She looked hopeful, but Friar Patrick quickly quashed it. “That is not allowed, I’m afraid. The cardinal has insisted that he will only speak with the trio of prophecy.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “As a prisoner, can he set such conditions?”
“He can,” Patrick answered. “He is not without his allies in the Holy See. Even now. I am truly sorry, Sister.”
“So be it.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, looking more defiant than the acquiescence of her words.
Rhun understood her frustration. Bernard had wronged her, stolen her very soul, and yet he was free to set the terms of their contact, while she was restricted and confined. Who truly was the prisoner here?
“Go,” she said, dismissing them both, her words bitter. “Perhaps I shall take up needlepoint while I wait.”
With no other choice but to leave her behind, Rhun headed out the door and down the corridor. Even with Patrick’s support, he trailed fingers along the whitewashed bricks to keep his balance. His right arm was gone. Even though he could see the stump and feel the pain, he did not seem able to come to terms with his new state.
A new limb will grow.
He had seen such miracles in the past, but he also knew it might take years.
How can I properly protect Erin and Jordan in this maimed state? What will become of our quest?
Patrick led him through the papal residence, letting Rhun set the pace. Thankfully he grew stronger with every candlelit hall they crossed, every winding stair they climbed. Eventually, he walked free of Patrick’s support, but the friar stuck to his side.
Rhun sensed his friend wished to speak. “What is it, Patrick? If you keep looking over your shoulder like that, you’ll get a permanent crick in your neck.”
Friar Patrick tucked his hands into his wide sleeves. “It concerns your other friend.”
It took Rhun a moment to decipher his words. “The lion cub…”
He remembered the creature’s plaintive cry, how the small cat had nudged the body of its dead mother.
“He has changed much. Growing far faster than any natural creature should.” Patrick looked at him. “What haven’t you told me about him?”
Rhun knew he could no longer keep the secret of the cub’s birth. “His mother was a blasphemare.”
Patrick drew to a sudden stop in the hallway, forcing Rhun to do the same. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shame flared through him. “I thought if you believed the cub to be tainted you wouldn’t take him in.”
“Nonsense. He is clearly not tainted. If anything, I’d say he is blessed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have never seen his like before. He is a gentle soul. Full of mischief, yes, but there is no corruption. I see only a sweetness about him.”
Rhun felt a deep measure of relief. He had sensed the cub’s essential goodness back in the desert, and he was glad to hear it borne out. “I’ve wondered about him since I found him.”
“And do you know anything more about him?”
“Very little. His mother was badly wounded by the angelic blast following the battle in Egypt. I suspect the cub was spared in her womb, a testament to its innocence. And perhaps some of that angelic essence was instilled into him.”
Patrick touched his arm. “I don’t doubt it. Thank you for sharing this miracle with me. I never thought to see its like, a creature the mirror opposite of the blasphemare, a beast blessed by purity. It is a wonder.”
“Can you still keep it a secret… at least for now?”
“Do not trouble yourself on that account.” Patrick waved ahead and set them in motion again. “I am happy to have this miracle all to my own for now.”
They continued through to a far corner of the residence.
“The cardinal is being kept in a private apartment around the next corner,” Patrick said.
As they turned into another hall, Rhun spotted a pair of Sanguinists, both hooded and cloaked, with blades drawn, at the end of the passage. They guarded a stout wooden door, marking Bernard’s current prison cell.
Rhun started toward it, noting the windows lining the way looked out upon the blue majesty of neighboring Lake Albano. Rare Renaissance paintings dotted the walls, their oils aglow in the sunlight. He imagined Bernard’s cell had the same view and was likely equally well appointed.
The cardinal certainly did have allies who were looking after him.
A call rose from behind, coming from another hallway that ended here.
“Rhun!”
He turned to see Erin rushing forward, her jacket winging open. Jordan stalked after her, looking less thrilled to see him.
“Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” the big man said as they gathered together in the hall.
Friar Patrick bowed his head toward Erin and shook Jordan’s hand. “He has mended well enough for now, but I’ll trust the two of you to take charge of him from here.” The friar turned to Rhun. “I will leave you with your companions. But I will be on the estate should you need the council of an old fool such as myself.”
“You have never been a fool,” Rhun answered.
Friar Patrick shrugged, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and walked briskly away.
Erin’s eyes studied Rhun anxiously as they headed toward the guarded doors. “How do you feel?”
“Stronger,” he answered truthfully. “It seems I have you to thank for my life.”
She gave him a small smile. “It was my turn.”
“Gotta admit,” Jordan said, “for a guy who counts his birthdays by the centuries, you’re a tough old nut.”
Rhun felt himself relaxing in their camaraderie. Admittedly, they were a team that had survived much together, but they were more than that.
They were friends.
As they reached the doors, the guards parted. From under his hood, one spoke, sounding none too happy at their intrusion, nor to whom they had come to see.
“The cardinal has been expecting you,” the guard said, his contempt for the prisoner plain.
The other guard removed a large key from under his cloak and unlocked the door. He did not bother to open it.
Rhun shifted forward, but his balance betrayed him. Erin caught his arm.
Jordan moved to the door and shoved it open, speaking to the guards. “You both need to work on your hospitality skills. Trust me, my Yelp review about this place will sting.”
Jordan held the door for Erin and Rhun.
They passed into a sumptuous entry hall, decorated with plump furniture and heavy silk drapery. Beyond that space, a short passage led to bedrooms, a small parlor, and a powder room. The place was kept dark, except for candlelight glowing through a door at the end. Rhun heard a faint voice rising from there. The words were too inaudible to understand, but the accent was unmistakable.
Bernard.
Was someone with him? Patrick had told him on the way up that Bernard’s assistant, Father Gregory, had been coming and going at all hours of the day and night, likely running errands for the cardinal as the man fought to keep his position, to control the gears that his sin had set in motion.
Jordan heard the cardinal, too, and strode briskly down the hall. He took in the surroundings as he went. “Talk about a pretty bird cage,” he mumbled sourly.
Rhun followed.
Erin hovered at his side, clearly worried about his stability, but he waved her forward.
Jordan reached the half-closed door first and rapped a knuckle on it. When his knock went unchallenged, Jordan pushed inside. Erin kept close at his heels, plainly full of questions for Bernard.
Rhun hurried after them. He had much to ask Bernard himself about his lies and half-truths, especially concerning the cardinal’s old friend, the crusader Hugh de Payens.