other children, not long after she had, herself, become an orphan.
“Does knowing that help us at all?” Evrard asked, his own fingers digging deep into the cushioned arms of the chair.
“We'd have to read up, see if any of the legends agree on much about him,” Igraine said. “But it certainly can't hurt.”
“And remember,” Widdershins pointed out, “he's not the only one. I figure Lisette sought them out after she heard about Iruoch, though I don't even want to guess how she went about it. They had,” she added bitterly, “an enemy in common.”
“I'm not as familiar with fairytales as, apparently, I ought to be,” Renard said. Although he spoke no differently than ever, Shins swore she heard something of the Shrouded Lord in his voice now. “But even I know that the fae are tricky and fickle. Would they do this just to seek revenge for Iruoch?”
“It's possible,” Robin answered, taking Widdershins's goblet and refilling it without being asked. “They are pretty vindictive, in the stories.”
Igraine started to gesture at Robin, then—perhaps remembering her limp—stood and fetched herself a drink as well. “At the same time,” she said as she crossed the room, “they might very well want something more out of it. Widdershins, you said something about them not really being here?”
“Those wounds looked real enough,” Renard growled.
“No, she's right,” Shins told him. “They've granted Lisette some of their power, and that seems to let them manifest here for short periods of time, but…they come and go. Lisette said something about the Church…?”
Again the priestess nodded. “You remember how Iruoch reacted to prayer and blessed objects. Normally, the faith of a community as large as Davillon is enough to keep them out entirely. He only came because of the…accidental invitation.
“If Lisette convinced them that she could offer them free reign here,” she added thoughtfully, “that would surely be enough to buy their cooperation, revenge or no.”
“What's she planning to do, murder the entire clergy?” Evrard asked—darkly enough that he very clearly was not being entirely sarcastic.
“I think I told you,” Igraine sighed, “that I've been in pretty regular contact with His Eminence Sicard? Part of that is because of the panic and rumors. Stories are spreading, just like they did with Iruoch.”
“And of course, if the Church can't do anything and people start to lose faith again…” Shins mused.
“It's more than that, though. The priests of some of the minor Houses have claimed to have found a way to protect their people from this ‘unholy scourge.’ And nobody from those houses has been hurt.”
“It's not proof of anything, yet. There are still few enough attacks overall that those houses could have been spared by coincidence. But people are starting to listen.”
Evrard, again, utterly incredulous. “The Church is letting them just splinter off like that?”
“The priesthood is completely overwhelmed,” Igraine protested. “These ‘hauntings,’ all the political upheaval in Davillon…. And Davillon's not even a priority for the Church as a whole right now! The Archbishops are all still dealing with the fallout over Faranda's anointing! Lourveaux's dealing with open riots!”
Shins had learned the basics of that months ago, when she herself had been in the city of Lourveaux, heart of the Church of the Hallowed Pact. Nicolina Faranda, successor to the lamented Archbishop William de Laurent, was from Rannanti, not Galice. By the laws of the Church, there was nothing wrong with that; faith in the Pact wasn't limited to a single nation. After so many generations of rivalry and border skirmishes between the two states, however, quite a few Galicians had taken offense at the decision. The Church was swept up in controversy, the Galicien throne had dispatched much of the standing army to the border, to prevent the situation from escalating…
No. No, she couldn't…. This can't be her doing, too! She can't have that much influence outside of Davillon?
“Can she?” she asked, nearly begged, under her breath.
Except, as Olgun reluctantly pointed out, she could. She hadn't the pull to create the situation, no, but it would take only a few planted agitators, loud voices to stir up the simmering anger, to keep it all burning longer than it otherwise might.
And it would mean far, far fewer official eyes on Davillon.
“Gods…”
“…tried to get word to Lourveaux of what's happening here,” Igraine was saying, “but so far, they've been too busy to even send back more than an occasional perfunctory answer.”
“Your messages may not even be reaching them,” Shins said, jumping back in. She proceeded to explain to them