Page 33 of The Half King
Daerick winced. “Only a few pages. She wasn’t much of a recordkeeper. Everything I could find is in the top drawer of her desk.”
“And the elusive journal?” Cerise asked. It had to be somewhere around here if the Reverend Mother had Seen her reading it. “What does it look like?”
“It’s quite distinctive,” Daerick said. “The cover is made from black and white leather squares stitched together to look like temple floor tiles. Kian’s father gave it to her as a welcome gift. It’s impossible to miss.”
“Did you look for it in her bedchamber?” Cerise asked. “If the journal was important to her, it was probably with her when she died.”
Again, Daerick winced. “This is where she died.”
Cerise felt her eyes widen. Her gaze drifted to the chair behind the desk, to the plush divan, to the carpeted floor, while her mind conjured images of an elderly woman slumped across the various objects in death.
Daerick gently elbowed her. “Change your mind about one of those vacancies?”
While Cerise was still trying to adjust to the knowledge that her predecessor had poisoned herself in this very room, someone from the outer corridor opened the door to the sitting room and then walked into the office. Cerise stepped around her desk and was met with a startled reaction from Father Bishop, who had clearly assumed the suite was empty.
Father Bishop glanced back and forth between Cerise and Daerick. His mouth moved, but no words passed his lips.
“May I assist you, Father Bishop?” Cerise asked in her most ladylike tone. Not that he deserved it. He looked more guilty than a child with his hand in the sweets jar.
He composed himself and fixed his icy glare upon her. “Excuse the interruption. I only came to return this.” Then, from the billowy left sleeve of his robe, he retrieved a small book bound in alternating leather squares of black and white.
Cerise gasped. “The emissary’s journal!”
“That’s the one,” Daerick said. He folded both arms and lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the priest. “That explains why it was missing. What were you doing with it?”
“The emissary had a name,” Father Bishop snapped. “She was Mother Strout. And yes, I borrowed her journal. What of it? I came to put it back. I did nothing wrong.”
Cerise had been so fixated on the journal that she hadn’t noticed the changes in Father Bishop. Now that she studied his face, she detected a hint of redness in his eyes and rimming the bottom of his nose. His eyelids were swollen, and his voice seemed a note rougher, more raw than it had been yesterday when he’d chastised her in the sanctuary. It almost looked like he had been crying.
Crying for the old emissary?
“Lord Calatris didn’t accuse you of wrongdoing,” she told Father Bishop. “He asked you a question, which you still haven’t answered.”
“You want an answer?” he asked in a tone that sounded like a threat. “All right. I’ll tell you why I took it.” He shook the journal in the air. “Because her death made no sense—that’s why. I knew Mother Strout. I knew her longer than anyone else at the palace. Before she was the old king’s emissary, she was a Seer in the temple where I was raised. Mother Strout was the most devoted oracle that ever existed. She lived to serve the goddess, so why would she dispatch herself without saying a word to anyone?”
“Did you find your answer?” Cerise asked, nodding at the journal.
By way of reply, Father Bishop slammed the book on the desk and then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. A moment later, the suite door clattered shut.
She would take that as ano.
She picked up the journal and traced a square with her fingertip. At least now she understood why Father Bishop hated her. The late emissary had been like a mother to him. He had respected and cared for Mother Strout, and when she had died, the Order had sent a novice in training to replace her. That must have felt like an insult to her memory.
“The crotchety priest did make an interesting point,” Daerick said.
Yes, he did. Based on everything Cerise had heard about Mother Strout, it did seem strange that the woman had poisoned herself. “Was there an investigation when she died?”
“There was an inquiry,” Daerick said, “but it turned up nothing. She had no enemies and no heirs, so there was no one to benefit from her death. And the note she left behind was in her own handwriting.”
As above, so below.The flame you seek to dampen will consume you.Cerise wished she understood what it meant.
“If there was foul play involved in her death, it was meticulously planned and flawlessly executed.” Daerick shrugged. “I can’t tell you why old Mother Strout is dead, but now that we have her journal, I can help you resume her work. There are only six moons remaining with Kian on the throne. In that time, you might as well be the best emissary you can be. That will have to do.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
“You’re right,” Cerise agreed softly. “Let’s get started.”
She still didn’t know her purpose along the narrow path to breaking the curses, but the journal felt like a stepping stone—with any luck, the first of many.
