“I thought this wasn’t about the money,” the first voice sneered.
Father Jacque? He sounded different in the booth. And the woman’s voice was tantalizingly familiar.
“One must be pragmatic, sir,” the woman said. “I am a woman alone in the world and must have temporal concerns.”
“You were paid well enough to loosen your tongue,” the man said. “Don’t be greedy, Miss – Unknown.” His tone made it clear that she was not unknown to him.
“I told you my concerns about the youngest Mederos girl. That should be enough for your needs. If you want more, then you have to pay for more.”
Tesara gasped and sat up in the narrow cubby, banging the grilled door behind her. Miss Alieri? Her old governess?
“What was that?” the woman said.
“Damnation! We’re not alone.” The man raised his voice, anger sharpening it. “Who’s there?”
Tesara leaped to her feet and bolted from the cubby, running hard for the church doors and the sunlight and steps she could see beyond them. She squeezed through the ornately banded doors just as the altar boys were pulling it closed.
Her parents waited on the steps among a small cluster of their friends.
“There you are! What on earth took you so long, child?” Alinesse said, with exasperation.
Tesara barely heard her, looking at her father talking with Father Jacque. She turned around to look at the church doors. They were pulled open once again for another straggler. He was the tall lean man from the Guild, the one her parents didn’t like. He looked disgruntled, and he scanned the crowd, looking for someone. Tesara shrank back but he pinned her with his eye nonetheless. She couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze.
He gave her the merest smirk, and then tapped his finger against the corner of his eye. I’ll be watching you.
A slight breeze stirred against her cheek, and Tesara started back to the present day. The sweet-smelling oil in the lamps wafted over her. The glow of the lamplight was mesmerizing as the lamps swayed slightly on the end of the long chains that suspended them over the altar. It had the singular effect of making the mosaic over the altar of ships at sea under the blessing hands of Saint Frey, look as if it moved, the dark waves rolling the tiny ships.
The ships were moving. Tesara stared, afraid to blink. The singing chant and the swaying lamps kept on, the old ladies swayed peacefully in time, and it looked as if only she could see the moving waves. She could hear the sound of the ocean and the creaking of the rigging, even though the harbor was so far off and the Cathedral closed from the outside world. She stared until her eyes burned and her vision wavered, and when she was forced to blink, the mosaic was just a mosaic again.
Strangely disappointed, she looked down at her hands, and got another surprise. They were tingling again, and this time little sparks were flying all about them, popping and shocking her through her dress. She felt a buildup in intensity such that she knew that something – anything – was about to happen. At first she stared with fascination. This was beyond anything she had ever done. Even the young man at the Fleurenze party had not received anything like this. Then she came to her senses. Not here, Tesara thought. Not here. If she did anything in church – she stumbled to her feet and walked as fast as she could toward the entrance, feeling all eyes on her. For a second the ceremony faltered behind her, and then she pulled open the massive door, throwing all of her weight against it, and slipped through into the bright cold air.
She leaned back against the door and breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, trying not to look down at her hands.
“Tesara!”
She looked up. It was Mirandine and Jone, arm in arm, dressed for walking out. Mirandine looked very fine in her elegant and warm dark red walking outfit. They both looked splendid, as if they had not spent all night at a riotous masked ball the night before. She felt a surge of anger, and put her hands behind her. Even so, a discharge of energy caused the giant door to rattle in its frame. The others looked startled but made no mention of the oddness.
“Have you been in church? Atoning for your gambling habit?” Mirandine nudged her archly.
“I’m not the only one who needs to atone,” Tesara said furiously. How dare she? Here Mirandine was, acting as if nothing had happened. And Jone – She turned to Jone. “Where were you?!”
“Where was I? I stayed until six in the morning looking for you!” he said. “What happened to you? Mira said you went upstairs. I looked everywhere for you! Finally, I figured out that you must have gone home.”
“Yes, I was looking for you. You both left. Mirandine was off with the Fleurenze boy–”
“Good God, Tesara, you can’t possibly be shocked by that,” Mirandine said. “Even you aren’t that provincial.”
“I’m shocked by your bad taste,” Tesara snapped. A part of her marveled that she could be so angry and yet she maintained enough equilibrium to keep her hands from firing off. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. As if balancing on a knife edge, for the moment she had control.
At that instant an acolyte pushed open the door, put his fingers to his lips, and hushed them with all the fervor a ten year-old could muster. Abashed, they looked each other, and as one they moved away from the door down to the square, scattering pigeons and gulls on the cobblestones. The breeze freshened off the harbor, bringing the smell of brine and fish.
Jone turned to Mirandine. “Really, Mira? Ermunde Fleurenze?”
She shrugged, sulkily. “It was just a bit of fun. God, you two. You’re worse than Mama. And what about you, Jone? You weren’t an altar boy yourself last night. You went upstairs,
