“I wish I had not needed to.”
He struck an errant lute string. The note was quickly consumed by the uneasiness between them.
“You will not stop Him, then?”
That same syllable that had shattered Elodie’s relationship with Tal was now employed against her: “No.”
The queen’s fury was so great she was overcome by an improbable veil of calm. “Very well,” she said, sweeping out of Rob’s rooms, sending a pile of sheet music scattering as she went.
Elodie stalked the corridors, fuming. She had been placed in an impossible position, and although she had tried her best to choose wisely, people she loved had still been hurt in the process.
Each flash of a red uniform set her skin prickling as she moved about the palace. She could only imagine the whispers that had spread due to her outburst in the Loyalist barracks. The queen—mad with rage—had attacked a guard, just like the New Maiden in the training room.
How long before Tal’s public sermons berated Elodie, too?
While she was grateful Sabine had fled the castle, Elodie greatly wished she could seek the New Maiden’s advice. In the absence of her physical presence, the queen made for the royal chapel.
The Maiden’s inner sanctum had dulled since Elodie’s last visit. It was quiet inside, the pews empty, the hymnals closed. The light through the windows illuminated dancing motes of dust, coating the room like a blanket of snow. She paused at the entryway, the wicks of the devotional candles bright white and unburned.
Elodie held her breath as she ushered a flame from the match to the taper. Sabine had always held a soft spot for the lights lit by worshippers. Elodie had never truly understood the sentiment, but as the wick caught, she was filled with quiet comfort. A radiance, where once there had been nothing at all.
“What did you pray for?”
Elodie jumped. She had thought herself alone.
The voice came from Silas, the towering Royal Chaplain.
“I fear prayer may not be powerful enough for what I currently require,” Elodie said derisively. At the Chaplain’s soft chuckle, her face flushed. “I’m sorry,” the queen said, embarrassed by her blasphemy. “I forget myself.”
“It’s all right.” Silas’s voice was gentle. “Faith does not look the same for everyone.”
Elodie sank down onto the nearest pew. The woman’s kindness threatened to undo her. The queen leaned forward, resting her elbows on the back of the pews in front of her, and placed her head in her hands.
“May I join you, Majesty?” the Royal Chaplain asked. “I cannot bear to leave you in such distress.”
“Certainly,” Elodie said, voice muffled. “But I must warn you, I am poor company.”
The Chaplain joined the queen on the pew, leaving a person’s worth of space between them. “I’m certain that is not so.”
“I’ve been told so many times today that I am self-serving and cruel,” Elodie said, lifting her head from her hands to glance at the portrait of the New Maiden above the altar, “I am starting to believe it myself.”
“The role of queen is a burden unfathomable to those who do not hold it.” It was a relief to hear someone acknowledge the crown’s unbearable weight. “But sometimes it is worth examining those inner anxieties.” She was quiet for a moment. “I could take your confession if you’d like.”
“Oh no, thank you,” Elodie answered quickly. She had never found much comfort in stating her failures aloud.
“You do not need to speak your sins,” the Chaplain coaxed, “only your fears. I will not judge you. I only mean to offer you sanctuary.”
Elodie’s eyes were fixed on the portrait of the New Maiden on the back wall. Although her stomach turned at the idea of spilling her secrets to Silas, she had come here to seek counsel. It seemed a shame to turn away from a helping hand in her time of need.
“I was faced with an impossible decision today,” Elodie said, turning her attention to her skirt so that she would not have to meet the Royal Chaplain’s eyes. “The choice I made does not serve my people. But I cannot fault myself for it.” She swallowed thickly. “Others can.” She chuckled humorlessly. “They have told me as much. But I do not feel guilty for wanting to protect the New Maiden at all costs.”
“It is an honorable calling,” Silas said, solemnly.
“You are perhaps a bit biased,” Elodie said, glancing at the Chaplain’s robes. Even so, it was a relief to hear her decision praised.
“Perhaps,” Silas said. “But Her cause is righteous. Her pursuits, just.”
Elodie’s intentions were hardly so noble. “Why did you pledge your life to Her, Chaplain?”
“Ah.” The woman’s face shuttered. “A complicated story.” She waged an internal battle before continuing to speak. “Actually, it involves your mother.”
That piqued Elodie’s interest. “You knew my mother?” She had not known Tera Warnou to hold connections to the clergy beyond René.
“Oh yes.” The woman nodded. “Very well.”
Elodie scoured her mother’s anecdotes for someone who fit the woman’s description, but she came up empty-handed. “My mother never mentioned a Silas.”
“She wouldn’t have.” The woman chuckled dryly. “But you may have heard me mentioned by a different name.”
The church was so quiet Elodie could hear the wind whistling through the hedges in the royal garden. “What name might that be?” she asked, even as she held the hopeful answer on her tongue.
“My given name was Rowan Warnou,” the Chaplain said. “But that was a very long time ago.”
23
While the people of the Lower Banks worked to carefully excavate each splintered piece of the New Maiden’s altar, Sabine slipped away to the water’s edge. She walked along the shoreline until she was out of sight, each step like a stitch tying water to earth and back again.
