Our current escort, an aged bishop by the name of Serius, bowed his greeting to the man behind the desk, who nodded absently because he was too busy looking at us as if we might have brought a disease into the cathedral.
“Cardinal Jactans,” Serius said, “these men were brought here by Lieutenant Hradian and wish to see the Archbishop on a matter of urgency.”
Cardinal Jactans appeared to have a talent not spoken of in the Exordium. He could ignore anything he chose. Serius’s tone and posture had no effect on the secretary. “Everyone wishes to see the Archbishop, and it’s always urgent—at least that’s what they claim. Hmmm. You’re sweating and your skin holds the pallor of those from the north. What is your business with Archbishop Vyne?”
I nodded. “Our business is of an urgent and sensitive nature, and I’m not authorized to share it. However, I’m sure Archbishop Vyne will apprise you of it in due time, and I’m certain he wishes to see us immediately.”
Jactans stared down a considerable length of nose, his lips pursed in disapproval. “No. I think not. The Archbishop is currently engaged.” He nodded toward a thickly upholstered bench that ran the length of the wall opposite his desk. “You are welcome to wait, of course, but I feel compelled to inform you that it often takes days for the Archbishop’s calendar to clear.” He cleared his throat. “Even for matters of urgency.”
Serius looked at us as though he wished to apologize, and for the first time his gaze slid past Gael and me and the rest of us to peer at Bolt. The two men were of an age, though my guard did a far better job of carrying his years than the bishop.
“I know you,” Bishop Serius said.
Bolt tried to shake his head, but the bishop stepped closer, peering into Bolt’s face from a handsbreadth away, his finger stabbing the air with his disagreement. “Yes, you’re him.”
I came alongside my guard. “Him who?”
Serius looked at me as if I’d suddenly transformed into the village idiot. “You have Tueri Consto as your guard and you have no idea who he is?”
“He more or less assigned himself to me.” I looked at Bolt. “You never told me you were from Aille.”
“I’m not, but you never asked where I was from, and I haven’t been back to Cynestol in a long time.” He sighed, looked to Serius, and nodded toward Cardinal Jactans. “Do you think you could impose upon the gatekeeper to let us pass?”
Serius nodded deep enough so that it was almost a bow. “Certainly.”
We followed Serius, ducklings in his wake.
“Cardinal Jactans,” Serius said, “you must admit these men at once. This man is Tueri Consto.”
Jactans didn’t appear impressed.
“I go by Bolt now.”
Serius wrinkled his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of something foul. “Nonsense.”
Jactans looked my guard up and down. “You’re telling me this is Tueri Consto, the last Errant?” He snorted. “Surely you jest. This man is hardly taller than I am.”
Bolt sighed. “I get that a lot.”
Gael looked at Bolt, her blue eyes wide and vivid against her fair skin. “You’re dead.”
“Not yet, though it’s been a close thing a time or two. This is why I don’t come back here,” he muttered.
With a sigh, he reached into his tunic and pulled forth the silver medallion I’d seen once before, when he’d accepted Duke Orlan’s challenge in my stead. With a toss he sent the heavy tarnished silver crashing onto the ordered desktop of Cardinal Jactans. “If the Archbishop finds you’ve kept us waiting, he’ll be displeased.”
Jactans stiffened, though he didn’t go so far as to stand. “I take orders from the Archbishop and only the Archbishop. Not northerners with tarnished trinkets.”
Bolt nodded. “As you say. I’m going to have a seat, and when the Archbishop does see me, I’m going to tell him exactly how long you’ve kept me waiting.” He flicked his glance to Bishop Serius. “At that point I’ll probably add a recommendation about your replacement.”
With a smile that never advanced past the corners of his mouth, he stepped away from Jactans’s desk and moved to the pew along the wall, signaling the rest of us to follow.
“Will this work?” I muttered.
Bolt shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not in that much of a hurry. Plus, I’ve noticed that one of the ways to get something from people you don’t like is to threaten them with the consequences of their own decisions.” He nodded to where Jactans sat at his desk, his lips pursed as he examined Bolt’s worn medallion. “And I meant what I said about suggesting Serius for the job.”
Gael took the seat on the opposite side of my guard. “But you’re dead.”
Bolt’s self-satisfied look soured. “Will you stop saying that? I disappeared. There’s a difference. You’re a smart girl—I’m sure you can work out what happened when I changed jobs, so to speak.”
She shook her head, unwilling to be put off. “But all the Errants died. I’ve read the accounts of the attack on Queen Chora. All four of you—Tento, Valens, Beald, and Consto—died saving her.”
“Almost all.” Bolt’s gaze grew distant, a look I’d seen on veterans as they sat over their ale remembering comrades who’d fallen. “Can we talk about something else?”
“I’m sitting next to a legend,” Gael said.
This last comment was too much for Jactans. His chair scraped across the floor as he rose, Bolt’s medallion in hand, to scurry over to the towering double doors of the Archbishop’s office and step through.
“Finally,” Gael muttered. “A moment longer and I would have had to kneel at your feet and kiss your boots.”
My guard smirked. “I thought you were laying it on a little heavy.”
She patted his check. “Only a little. I never really thought you were dead. Even the manuscripts in Bunard are clear on the
