Raphael made a noise in his throat. “So, you do have a plan,” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “Or is it a vision?”
Feronantus gave Raphael a hard stare, and out of the corner of her eye, Cnán saw Percival glaring at Raphael too.
“Get on your horses,” Feronantus said, the tone of his voice signaling an end to the discussion. “We have one last hard ride ahead of us.”
“No,” Cnán said quietly.
Feronantus walked to his horse as if he hadn’t heard her, put his foot in the stirrup, and rose into his saddle. Gathering his reins, he raised his craggy head and gazed at her. She met his stare, and didn’t blink. She didn’t look away.
“I’m not going,” she said. “You don’t need me. I’m not a fighter. I will only be in the way when you prepare your ambush.”
She expected more of an argument, and she even steeled herself for a cold dismissal from Feronantus, which made his reaction all the more confusing. “May the Virgin protect you, little leaf,” Feronantus said with unexpected tenderness. His face changed, loosing some of its ferocity, and she was startled to read a deep longing in his gaze. “We have been enriched by your company, and you are always welcome at any fire or hearth that we call home. I speak for myself—and I hope I speak for the others as well—when I say that what is mine is yours, Cnán.”
Cnán opened her mouth to speak, and found her throat wouldn’t work. She nodded dumbly, fighting back the tears that were threatening to run down her cheeks. She raised her hand awkwardly. After all they had been through together, to be bereft of each other’s company so suddenly was more painful than she had imagined it would be. Judging by the expression on more than a few of the faces of the company, she was not alone in her despair.
“I do ask one favor,” Feronantus said.
Cnán nodded. “Yes,” she managed.
“Do nothing to rescue the boy until after the Khagan has departed for his hunt.”
She laughed, the sound hiccupping out of her body. She wiped at her face. “Of course,” she said.
Feronantus smiled at her, and she wanted to run to him and leap into his arms. “Good luck,” he said. “We’ll see you again.” He said it simply, but there was a stark finality to his words, as if there was no question in his mind.
“You will,” she said, trying to match his resolve.
He snapped his reins against his horse and left the glade without looking back. The others lingered, each one offering her a farewell, and she managed to hold her tears in check until they were all gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Exodus
Ferenc was confident that, given time, he could find his own route to the city walls. But Father Rodrigo had sagely suggested they trust Ocyrhoe’s map instead. She knew the bolt holes, the unmarked alleys, the routes taken by the city watch. The map’s route was easy to follow, more so because the city streets were mostly deserted and, sooner than he expected, they were outside the city walls.
So much easier when the city guard wasn’t chasing them.
Father Rodrigo walked as if he had been hitched to a wagon; each step seemed incredibly laborious, and only after his foot came down did the rest of his body follow.
Ferenc was exhausted as well. The excitement of his reunion with Father Rodrigo and their subsequent escape had worn off. They had little in the way of supplies—one blanket he had grabbed from the room before they had left, a water skin, and his flint, all shoved into a ragged satchel the priest was carrying. In the morning, they would have to find sustenance. In the morning...
Ferenc wondered again why the priest had been so intent on escaping. There was food, a roof over his head, and—if he understood correctly what had transpired—the entirety of the Vatican was at Father Rodrigo’s disposal. Why then the urgent need to slip out of the city? Had they just spent months traveling to the city?
He did not entirely understand Father Rodrigo’s thinking, and since the priest had been in the Septizodium, he had found the man’s attitude and awareness disturbing. It was as if a different man had come out from the one that had gone in. This one—the haggard priest staggering along the moonlit track ahead of him—was almost like a stranger to him.
“We should rest, Father Rodrigo,” he said gently, “though we must not light a fire. We do not want to attract anyone’s attention. But if we bundle ourselves together in the blanket, we may keep warm through the night.”