“Silly custom,” Rory said. “I don’t want a bunch of people gawking at me after I die. Just put me in a coracle and send me downstream. With any luck I’ll pass over the western sea and my spirit will see what’s out there.”
I stifled a sigh. Those who chose the coracle instead of burial or cremation clung to the old beliefs, a faith that hardly recognized Aer, Iosa, and Gaoithe at all. I knew the reasons behind Rory’s disbelief, but it still grieved me.
“Can we get in to see her?”
Bolt gave me a slow nod. “Possibly, but there’s no way to hide the visit from Vyne.”
I flexed a hand. “Yes there is, if we can keep from being seen by too many people.”
Bolt looked like he wanted to argue, but something he saw in my expression must have made him reconsider. “At least we have most of the night to get this done. We’ll need it. The cathedral is on the other side of Cynestol.”
We worked our way down and out of the royal compound and finally came to the stables. I didn’t know if the hands recognized Bolt, but they gave us four horses without question and we set a canter east toward the cathedral.
The six-sided church, the mother of the faith here on the northern continent, loomed over us in the dark like an omen of judgment for our sacrilege. The fact that I rode in the company of three gifted somehow failed to encourage me. If we were discovered, Archbishop Vyne would summon Hradian and the rest of the cosp and overwhelm us by numbers.
Four hours before dawn we dismounted in the stable yard of an inn two streets away from the basilica and surrendered the reins of our horses to a sleepy attendant who made a halfhearted attempt to peer beneath the hoods of our cloaks. When Bolt added another half-crown to the fee, the attendant bowed and kept his gaze on his feet.
“I take it we’re not going through the front door,” Gael said.
I shook my head. “There will be priests awake, even at this forsaken hour, brothers and postulants in the process of taking their orders. It’s traditional for them to fast and go without sleep before they recite their final vows.”
In the dark, the six sides of the cathedral blended, their demarcation points nearly indistinct so that the huge construct appeared almost circular. “Which entrance is least likely to have traffic at this hour?” I asked Bolt.
“The entrances facing northeast and northwest are the least used, even during the daytime.”
It took us thirty minutes to circle around as we avoided the occasional member of the watch. I tried to ignore the disapproving way the church loomed over me, as if I’d brought evil intentions here from the cold, dark north of my home. “Get us in,” I told Rory. “We’ll wait for you here.”
He slipped out of his cloak. His shirt and breeches were dark, blending with the shadows. “Are the doors barred from the inside?” he asked Bolt.
At Bolt’s nod, he stepped back, eyeing the distance to the first parapet. “That’s too bad. I’d rather pick a lock than climb. Still, it’s a church. There’s lots of ornamentation.”
He moved to the left, toward the spot where two of the walls came together at one of those odd, obtuse angles and set his hands on the staggered outcroppings of stone. Within a minute he was twenty feet above us. Ten minutes later the door opened.
Chapter 20
Rory stood outlined in the gloom of the cathedral entrance, the light of the moon casting his eyes into shadow. How could a place of worship seem so forbidding? “Where is the queen kept?” I whispered.
Bolt shook his head. “It’s not like the rulers of Aille drop dead on a regular basis. Let’s start with the rooms closest to the sanctuary.”
With Rory in the lead, we ascended a set of stairs that spiraled up into darkness. Halfway up, he froze. I stood on the balls of my feet, waiting while my heart thundered in my chest, my ears straining to hear whatever had brought Rory to a stop. A moment later, we continued on, moving in darkness without the benefit of a torch to guide us. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, we were far enough above the base of the cathedral that a fall would have killed a man.
Rory stared out into the broad hallway without moving. Slowly, to avoid even the sound of cloth against cloth, I removed my gloves, closed my eyes, and put my hand on his neck.
His vision replaced the darkness behind my lids, and the world came to me in muted shades of charcoal. A distant light illuminated two figures from behind, passing the intersection of our hallway and another, larger, one. Rory’s sense of smell couldn’t begin to compare with Wag’s, but with his physical gift I caught the barest hint of the gravesman’s art. The smell drifted to me from beyond the intersection.
The men passed. “She’s on this floor,” I whispered.
Rory didn’t move after the men passed, standing instead at attention, a throwing knife in each hand. Then I saw the outline of another pair of figures, passing in the same direction. Familiarity tugged at me as I watched them until they left my field of vision.
I lifted my hand, and the world sprang back to normal with an abruptness that made my eyes hurt. I stepped back into the shelter of the stairwell, motioning for my companions to join me.
“There are regular patrols,” I said. “About half a minute apart.”
“That’s going to make it difficult,” Gael said.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is,” Bolt whispered in disgust. “What?”
“They’re cosp. I recognized a couple of the men who came for us
