Introductions were exchanged. While Brianne hovered awkwardly near the door, Cleo and Katrynn bonded over complimenting each other’s dress. Artur’s ears burned red as he admired the middle Warnou sister. Orla cursed a new hole in her blouse.
“Can I help you locate something more suitable for dinner?” Cleo offered. “It tends to be a formal affair.”
“Better get you changed, too, then,” Katrynn said, eyes sweeping across Artur’s grimy trousers.
Their tasks left Sabine alone with Brianne. Sabine approached the girl gently, as she would a wounded bird. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m afraid to fall asleep,” Brianne admitted. The bags beneath her eyes confirmed it. “I’m afraid of what I might see. What I might learn about the Second Son.”
Sabine put a hand on the princess’s trembling shoulder. Her carelessness had played a significant role in Brianne’s enchanted slumber. Had she not been so enthralled by Elodie, she would not have mixed up the vial that had sent Brianne to the strange realm of suspension. Now the girl was haunted by murdered third daughters, the ranks of whom she had only just evaded.
“He will not hurt you, Bri,” Sabine said gently. “His threat was meant for me.”
“But if I’d never been born, you’d be safe,” Brianne insisted. “He wouldn’t have known. You might have stayed hidden.”
“If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else,” Sabine said honestly. “This conspiracy looms larger than any one of us.”
“I’m afraid,” Brianne whispered.
“Me too,” Sabine said placatingly. But the emotion rang false. Without her darkness, the self-preservation upon which she used to rely had dulled. Brianne’s fear tugged at Sabine’s heartstrings, but she found it difficult to conjure a similar sense of dread. She could not comprehend the gravity of the Second Son’s threat. Could not fight what she was unable to see.
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Brianne said.
Sabine could not bear to let the young girl’s worry fester. Brianne’s position had been exploited time and again: by the Church, by her birth order, by even her father and eldest sister.
“Actually”—the New Maiden paused—“there is one thing you can do.”
Now that her family was safely settled, it was time to consider the fire’s other casualty. Silas was a bishop without a parish. Sabine needed the woman by her side. If Silas could influence and observe Chaplain René, a conniving man whose actions did not serve Her word, so much the better.
Brianne nodded urgently. “Anything.”
The New Maiden grinned. “Tell me where to find the Royal Chaplain.”
Sabine immediately regretted refusing Brianne’s offer to accompany her. The castle was a labyrinth—crowded with winding staircases and long corridors that all looked the same. She had chanted the directions to herself like a sea shanty, yet despite her best efforts, she ended up facing a dead end. To her left was a broad door, cracked just enough to reveal a lone figure with a familiar silhouette inside a training room.
Tal sparred with an invisible partner, sword slicing through the empty air. He was a trained fighter: his feet nimble, his stature controlled. His motions were beautiful, a choreographed dance Sabine found she was able to follow: step, slice, jab, turn. As she thought it, Tal spun to the left and caught sight of her staring from the other side of the door. He stopped moving, the dance abruptly ending.
Tal’s menacing gaze was unsettling enough for Sabine to break the silence.
“Are you following me?”
Tal chuckled humorlessly. “I believe it is you, Maiden, who interrupted my training.” He gestured to his position in the center of the room.
“What did the air do to offend you?”
Tal sheathed his sword. “Never know when you’ll need to battle the shadows.” He shrugged. “Once, I was unable to protect myself. Now that I know how, I prefer to stay vigilant.”
Sabine gaped at him. Tal moved about the world so easily in his Loyalist reds. His posture projected confidence, his easy arrogance implied entitlement. But in this moment—in this sentiment—they were the same. All Sabine’s life she had warred against the shadows. Until now, she had never met anyone else who spoke so plainly about their own struggle.
“Shadows don’t have swords, Tal.”
“No, Maiden,” he said, rubbing his right thumb across the sleeve of his left forearm surreptitiously. The memory of his pain was tangible, hinting at demons that still lurked beneath the surface. “They possess far more terrible ways to wound. But you already know that, don’t you?”
There was a flutter of familiarity in his words. Tal had sounded just like her darkness, hissing yet seductive in his subtle taunting. She fought the urge to step toward him. To rekindle the insecurity she had once embraced. Instead, she cleared her throat, and the tension that had filled the room broke like a summer storm.
Tal fiddled with the gold chain around his neck. “What are you doing here, Sabine?”
“I’m staying in the castle indefinitely. I hope that won’t be a problem?”
“Certainly not, Maiden.” His smile was all teeth. “Any friend of Elodie’s is a friend of mine.” Sabine thought it best not to correct him on the parameters of her relationship with the queen. “But I meant here, in the training room.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Took a wrong turn. I’m looking for the chapel.”
“Of course you are.” Tal chuckled dryly. “Head back down the corridor and make a right. You’ll come to a gray door whose handle sticks. Give it a good push and you’ll find yourself in the courtyard. The chapel is just past the mausoleum.” Sabine blinked at him. “I grew up here,” he added. “I know my way around.”
“Thank you.” She nodded curtly. “I’ll get out of your way before you decide to use me as target practice.” She could feel Tal’s eyes on her until she turned the corner.
Tal’s directions were sound and soon Sabine found herself outside. Moonlight reflected off the fountain, painting the royal garden silver. Fronds sparkled with dew and the air held the fresh, round scent of life. Precisely as he’d said, the white marble mausoleum sat in the center of the expansive courtyard. Just beyond it, the church was equally opulent, with tall windows and gold leaf plating on every surface.
The New Maiden’s footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. Bergamot wafted down the aisle while tapers flickered in their sconces and shadows pooled beneath the pews. The room was empty, save for one man who knelt before the altar, head bent.
“Chaplain?” The man stiffened.
“The New Maiden herself.” The Chaplain’s voice rang out as he rose to his feet. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sabine smiled serenely. “I have not found a moment to connect with you. But our meeting cannot be delayed any longer. Now that I am residing in the palace, the Royal Chaplain will become my right hand.”
