Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(58)

“I wanted to disappear when it was over, to leave Sept-Tours and never come back,” he confessed. “But Philippe made me promise to keep the family and the brotherhood together. I swore that I would take care of Ysabeau, too. So I stayed here, sat in his chair, pulled the political strings he wanted pulled, finished the war he gave his life to win.”

“Philippe wouldn’t have put Ysabeau’s welfare in the hands of someone he despised. Or placed a coward in charge of the Order of Lazarus.”

“Baldwin accused me of lying about Philippe’s wishes. He thought the brotherhood would go to him. No one could fathom why our father had decided to give the Order of Lazarus to me instead. Perhaps it was his final act of madness.”

“It was faith,” I said softly, reaching down and lacing my fingers through his. “Philippe believes in you. So do I. These hands built this church. They were strong enough to hold your son and your father during their final moments on this earth. And they still have work to do.”

High above there was a beating of wings. A dove had flown through the clerestory windows and lost its way among the exposed roof beams. It struggled, freed itself, and swooped down into the church. The dove landed on the stone that marked the final resting place of Blanca and Lucas and moved its feet in a deliberate circular dance until it faced Matthew and me. Then it cocked its head and studied us with one blue eye.

Matthew shot to his feet at the sudden intrusion, and the startled dove flew toward the other side of the apse. It beat its wings, slowing before the likeness of the Virgin. When I was convinced it was going to crash into the wall, it swiftly reversed direction and flew back out the way it had entered.

A long white feather from the dove’s wing drifted and curled on the currents of air, landing on the pavement before us. Matthew bent to pick it up, his expression puzzled as he held it before him.

“I’ve never seen a white dove in the church before.” Matthew looked to the half dome of the apse where the same bird hovered over Christ’s head.

“It’s a sign of of resurrection and hope. Witches believe in signs, you know.” I closed his hands around the feather. I kissed him lightly on the forehead and turned to leave. Perhaps now that he had shared his memories, he could find peace.

“Diana?” Matthew called. He was still by his family’s grave. “Thank you for hearing my confession.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you at home. Don’t forget your feather.”

He watched me as I passed the scenes of torment and redemption on the portal between the world of God and the world of man. Pierre was waiting outside, and he took me back to Sept-Tours without speaking a word. Philippe heard our approach and was waiting for me in the hall.

“Did you find him in the church?” he asked quietly. The sight of him— so hale and hearty—made my heart drop. How had Matthew endured it?

“Yes. You should have told me it was Lucas’s birthday.” I handed my cloak to Catrine.

“We have all learned to anticipate these black moods when Matthew is reminded of his son. You will, too.”

“It’s not just Lucas.” Fearing I’d said too much, I bit my lip.

“Matthew told you about his own death, too.” Philippe tugged his fingers through his hair, a rougher version of his son’s habitual gesture. “I understand grief, but not this guilt. When will he put the past behind him?”

“Some things can never be forgotten,” I said, looking Philippe squarely in the eye. “No matter what you think you understand, if you love him, you’ll let him battle his own demons.”

“No. He is my son. I will not fail him.” Philippe’s mouth tightened. He turned and stalked away. “And I’ve received word from Lyon, madame,” he called over his shoulder. “A witch will arrive shortly to help you, just as Matthew wished.”





Chapter Eleven




"Meet me in the hay barn on your way back from the village.” Philippe had resumed his annoying habit of appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye and was standing before us in the library.

I looked up from my book and frowned. “What’s in the hay barn?” “Hay.” Matthew’s revelations in the church had only made him more restless and short-tempered. “I’m writing to our new pope, Father. Alain tells me that the conclave will announce today that poor Niccolò has been elected despite begging to be spared the burdens of office. What are the wishes of one man when weighed against the aspirations of Philip of Spain and Philippe de Clermont?”

Philippe reached for his belt. A loud clap exploded from Matthew’s direction. Matthew held a dagger between his palms, the point of the blade resting against his breastbone.

“His Holiness can wait.” Philippe considered the position of his weapon. “I should have targeted Diana. You would have moved faster.”

“You must forgive me for ruining your sport.” Matthew was coldly furious. “It’s been some time since I’ve had a knife thrown at me. I fear I am out of practice.”

“If you are not at the barn before the clock strikes two, I will come looking for you. And I will be carrying more than this dagger.” He plucked it out of Matthew’s hands and bellowed for Alain, who was right behind him.

“No one should go to the lower barn until told otherwise,” Philippe said as he rammed his weapon back into its leather sheath.