Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(78)

“Because we are unchanging. Our lives do not wax or wane, and, like gold, our bodies resist corruption from death or disease.”

“I should have thought of that.” I made some notes.

“You have had a few other things on your mind.” Philippe smiled. “Matthew is very happy.”

“Not only because of me,” I said, meeting my father-in-law’s gaze. “Matthew is happy to be with you again.”

Shadows scudded through Philippe’s eyes. “Ysabeau and I like it when our children come home. They have their own lives, but it doesn’t make their absence any easier to bear.”

“And today you are missing Gallowglass, too,” I said. Philippe seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

“I am.” He stirred the folded papers with his fingers. “It was Hugh, my eldest, who brought him into the family. Hugh always made wise decisions when it came to sharing his blood, and Gallowglass was no exception. He is a fierce warrior with his father’s sense of honor. It comforts me to know that my grandson is in England with Matthew.”

“Matthew seldom mentions Hugh.”

“He was closer to Hugh than to any of his other brothers. When Hugh died with the last of the Templars at the hands of the church and the king, it shook Matthew’s loyalties. It was some time before he was able to free himself of his blood rage and come back to us.”

“And Gallowglass?”

“Gallowglass is not yet ready to leave his grief behind, and until he does so, he will not set foot in France. My grandson exacted retribution from the men who betrayed Hugh’s trust, as did Matthew, but revenge is never an adequate remedy for loss. One day my grandson will return. I am sure of it.” For a moment Philippe looked old, no longer the vigorous ruler of his people but a father who had suffered the misfortune to outlive his sons.

“Thank you, Philippe.” I hesitated before covering his hand with mine. He clasped it briefly and stood. Then he took up one of the alchemy books. It was Godfrey’s beautifully illustrated copy of the Aurora Consurgens, the text that had first lured me to Sept-Tours.

“Such a curious subject, alchemy,” Philippe murmured, flipping through the pages. He found the picture of the Sun King and the Moon Queen jousting on the back of a lion and a griffin, and he smiled broadly. “Yes, this will do.” He tucked one of his paper shapes between the pages.

“What are you doing?” I was overcome with curiosity.

“It is a game that Ysabeau and I play. When one of us is away, we leave messages hidden in the pages of books. So much happens in a day, it is impossible to remember everything when we see each other again. This way we can come upon little memories like this one when we least expect it, and share them.”

Philippe went to the shelves and picked out a volume in a worn leather binding. “This is one of our favorite stories, The Song of Armouris. Ysabeau and I have simple tastes and enjoy stories of adventure. We are always hiding messages in this.” He stuffed a scroll of paper down the spine between the binding and the gatherings of vellum. A folded rectangle fell out of the bottom as he worked it into the tight space.

“Ysabeau has taken to using a knife so that her messages are harder to find. She is full of tricks, that one. Let’s see what she says.” Philippe opened up the paper and read it silently. He looked up with a twinkle in his eyes and cheeks that were redder than usual.

I laughed and rose. “I think you might need more privacy to compose your reply!”

“Sieur.” Alain shifted in the doorway, his face serious. “Messengers have arrived. One from Scotland. Another from England. A third from Lyon.”

Philippe sighed and cursed under his breath. “They might have waited until after the Christian feast.”

My mouth soured.

“It cannot be good news,” Philippe said, catching my expression. “What did the messenger from Lyon report?”

“Champier took precautions before he left and told others that he had been called here. Now that he has not returned home, his friends are asking questions. A group of witches is preparing to leave the city in search of him, and they are headed in this direction,” Alain explained.

“When?” I whispered. It was too soon.

“The snow will slow them, and they will find travel difficult over the holy days. A few more days, perhaps a week.”

“And the other messengers?” I asked Alain.

“They are in the village, looking for milord.”

“To call him back to England, no doubt,” I said.

“If so, Christmas Day will be the best time to set out. Few will be on the roads, and the moon will be dark. These are ideal travel conditions for manjasang, but not for warmbloods,” Philippe said matter-of-factly. “There are horses and lodgings ready for you as far as Calais. A boat waits to take you to Dover. I sent word to Gallowglass and Raleigh to prepare for your return.”

“You’ve been expecting this,” I said, shaken at the prospect of leaving. “But I’m not ready. People still know I’m different.”

“You blend in better than you think. You’ve been conversing with me in perfectly good French and Latin all morning, for instance.” My mouth opened in disbelief. Philippe laughed. “It is true. I switched back and forth twice, but you didn’t notice.” His face grew serious. “Shall I go down and tell Matthew about my arrangements?”