, my lady,” one woman said, her eyes on me rather than Callum. Her hair was a brilliant platinum blonde with strands of pure white, braided over one shoulder, the same snowdrop petals woven through the plait. She wore a simple green kirtle that ended just past her knees, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. In her hand was a basket full of dried herbs. Though her face wore the distinct signs of age, her gold eyes were bright, nearly glowing, moving like liquid the same way Callum’s did at times. “A woman sundered.”

Callum’s focus honed in on her. She nodded to him, the move more regal than anything else done since our arrival. Somehow, her voice was even softer. It should have been impossible to hear her. Instead, it echoed through me like the ringing of a heavy bell.

“A son our salvation.”

She disappeared into the crowd before I could even process the words.

Callum’s breath caught, his hold tightening on mine without ever relaxing. He continued smiling, though, even as the crowd slowly separated again as we approached the largest cathedral I’d ever seen.

The entire thing was made of white stone worn smooth by age. The double doors were arched, standing twenty feet tall, fashioned of a dark wood that seemed to gobble up the light. On either side were two larger-than-life statues of women dressed in draping, flowing swaths of fabric nearly like togas holding large bowls stretched out before them. In their center were bright flames, licking the sides the same way the fire explored the small jars. Large columns extended from dozens of feet above the grand front doors at an angle, creating an awning at least thirty feet deep and stretching double that in width. Wide, deep stairs ascended toward the door, that sat eight feet or more higher than the street. Four large spires rose a hundred feet into the sky, mimicking the steep angle of the awning. In the center stood a square column that reminded me of Notre Dame with ornate arched windows and scrollwork that, again, mimicked the embroidery on the tunics.

Even from here, it was obvious the building stretched far and wide, consuming hundreds of feet in every direction. It was a wonder of engineering and craft, a gothic masterpiece that would make an architect weep. Distantly, I wondered if I could call it Gothic if they’d never had a Gothic period here. Even still, my breath caught as I soaked it in, trying to take in every small detail I could as we slowly approached. The leaning supports that I’d first thought were smooth were actually full of intricate carvings and markings following the angle of the beams and spreading into the stone stairs where each one anchored into the earth. I had no framework to interpret the symbols, small lines and circles and swirls that turned and twisted and intersected over and over again across the expanse of stone. I had no understanding of what they meant, and yet they called to me all the same. Just like Reuben’s tattoo, something about the building felt warm and weighty, comforting.

“Hugh is asking about a feast tonight to celebrate the pairings,” Vincent murmured, “before they continue on to Embercrest.”

I startled back into myself, realizing with some embarrassment that the crowd had entirely dispersed in the minutes I’d absorbed the architecture. Phoebe stood at the base of the large steps, her horse nowhere in sight. Even as I watched, Shelby and Amaria joined her, speaking quietly.

Callum didn’t answer right away, and the hesitation pulled my attention. Vincent had guided his horse to Callum’s other side, his hands loose on the reins. His expression was neutral, but there was a tension in his shoulders I hadn’t seen before. Callum’s frown was deep, pulling hard on the scars.

“Are you capable of preparing one?” Callum asked eventually. “I do not wish to use the Crown’s manor if possible.”

Vincent’s lips flattened in disapproval even as he offered a single nod.

“Then let them have their feast.” Callum’s answer was a tired, resigned sigh. He dropped his hold on my hand. “I will not keep it from them, especially considering what is likely to transpire in the coming days.”

Nerves settled in my stomach like a stone.

Again, that comment of what would happen once he told the Votarists about Sloane and me. It sounded much more serious than a single person being sent to prison.

“Very well,” Vincent said. “I’ll begin the preparations. May I ask that Shelby join?”

Callum agreed easily as he dismounted in a fluid motion. By the time he’d helped me off of Elyssian, Shelby stood only a few feet away, her hands pressed together in front of her like she was trying to contain nerves. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She looked so much like Sloane right now, it stole my breath. Callum eased away from me as she closed the distance. Those nerves crawled up my throat until it felt like they’d lodge there permanently.

“May your travels be safe,” she whispered.

Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her, closing my eyes. “Thank you for everything.”

Her arms were warm bands around my waist.

“Dolan be with you,” she murmured as she pulled away.

“Dolan?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Her eyes crinkled as she gave a sad smile. “The God of Travel.”

Then she turned and joined Vincent, both of them disappearing into the city in a matter of moments, the sounds of the pack horses that followed fading a few seconds later.

Once they were gone, Callum held his arm out to me. His voice was hoarse.

“Shall we?”

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