Those eyes found mine again. “You didn’t hurt him.” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t answer it. Instead I tightened my grip on Lou’s hand and prepared to run. This man—this holy man—would soon sound the alarm. We needed to put miles between us before Jean Luc arrived.

Lou didn’t seem to share my concern.

“What’s your name, cleric?” she asked curiously.

“Achille.” His scowl returned. “Achille Altier.”

Though the name sounded familiar, I couldn’t place it. Perhaps he’d once journeyed to Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine. Perhaps I’d met him while under oath as a Chasseur. I eyed him with suspicion. “Why haven’t you summoned the huntsmen, Father Achille?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable. Shoulders radiating tension, he stared down at his spoon. “You should eat,” he said gruffly. “There’s stew in the back. Should be enough for everyone.”

Beau didn’t hesitate. “What kind?” When I shot a glare over my shoulder, he shrugged. “He could’ve woken the town the moment he recognized us—”

“He still could,” I reminded him, voice hard.

“—and my stomach is about to eat itself,” he finished. “Yours too, by the sound of it. We need food.” He sniffed and asked Father Achille, “Are there potatoes in your stew? I’m not partial to them. It’s a textural thing.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed the spoon toward the scullery. “Get out of my sight, boy, before I change my mind.”

Beau inclined his head in defeat before scooting past us. Lou, Coco, and I didn’t move, however. We exchanged wary looks. After a long moment, Father Achille heaved a sigh. “You can sleep here too. Just for the day,” he added irritably, “so long as you don’t bother me.”

“It’s Sunday morning.” At last, Coco lowered her hood. Her lips were cracked, her face wan. “Shouldn’t villagers be attending service soon?”

He scoffed. “I haven’t held a service in years.”

A reclusive priest. Of course. The disrepair of the chapel made sense now. Once, I would’ve scorned this man for his failure as a religious leader. For his failure as a man. I would’ve reprimanded him for turning his back on his vocation. On God.

How times had changed.

Beau reappeared with an earthen bowl and leaned casually against the doorway. Steam from the stew curled around his face. When my stomach rumbled again, he smirked. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Why would you help us, Father?”

Reluctantly, the priest’s gaze trailed over my pale face, Lou’s grisly scar, Coco’s numb expression. The deep hollows beneath our eyes and the gaunt cut of our cheeks. Then he looked away, staring hard at the empty air above my shoulder. “What does it matter? You need food. I have food. You need a place to sleep. I have empty pews.”