I frowned. “What conclave?” But the boy merely shook his head, swallowing hard. My frown deepened. Though I attempted to pass once more, he flung his arms wide, barring entrance. Impatience roused the anger in my gut. “Step aside, boy. This is urgent. These witches hold both the crown prince and a lady of the aristocracy hostage. Do you want the lives of innocents on your conscience?”

“Do you?” His voice cracked on the challenge, but still he didn’t move. “Go on. Get!” He jerked his head down the street, waving his hands to shoo me away like I was a mangy dog. “Father Angelart ain’t here, but I—I got me a knife too, right? I’ll gut you, I will, before the huntsmen arrive. This is a sacred place. We don’t—we won’t tolerate your sort here!”

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to knock his hands aside. To force my way through. “What sort is that?”

The boy’s entire body trembled now. With anger or fear, I couldn’t tell. “Murderers.” He looked as if he wanted to spit at me. Anger, then. “Witches.”

“What are you talking—” My own angry words broke as the memories rose. A temple. The Archbishop. And—and me. I’d stabbed him to death. Sickening cold swept through me at the realization. It extinguished my rage. My mind continued to skitter over the images, however, leaping from one to the next before scattering. I stumbled back a step. Lifted my hands. I could still feel his blood there, could still feel its slick warmth on my palm.

But it—it made no sense. I’d felt nothing but love for my patriarch. Nothing but respect. Except . . . I focused harder on the memory, the parish in front of me falling away.

I’d felt vengeful too. Bitter. The emotions came to me slowly, reluctantly. Like shameful secrets. The Archbishop had lied. Though I couldn’t recall it—though the memory rippled somehow as if distorted—I knew he’d betrayed me. Betrayed the Church. He’d consorted with a witch, and I—I must’ve killed him for it.

I was no longer a Chasseur at all.

“Is there a problem here?” A brawny sailor with a beard pressed his hand on my shoulder, jerking me from my thoughts. Two companions flanked him on either side. “Is this man bothering you, Calot?”

Instead of relief, fresh panic widened the boy’s features. He looked from the sailor’s hand on my shoulder to my face, where my jaw had clenched and my mouth had flattened. “Remove your hand, sir,” I said through my teeth. “Before I remove it for you.”