Covenant's End - Ari Marmell Page 0,73

she hadn't bothered to ask the one she knew personally—since Widdershins had concluded her recitation.

Since she'd spilled her life story, in its entirety, for the first time ever. Not to a mentor, not to a lover, not to a trusted companion, but to an audience of bloody hopping aristocrats!

Even in my own little corner of the world, blue bloods just can't help but claim special privileges, can they?

She had tried, at first, to make herself part of the conversation that followed—the conversation, the debate, the argument, the demands, the threats—but swiftly tired of it. That was when she'd retreated to this distant corner of the chapel, pretending not to notice that any number of mistrusting eyes now followed her every move, to let the others sort it all out.

Judging by the constant ebb and flow of speech, echoing just around the edges in the vaulted chamber, they still had a ways to go.

The wood creaked as it shifted beneath her, taking on someone else's weight. Shins continued to stare upward, not bothering to look.

“It's quite a different perspective than I'm accustomed to,” the bishop told her, “looking up at the Eternal Eye from the congregation. I ought to remember to do this more often.”

“You should see how it looks from the chandelier,” she said. “So, have they decided who has to buy the rope to hang me with?”

Sicard snorted. “I'm fairly certain a few of them would be happy to use whatever belts or cords might happen to be handy.” Then, more seriously, “Her Grace has decided that, for the duration of the current crisis, your guilt or innocence is a moot point. Assuming their House priests confirm what I've told them regarding the current threat, she and many of the others have chosen to take you at your word for the time being.”

“That,” Shins observed, vaguely pointing the toe of one boot toward the assembly, “doesn't sound a lot like agreement. Unless I've been doing it wrong all this time.”

“No, you're hearing the malcontents raising the same objections they've been spouting. You can't be trusted, and your story of a demon slaughtering Olgun's old worshippers is ludicrous. This despite the fact that you didn't have to admit to being Adrienne Satti at all, if you were lying. I believe that's part of what convinced the duchess.”

“So this is still all about me? They haven't even gotten to—”

“Oh, no, I've filled them in on the rest of the plan, as well. More or less the same, ahem, nobles who object to you are objecting to it. Not proper. Not legal. Bad precedent. Need more time. And so on and so forth.

“But it's all over save the prideful lingerers. With Her Grace and many of the others convinced, plus my own support behind you, it's largely a done deal.”

Shins uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, one over the other. “They're not necessarily wrong,” she pointed out. “You said even you didn't know for sure that this is legal.”

“There's some uncertainty, yes. My authority as bishop is substantial—and I was granted more leeway than I otherwise might, given the circumstances between Davillon and the Mother Church when I was initially assigned here—but this sort of thing, to my knowledge, has never been attempted. Still, once the other priests have arrived and I've a full quorum, it should be…ah, legal enough.”

“Heh. Now you sound like one of us, Your Eminence.”

“Oh, dear. I'll have to do penance.”

Shins finally dropped her feet to the floor and turned, facing her companion for the first time since he'd joined her. “Was that sarcasm, Sicard? I didn't think you had that in you.”

“I don't. It must be a miracle.”

She couldn't help but giggle, even as her suspicions grew. And grew further still, when she observed that the clergyman, despite the banter—or what passed for it, with him—stared straight ahead, seemingly unwilling to look her way. His fingers even plucked idly at the fabric of his frock. “All right, spill it.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You didn't come over here to fill me in on the status of a conversation that's not even finished yet.”

“Ah. No, in truth, I did not.”

“And you're fretting like a nervous schoolboy. Or a cat in a lightning storm.”

“I—”

“Maybe like a nervous schoolboy who's fretting like a cat in a lightning storm.”

“Widdershins—”

“A cat with a copper tail, even.”

Now Sicard was willing to look directly at her. “Did you want me to actually answer your question? Or were you just going to keep talking?”

“You know me. These aren't mutually