“I’d actually say it’s inconvenient,” Sebastien said. “Both for you and for the owner of the horse. Are you truly confident this clipper braved the dead plains at night?”
“Of course we are. He was arrow shot by one of my men. We watched him ride into the dead plains north from Genoni.”
“Perhaps he succumbed to his wounds? Or the fury of the ghosts? An injured man is more at risk for possession. Or maybe he returned to Lovero, through a different gate.”
The Addamos paused as they thought this over. “The Caffarellis could be hiding him,” one mumbled to the other. “Maybe he circled back on foot to the Lilyan gate.”
“Why don’t you come this way and I will get you some refreshments,” Brother Sebastien said.
One of the Addamos made a frustrated sound, followed by footsteps as they trailed after Sebastien. “The Addamos would pay handsomely for any information, of course.”
Whatever Sebastien said in reply was lost as they left the room.
Faraday and I waited a few more moments to make sure it was safe for us to move.
“You could’ve told them about me,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “Like the king, we do not support one Family over another. They should know this.”
“But by helping me, aren’t you supporting the Saldanas?”
“Haven’t you heard? The Saldanas are all dead, wiped out by the Da Vias. Anyway, it’s a disgrace they offered us money like we’re some sort of commoners. We, too, are disciples of Safraella, even if we don’t murder in Her name. Sometimes clippers forget this.”
I smiled. “When you’re a clipper, you’re schooled to think highly of your own importance.”
He peeked around the corner, then waved me forward. We scurried out to the yard. There a wagon waited, hitched to a chestnut mare. In the back rested my two bags, though the saddle and saddlebags had been left behind.
“Come.” Faraday gestured as we rushed to the wagon.
“Won’t we look suspicious?”
“We’re just two priests, going about our duties.”
Priests inside the city walls generally tended to the common, accepting offerings of blood or bone from people who hoped to gain favor from Safraella, seeing to their spiritual needs.
The monasteries on the dead plains, though, served many purposes, including offering sanctuary for travelers. But their two main duties as priests of Safraella were to play the role of cleaners on the dead plains—finding any bodies and returning them to their families if possible—and to pray for the angry ghosts.
At night, the priests would gather at the gates and pray for the angry dead, pray for their torment to end, for Safraella to offer them a rebirth so they could stop their endless searching for a body. No one knew if it worked, but the priests had faith.
“I have to say, I never expected a clipper to ride here in the middle of the night seeking safety.” Faraday took the driver’s seat and adjusted his own hat. I sat on the bench beside him. “You certainly brought much excitement with you.”
“I apologize.”
He smiled. “It has been liberating. A nice change of pace. Sometimes, things can get boring.”
I yawned and regretted my lost rest. “What? At a monastery in the middle of the dead plains, surrounded by angry ghosts?”
“Yes, well. As you may have noticed, the ghosts aren’t very good conversationalists.”
He flicked the reins and we moved forward, leaving the monastery behind. “Where is it you’re headed?”
I paused. Faraday had only helped me. And he was a priest. Of course, I’d trusted Val, and look where that had ended.
But there was no point in lying, not if I wanted to reach my destination and find my uncle. He was the key to the Da Vias and my revenge. “Yvain,” I finally admitted.
“Then we’d better move a little faster.” He clucked his tongue and the horse sped up.
eleven
YVAIN WAS A CITY AS DIFFERENT FROM RAVENNA AS the dead plains monastery was from the palace in Genoni. Where Ravenna was a city of nightlife, masquerades, and carnivals, Yvain was tiny and quiet, more provincial, with fresh flowers in the window boxes of every house, and fragrant red mosses growing between the cobblestone streets.
I hated it immediately. There was no life to the people. No sea air and the sweet smell of the lantern oil. No fashion and pride in what they wore. In Yvain, the women didn’t even cover their hair, and beneath the cloying smell of the flowers, the warm stench of sewage from the canals drifted everywhere.
Walls divided the city from the dead plains, since Rennes was not a country that bowed to Safraella. Ghosts could not pass through walls, and the city walls kept the dead plains ghosts out, but anyone who died within the city, behind the walls, and became an angry ghost would be trapped inside the city with everyone else. So like the old days of Lovero, people stayed inside their homes once the sun set.