It wasn’t true that nobody would believe her, though. The masters of the Ninysh Academy in Segosh had heard of the World Serpents; Nicolas had said so. She walked along, thinking of her favorite lectures on exotic animals at St. Bert’s, how she’d hung on the explorers’ every word and dreamed of such adventure herself (or of accompanying Will, who would find her indispensable). This was an important discovery; the masters would be interested, if she could find the right way to talk about it.
They’d think of Anathuthia as merely an animal—but maybe that would be easier. One could describe an animal; it had measurable qualities, like size and strength and feeding habits, and that was knowledge she could share. In fact, she had a mandate to do so, she felt, from Frai Lorenzi, who had said the world deserved to know.
She tried remembering as many concrete details as she could, reducing Anathuthia to facts. She missed the soaring feeling, but it was less frustrating not to have a snatch of song eluding her, or a bird darting just out of view.
Still, she saw pale blue behind her eyelids sometimes when she blinked. It was never really gone.
* * *
The nights were getting longer and the mornings nippier, making Tess grateful for her second blanket. The equinox had passed without her noting it; winter fell quickly this far south, by all reports. In Goredd the first frost usually hit right around the feast of St. Prue, but here it would be at least two weeks earlier, and if she kept walking south, that date would keep creeping toward her until the pair of them met for a nice kiss.
She didn’t fancy waking up with frost on her lips. She needed to find a way to sleep indoors sometimes. One evening she stopped at the tavern in the village of Anshouie and asked the tapmaster, “How much for a room?”
He was drying a glass on his apron. “Two and a quarter for the night, ten per week.”
She cringed. The dregs of her road-building wages weren’t going to last, and the farms wouldn’t offer much once the harvest was in. She needed to hurry to Segosh.
The tapmaster eyed her from under shaggy brows. “You drinking?”
“Bitter Branca,” said Tess, absently ordering Felix’s favorite. That rascal. She missed everyone. While the tapmaster mixed ale and pine brandy, Tess looked around at the patrons of the pub. Most were old or idle, folks who’d likely been here all day. The evening crowd was just beginning to trickle in.
The village priest arrived, a phlegmatic young man in the rustred habit of St. Munn, his fair hair already thinning and his shoulders stooped. His parishioners clapped him on the back and brought him a drink. When he spotted Tess, a stranger, he shook her hand and said, “Welcome, traveler. I’m Father Erique.”
“Brother Jacomo,” said Tess.
“Not a monk?” said the priest, giving her an unsubtle look of doubt. She was wearing Florian’s striped jacket against the cooler weather.
“A seminarian,” said Tess, affecting a humble mien. She told her usual tale, lost her vocation, looking for it, blah blah.
The priest got a funny look when she said vocation. She wondered what his story was, and whether he’d be appalled to hear about a giant serpent.
He forced a smile. “Let me know if you have questions about the Order of St. Munn.”
Father Erique glad-handed his way to the end of the room, stood on a chair, and called, “Heaven keep all here. Ready for the news?”
The villagers stopped gossiping to listen. Tess nursed her piney beer. The priest brandished a ring on a chain around his neck and said, “The Bishop of St. Munn’s in Modera had a lot to say this week. First, there’s sheep pox in the Samsamese highlands, so be careful buying ewes.”
He gave farm news from all over. The ring was a thnik, clearly. All the priests of St. Munn must have them and be sharing information through their bishop, who sat in the middle like a fat spider, passing messages along.
Father Erique ended with world news: Samsam’s fleet, destroyed by Porphyry in the war, was finally restored to its former glory. An expedition to the Antarctic (Countess Margarethe’s? Tess wondered) had claimed two new islands for Ninys but come up empty-handed on sabanewt oil. Last but far from least, news from Goredd: “Queen Glisselda’s baby, Princess Zythia, was presented to the public for the first time at her psalter ceremony. Heaven ordained that her patron will be”—Father Erique checked his notes—“St. Polypous, like her royal mother. Heaven keep the Goreddi royal family. I think we’re all entitled to raise a glass to that!”
So the baby had a name now; Zythia was surely Seraphina’s suggestion, named for her Porphyrian friend, St. Zythia Perdixis Camba. St. Polypous had been poor dear Julian/Dozerius’s patron, too. Tess sighed wistfully and downed her Branca without finding it too bitter, and she said a little prayer to her own St. Siucre that Seraphina wasn’t finding it miserable to pass off her baby as the Queen’s. As painful as it had been to lose a child, Tess suspected it took a core of steel to do what her sister was doing.
Then Seraphina’s perfect for the job, was her knee-jerk reaction, but upon further consideration, she wondered about that assumption. She didn’t actually know what it took to hurt Seraphina. Having a baby changed everything.
Tess decided not to take a room after all. It wasn’t so cold that she couldn’t stand it, and thinking about Seraphina and her baby had made her antsy. She felt a strong desire to get back on the road, where she belonged, and walk it off.
She hefted her pack and was about to duck out when a hand tapped her shoulder.
It was Father Erique. “Do you need a place to stay, Brother Jacomo?” he said, fingering his collar, which was lined with squirrel fur. “You’re welcome to sleep in the church, of course, or I’ve a spare room at the vicarage.”
It hadn’t occurred to Tess that she might hop from church to church, impersonating Jacomo and rooming for free. This was worth considering.
“My Angelica is roasting a leg of lamb,” said Father Erique enticingly.
Lamb was awfully tempting. Tess weighed it against the need to walk, and the prospect of a full belly won. She followed the priest through the village and past the church to a well-appointed house nearby.
The vicarage was warm and cheerful, with a roaring fire, a little dog on a cushion, and a serving lass no older than Tess just bringing supper in from the kitchen. “Another place, if you please, Angelica,” said Father Erique, leaving his shoes near the door. “Brother Jacomo will be staying the night.”
Tess followed suit and removed her boots. When she looked up, she caught Angelica staring. The girl averted her eyes almost at once, but Tess knew what she’d seen. Utter hatred. It lingered like an odor in the air.
Tess’s presence made extra work, certainly, but the depth of venom in Angelica’s gaze seemed unwarranted. Had a previous guest left her with a terrible mess?
Tess felt compelled to reassure her during dinner. When Angelica filled her wineglass, Tess said, “Thank you, Angelica,” and smiled warmly. The braised parsnips and bread pudding were remarkably delicious, so Tess made sure to say, “Angelica, you’re a wonderful cook.”
The girl recoiled each time. By the end of dinner, Angelica was so furious she was shaking; Tess’s comments had unintentionally made things worse, and she couldn’t fathom how.
Father Erique appeared to notice nothing amiss, which was not lost on Tess.
The priest offered Tess a seat by the fire while Angelica washed up. “So tell me,” said Father Erique, extracting a bottle of cognac and two glasses from a cabinet near the hearth. “Are you Goreddi? Your vowels sound a little squirmy.”
At Tess’s murmur of assent, the priest smiled knowingly. “What do you make of this Princess Zythia, then? Is she the Queen’s own, or have they adopted some half cousin’s bastard?”
Tess, who knew plenty, didn’t like his tone. “Why would you imagine that?”
“Don’t be coy. One hears rumors, even this far south. We know the Queen and prince consort are all politics together. But the Queen and St. Seraphina? Hmm?” He made fingers on each hand into a V, locked them together, and waggled his blond brows suggestively.
“I have no idea what you’re asking,” said Tess, refusing to give him the satisfaction.