A hundred paces off, he found it: a view out over a shallow valley, filled with the tent city of Emperor Frederick. Ferenc had suspected they were near it, and his intention the previous night had been to skirt the camp. Now, he decided, the best thing to do was march right into it.
The English Cardinal Somercotes had sent them to the Emperor. Father Rodrigo had liked Somercotes. By association, then, Frederick was probably not a villain, peculiar as he was. Another thing to consider: Ocyrhoe had told him that Frederick cursed a lot. That meant Frederick was not pious. And that meant he was less likely to be seduced by Father Rodrigo’s story. Even if the Grail really did have special powers—which Ferenc doubted—it was probably safer in the hands of an Emperor than those of a raving churchman. It saddened him to think this, for Father Rodrigo was still by far the most beloved living human to him... but he could not ignore the obvious.
With a sigh, he turned back to fetch the priest.
“You’re a woman, can’t you make her speak?” Orsini demanded irritably. Léna turned her calm, subtle gaze from the Senator to the girl.
Ocyrhoe imagined a hand pressed over a mouth, and tried to project this image to Léna. She had had so little training before her other sisters had vanished that she doubted she knew how to communicate properly in this fashion.
“She is not going to say more,” Léna said confidently. She had not even made eye contact with Ocyrhoe. “I believe she is under an oath to somebody and part of that oath requires secrecy. If that is the case, she will never speak. She will die sooner than speak.”
Ocyrhoe tried to keep alarm off her face. She was not under an oath, and she was not willing to die to help Father Rodrigo and Ferenc escape. Had Léna gotten her message, and was she now bluffing on her behalf? If so, it was a clever ploy; if not, then Ocyrhoe feared she was in more danger than she had originally thought.
“Your Eminences,” Léna offered. “I understand your distress over the discovery of this girl in His Holiness’s chambers.” She glared at Fieschi as she said this, and Ocyrhoe wondered how much she had seen of the manner in which Fieschi had dragged her out of the room.
At first she had thought the Cardinal had meant to harm her, but he had simply been trying to snare her—much like the manner in which a cat pounces on a mouse. Fieschi had been angry, ready to strike her, but the sudden appearance of Léna had given him pause.
“Leave her with me,” Léna said. “I will find a way to give you the information you require in a manner that does not break her oath.”
Fieschi grimaced. “I don’t care what sort of ethical justification you want to give it, just as long as we get what we need.” Ocyrhoe noticed that his distaste did not extend to his eyes. He was watching them carefully. Too carefully.
“Fine. Leave. Now.”
Orsini was the more startled of the two by her command, and as he huffed with indignity, she fixed him with a withering stare. Wanting to make himself larger before feeling diminished by letting a woman order him around, but when he noticed Fieschi’s lack of outrage he deflated—slowly—as he departed.
“Speak,” Léna said sharply as soon as they were alone.
Ocyrhoe shrugged. “The priest asked me to help him escape, and Ferenc wanted to go with him. I drew a map for them to get out of the city, and I distracted the guard at the door so they could get out. But once they were out, I was stuck inside, and Fieschi found me.”
Léna made an aggrieved noise. “Why did he want to escape? Why did you help him? Where was he going? How could you possibly consider this appropriate behavior for a Binder?”
Ocyrhoe held her hands up in weak protest. “I was not behaving as a Binder; I was behaving as a friend.”
“Once you become a Binder, you are always a Binder. Especially when your friend is the Pope. Your actions will bring chaos upon the city, little one. You have interfered with matters that you had no right—”
Desperate for justification, Ocyrhoe interrupted, “What if he had employed me as a Binder?”
Léna blinked, surprised. “To do what, exactly?”
“I... I was to carry the message of his departure to the Cardinals. As indeed I did, the moment Fieschi opened the door. I did not even have to tell him verbally; my presence was enough.”
“Such flippancy is dangerous, girl,” she warned, punctuating her words with the same glare she had used on Orsini.
“I truly have no information beyond what I’ve told you,” Ocyrhoe said, less ruffled by the look than Orsini had been. “I don’t know why he left or where he was headed. He said he was a prisoner, and that he shouldn’t be. He asked for my help. Ferenc is my friend, and I wanted to help him. And Ferenc wanted whatever Father Rodrigo wanted. So...”