She wondered also why it bothered her so, for her blood family had forgotten her, and she them. The Crowmarket were now her only kin.

The raven-cloak saw Apara safe past the thin patrols. Each use came easier, the giddiness ever lesser than before. She passed within reach of one guard with him never the wiser. She could have slit his throat without ever leaving the shadow. The thought excited almost as much as it appalled. She wondered whether the notion had even been her own, or one dreamed up by the cloak?

Another shadowed embrace, and she alighted upon a balcony. A scrape of lock-picks, and she was inside. She trod chambers drowned in dust sheets, and where faded paint marked the extent of portraits removed. The house was as much a tomb as the shattered mausolea lining the cliff face below. It was sad, threatening and eerie all at once.

The chapel. The lady had said to seek the chapel.

Apara slipped out into the hallway. A measure of light and life crept up the central stair to greet her. She turned aside from the rich furnishings of the entrance hall and began the ascent to the upper floors.

The chapel nestled at the eastern end of the uppermost floor. Such was often the way. If one were to make dawn observance to Lumestra, better to do so in such a way as to lift your prayers above those of the common people. Even omniscience needed a helping hand. Gentle song crept along the passageway. One voice alone. An old voice.

Apara slipped her stiletto from her belt and eased open the chapel door. The light within reflected off the door’s stained-glass panels. Fragments of orange-white light danced along the wall. Not the light of firestone lanterns, but the flickering flames of votive candles set along the altar’s rim.

The chapel itself was all but empty. A lone figure knelt before an altar laden with dry, withered scrolls. A nightgown pooled about her knees, and her hands were clasped in prayer. The song ceased.

“So you’ve come,” said Lady Marest. “I knew you would.”

Apara froze, expecting at any moment to hear the ringing of bells and shouts of alarm. But she heard nothing. She eased the door closed. “You couldn’t. I didn’t know myself until an hour ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you specifically, young lady. But someone like you.” A thin chuckle echoed around the room. “In a way, I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Have you harmed my servants? My hearthguards?”

“No. I’d no need.”

“I’m grateful. They’ve served me well. I suppose Ebigail sent you?”

Apara drew closer over chequerboard tiles. The stiletto hung heavy in her hand. Quiet, precise and elegant. By the lady’s instructions, she’d hoped that meant Lady Marest could be taken unawares, or even asleep. That would have been easier.

“I cannot say.”