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7/6/2025, 5:52:33 PM
You watch with wide, surprised eyes as Elle turns and marches away from the dining room table. It’s not like her to be so curt, so abrupt, especially not in polite company like this. There’s something wrong, something beyond the admittedly very long list of things that are already very wrong. Something to do with the saint, you suspect. You ought to catch up and check on her, but there’s one little thing you need to do first.
“Misty, since you’ve discovered the joys of research, I want you to look into something for me,” you begin, “We’ve been assuming that-”
“Oh hold on, let me get a pen,” Misty interrupts, “And let me tell you about my hourly rates…”
“Cousin,” Cato warns, fixing her with a cold scowl.
“Cato, please. I was just kidding. I’m not the sort of girl who charges by the hour,” Misty pauses, “Wait, that wasn’t supposed to sound so-”
“Focus, please,” you plead. Misty covers up a giggle, but waves for you to continue. “We’ve been assuming that assassins are coming after the saint, but how certain are we about that?” you explain through gritted teeth, “Perhaps they just want her to fail, one way or another.”
A thoughtful look passes across Cato’s face as he considers this possibility. “That’s a good point,” he admits, “Misty, we sent you a copy of the original warning. Do you have it?”
Misty opens her handbag and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper. “They seek the saint’s life,” she read aloud, “That doesn’t actually say they plan to kill her, technically speaking.”
“Talk it over, see what you can find out,” you urge, “I’ve got something to take care of.”
“Someone to take care of?” Misty teases, but you’re already hurrying away before you can deliver a suitably devastating retort.
-
You catch up with Elle in the streets outside the cathedral. Even at this late hour, with the sun’s light fading around you, the streets are far from empty. Weaving your way around a group of swaying drunkards, you reach out and touch her arm. She flinches, then turn to you with a stilted smile. “Isambard?” the oracle asks, “What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I should be the one asking you that question,” you reply, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be so… short.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Really, I’m fine,” she insists, “You shouldn’t worry about me. You’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“They can wait until later. Allow me to be selfish, just this once.”
Elle signs, her smile softening into something more natural. “I suppose it can’t hurt to talk about it,” she murmurs, “But not here. Somewhere with a little more privacy, please.”
Linking her arm with yours, she allows you to guide her through the city streets until you arrive back at your hotel. A few of the lingering pilgrims follow you with their eyes as you head upstairs together, but you pay them no mind. They can think what they like.
[1]
“Misty, since you’ve discovered the joys of research, I want you to look into something for me,” you begin, “We’ve been assuming that-”
“Oh hold on, let me get a pen,” Misty interrupts, “And let me tell you about my hourly rates…”
“Cousin,” Cato warns, fixing her with a cold scowl.
“Cato, please. I was just kidding. I’m not the sort of girl who charges by the hour,” Misty pauses, “Wait, that wasn’t supposed to sound so-”
“Focus, please,” you plead. Misty covers up a giggle, but waves for you to continue. “We’ve been assuming that assassins are coming after the saint, but how certain are we about that?” you explain through gritted teeth, “Perhaps they just want her to fail, one way or another.”
A thoughtful look passes across Cato’s face as he considers this possibility. “That’s a good point,” he admits, “Misty, we sent you a copy of the original warning. Do you have it?”
Misty opens her handbag and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper. “They seek the saint’s life,” she read aloud, “That doesn’t actually say they plan to kill her, technically speaking.”
“Talk it over, see what you can find out,” you urge, “I’ve got something to take care of.”
“Someone to take care of?” Misty teases, but you’re already hurrying away before you can deliver a suitably devastating retort.
-
You catch up with Elle in the streets outside the cathedral. Even at this late hour, with the sun’s light fading around you, the streets are far from empty. Weaving your way around a group of swaying drunkards, you reach out and touch her arm. She flinches, then turn to you with a stilted smile. “Isambard?” the oracle asks, “What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I should be the one asking you that question,” you reply, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be so… short.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Really, I’m fine,” she insists, “You shouldn’t worry about me. You’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“They can wait until later. Allow me to be selfish, just this once.”
Elle signs, her smile softening into something more natural. “I suppose it can’t hurt to talk about it,” she murmurs, “But not here. Somewhere with a little more privacy, please.”
Linking her arm with yours, she allows you to guide her through the city streets until you arrive back at your hotel. A few of the lingering pilgrims follow you with their eyes as you head upstairs together, but you pay them no mind. They can think what they like.
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