Page 46 of Fire to the Stars

In the washroom, I scrub my face and decide to shave but nick the underside of my jaw with my moondagger on the last stroke. Just my luck. Once I’m changed into a clean tunic, I settle against my headboard and review Hanna’s notes for the umpteenth time.

Based on her investigation, Gérard Dupont will visit Jardincourt for Ascension Day. The witness remarks confirm it. But the more I reread, the more the details Hanna chose to describe his personality make him feel flat. Caricatured. As if they refuse to acknowledge his human complexity.

There’s nothing here to indicate whether Diu’s punishment fits Gérard’s crimes.

“Who are you, Gérard Dupont?” I mutter.

I unfold a tourist map of Jardincourt—my attempt to predict where he might visit—but the names of streets and tavernsbleed together like ink from a broken quill. The black craters that mark the dragon pits—north, west, and east—grab my attention by the throat.

All I can think about is the last time I faced a dragon.

And how horribly I failed.

Language is evolving. If we hope to liberate future generations from Diu’s curse, it is imperative that all Florentians understand the Gods’ War as written inL’Histoire des Étoiles. I propose we separate the Old Tongue from the new.

—Cardinal seeking audience with His Majesty King Benoit IV, 180 AA

Chapter Fifteen

Claire

As I step into the Church of the War-Torn Gods, the sharp burning smell of melted wax makes my eyes and nose prickle.

Churchgoers laugh and converse in small, scattered groups that linger between the pews. Service has just ended, thank goodness. A green-robed cardinal steps down from the pulpit on the dais and retreats out a back door. Rows of candles flicker on the wall, below the suns’ perfect-eclipse emblem. The donation trays—full by now, I’m sure—are nowhere in sight.

The pews are mostly empty, except for Lyle in the back row. He hangs his head as if resigned to the guillotine.

“Bonjour.” I take a seat beside him. “Angéline found you quickly.”

“I made it easy. I asked the concierge at my inn to send a message to the station.”

My fingers tighten around the stiff wood beneath me as Itake in the interior of a church with dragon eyes for the first time. This one is larger and grander than Sellecastel’s church building was, with finer architecture and drapery than anything our donations could afford. Rarely did a cardinal travel through our little town to bring new wisdom or philanthropy funds, but still, we were grateful. It was the community—the friends—we found under that roof that kept us close to our faith.

Now I have none.

“You’re settled in?” Lyle asks. “Somewhere safe, I hope?”

“The top floor of a five-story building. We’re very lucky.”

He sniffles and rubs his nose. I’d cry too if Papa were missing. Boys like their tough exteriors, though. So do I.

I bump shoulders with him. “The candles irritate my nose. Why don’t we step outside?”

He chokes on a laugh. “Thanks for the cover, but I want to stay for a while longer. It makes me feel closer to Ma.”

Poor Lyle. We have three weeks until the next Ignition Day. He won’t find his mother in this church until then at the earliest. The wait will be miserable for him.

“You don’t feel safe here?” he asks, noticing my tight fingers on the bench.

“Diu ruined my life. Can you blame me?”

“I suppose not.”

I force my grip to soften. “Abel wants to know how you’re holding up.”

“Not well.” He lifts a piece of folded parchment.

“What’s that?”