Chapter 6
DAYNE WOKE TO FIND LADY Mirianne making tea in his Parliament apartment, which was quite a surprise.
“You didn’t stay here, right?” he asked. “I would have remembered that.”
“No, but I wanted to be here when you woke,” she said. “Something very important happened and you’ll want to know about it.”
That cleared all the cobwebs out of his head. “What’s going on?”
“I went to visit Baron Vollingale, who has been going through quite an ordeal.” She poured the tea for Dayne and handed him the cup. “His son is missing.”
“What?” Dayne asked. “You think it’s—”
“It definitely is,” Mirianne replied. “I heard about it a few days ago, as he had confided in a few close friends. He’s not involved the Constabulary or marshals or anyone, because he’s terrified of public scandal.”
“What?” Dayne couldn’t believe that. “Surely the safety of his son would be more important.”
She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that, but he’s willing to explain it to you. That’s why I raced off last night. You mentioned the giant, and so had he—”
“He’s seen this giant?”
“And that’s, apparently, part of why he’s avoiding the authorities.” She gestured to the teacup. “Drink up, get yourself together. I imagine you don’t want to waste any time on this.”
“Not at all,” Dayne said, blowing on the hot tea. “Thank you.”
“No need,” she said. “I just hope you and I can do something for him, and hopefully help that poor boy.”
Dayne took a sip and put the cup down on the table and went to his wardrobe. “I’m just hoping he—and all those other children—are alive. Though I think they must be.”
“Why is that?”
“Should this be dress uniform or simply tunic?”
“Tunic is fine. Why is that?”
Dayne came out with his tunic in hand. “When Inspector Rainey rescued abducted children, they were still alive. Assuming the underlying cause behind these abductions is the same, they want the children alive.”
Miri’s brow furrowed. “Those were all orphaned or street children, yes?”
“As are the Dentonhill ones. Well, not orphaned, but definitely underprivileged.”
“Odd,” she said. “I mean, Baron Vollingale’s son fits the same pattern, but he is far from that.”
Dayne paused while he pulled the tunic on. “Maybe it’s not connected, save some coincidental similarities. I want to hear more, regardless. Even if it’s not connected, I want to help, and—”
The words caught in his throat, his heart flooded with an intense need to find this boy, so strong it almost made tears burst forth.
He knew saving this boy wouldn’t redeem him. Wouldn’t change what he did to Lenick Benedict. Wouldn’t change his fate in the Tarian Order.
He had to do it anyway.
Miri was on her feet, hand on his shoulder.
“Of course. Are you ready?”
“Almost,” he said. He took his sword up and belted it, and looked at the dented, cheap shield on the wall. Taking that with him would be an insult.
No shield on arm today. Fitting.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning to Miri. “A child’s life is on the line.”
Satrine left for Inemar early, wanting to spend some time at Saint Limarre’s with Sister Alana before having to go to the stationhouse, let alone stop at her mother’s flop with Phillen Hace. Talking with Sister Alana was one of the few bits of solace she had outside of her family, the oldest friend she had.
For once, Sister Alana wasn’t waiting outside the church’s quarters with tea and pastries, so Satrine knocked on the back door. After a brief pause, Alana opened the door, looking slightly bleary-eyed.
“You beat me today,” Alana said. “That’s a first.” She stepped back to allow Satrine in.
“Won’t happen too often,” Satrine said. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Alana took the teapot off the stove and brought it to the table. “I actually got to sleep through the night for once. The other cloistresses aren’t up and about yet, so we have a bit of time. Though Sister Enigaria is stirring, and she’s always putting her nose in business.”
“I know the type,” Satrine said. “I can sit?”
“Please,” Alana said, getting out bread and preserves. “Just because she’s got her opinions doesn’t mean I’m not the ranking Cloistress of the Blue here.”
“Does rank mean higher salary for you?” Satrine asked.
“We are in service of god and the community,” Alana said. “But it does mean I get to be bossy. But hopefully all the ladies here will be a bit calmer now.”
“What’s now?” She had slept through the night, so something had changed.
Alana sighed and sat down. “Sister Myriem is gone, left for Saint Bridget’s yesterday.”
Satrine’s own interactions with Sister Myriem had always been disconcerting—the girl was somehow both completely in her own world and eerily in tune with whoever she was talking to. Her words made no sense, but yet could cut straight to the heart.
Somehow, Sister Myriem had led Satrine directly to the trapmaster right when she needed to find him, just with a pastry wrapper.
“Are you relieved?”
“No,” Alana said. “I can’t help but think I failed that girl.”
“How so?”
“She needed help,” Alana said. “I thought through faith alone, I could, I don’t even know, save her. But this cloister wasn’t suited to her problems.”
“But Saint Bridget’s is?”
“Maybe,” Alana said, shaking her head. “I mean, Reverend Halster offered to take her in, knowing her history. But in my soul I know she—” Alana trailed off. “She asked me to do something, and, I don’t know if I should.”
“What is it?”
Alana got up and went to a cabinet. With a glance down the hallway to check if any other sisters were coming, she took out a book. “This is her copy of The Testaments of the Saints. She’s . . . she’s torn pages, written in the margins, blotted out words. I don’t even dare let any of the others see this, they’d think it was—”
“Blasphemy?” Satrine offered.
“At the very least. But she gave it to me, and . . . she said she wants you to have it.”
“Me? Why?”
“I have no idea,” Alana said. “But
