King Rayan offered a hand to his queen, who had reached across the table for the gold coin. “Come, my dear. Don’t worry. Ventillas is right. She’s a fanatic, no more, and long gone. We have seen the last of her.”
At supper, Cas found himself seated beside Palmerin’s newest priest, Father Emil, a slight, curly-haired man whose mustache and beard struggled to take root. Cas managed to hold his tongue over three courses. The partridge was quietly consumed, along with the cabbage dumplings and the roasted aubergine. But he was human, after all, and curiosity drove him to say, “Forgive the question, Father, but how old are you?”
“Cassia,” Ventillas said.
His brother had always had the ears of a lammergeier. Four others dined between them. Not only that, the entire keep had gathered for supper. A hundred different conversations took place, ebbing and flowing around the sound of bandurrias plucked by musicians with lightning fingers. It was loud in here.
“I am eighteen, Lord Cassia. I understand we are the same age.” Father Emil smiled. “You are wondering why the church has sent someone like me to your great city in the mountains.”
Cas could guess why. “Because there was no one else to send.”
“Cassia.” Ventillas leaned around Queen Jehan to fix Cas with a warning look. Cas ignored him.
“It is the truth,” Father Emil admitted, his smile gone. “I come from a parish in Ollala. Most of my fellow priests died while helping in the hospitals and churches. I did not die, and so I find myself here.”
Ventillas said, “We’re pleased to have you here, Father. Do forgive my brother, who has returned to us a little rough around the seams.” The look he gave Cas said, clearly, Mind yourself or else.
Cas said dismissively, “I’m sure you’re a fine priest, Father, but I can’t imagine there’s any sort of queue outside your confessional.” Who would admit their sins to an eighteen-year-old priest? He would not, that was certain.
“Lord Cassiapeus,” Queen Jehan said. A softer voice than his brother’s, but somehow more threatening. She did not glance up from her supper, which she had barely touched. Even Lena and King Rayan were looking over with identical expressions of disapproval. Cas raised a hand. Peace. He had not meant to harass the priest. He just did not see the point of priests.
Or prayer. Neither had ever done any good for him. He pushed aside the memory of Izaro asking for a final prayer Cas could not give.
Father Emil wore a rueful expression. “No one comes to the confessional. Except the children. I imagine it would be like confessing to a son, or a grandson.” He sipped his wine. “I know I will have to earn trust here, Lord Cassia. Until then, I believe I may still do some good.”
Disinterested, Cas reached for some bread. “Really? How so?”
Father Emil brightened. “Well, Lord Ventillas has kindly donated the old market building to the church. The one in the eastern quarter. I hope to turn it into an orphanage someday. The current one is vastly overcrowded and . . .”
As Father Emil shared his plans, his vision, the others joined in, asking questions. Cas remained silent. But he listened. The priest wore no rings, he noticed. No jeweled medallions. His brown cassock was simple, even for supper with the king and queen. Unusual among holy men who, in Cas’ experience, usually favored robes made of gold and purple silk. As for Father Emil, even Cas could not deny his earnestness. By the time dessert came around—figs cooked in anise and a custard—an idea had taken hold.
Cas said, “How much do you require, Father?”
The priest was taken aback. Such things were not discussed over supper. “How . . . ah . . . a specific number? Now?”
“That would be best.”
The priest named an amount. Cas asked a passing servant to bring parchment, ink, and wax. Ignoring the bemused looks from those nearest, he shoved aside platters and plates and wrote a letter to Master Dimas. He mentioned the priest, the orphanage, and the very specific number the rice merchant might consider donating before the week was out. Once the ink was dry, he borrowed his brother’s signet ring to press into the wax seal. His own had been taken from him after his capture. Cas offered the letter to Father Emil along with directions to the rice merchant’s home. Master Dimas was looking for a new charity to patronize, Cas had heard. The orphanage would be just the thing.
Lena started to laugh.
Ventillas had only watched until now. After the stunned and delighted priest thanked Cas, Ventillas said, “Do I need to speak with Master Dimas about his attic?”
Cas said, “I think this settles the matter.”
Ventillas was quiet. “I will not ask,” he decided.
“Best not to.” Head down, Cas dug into his custard. A warm, heavy weight on his boots announced the presence of a lynx beneath the table.
Queen Jehan said, “I believe you may be a lamb in wolf’s clothing, my lord Cassiapeus. However much you try to hide it.”
Cas turned his head, frowned at her.
King Rayan remarked, “Yes. Sweet and furry, that is our Cassia.”
Father Emil wore a puzzled look during the exchange. Queen Jehan only smiled faintly and poked at her figs. Cas went back to his dessert. The amount in the letter was far more than Master Dimas had stolen from Izaro. It was extortion. Cas did not let that bother him. Heavy was the price for his silence.
Cas found Lena in the kitchen, by the hearth, fanning sheets of parchment above a simmering cauldron. The only other occupant was an undercook, kneading dough at the far end of the chamber. And Cook’s little boy. The spirit had curled up with a lynx in a corner. Both appeared fast asleep. Cas wondered if the boy felt any warmth from the living animal, or if it was merely the memory of a pet that offered comfort.
Cas went to stand beside Lena, still dressed for supper in sky-blue velvet. Six wrinkled sheets of parchment had been left on the floor to dry.
“It worked,” he said.
“So far. These last two are being stubborn.” Lena turned the pages over every few seconds to evenly distribute the steam. Her other hand was planted on a hip. “How does it feel to pay for a new orphanage with someone else’s gold?” A sideways glance caught his smile. She laughed. “That man is going to despise you, if he doesn’t already.”
“I will live.”
“You don’t think he’ll take it out on Father Emil, do you?”
“No. Once he gets over the rage, he’ll make it look like it was his idea. Everyone in Palmerin will know that he is the orphanage’s biggest, most generous benefactor.”
Lena made a face. “That part is not as satisfying.”
Someone had stacked empty crates along the wall, floor to ceiling. They had not been there this morning.
Lena saw him looking. “It’s going to be a mass exodus. We’re going home.”
“When?” He felt an odd pang in his heart at the thought of her leaving.