Her withered legs shaking with effort, Lady Marest rose. She had no weapon. Her lined face held neither hatred nor fear. There was only calm. Her serenity was a close match for the serathi caryatids whose wings supported the chapel’s roof.

“Oh come,” said the old woman. “You’re here to kill me. Do me this small courtesy. I won’t fight. I won’t make a fuss. You’ll find my soul slips free with ease. Did Ebigail send you?”

Apara took a half-step back. The old woman’s calm was terrifying, in its way. “Yes.”

Lady Marest hung her head. “I thought so. Hadon, Malachi, everyone else . . . she has them so entangled in games of status and pride that they don’t see the web she’s weaving. But I do. I am not a fool, young lady . . .”

“I’m not a young anything. Not for years.”

“These things are relative.” She shook her head. “When you reach my age, when friends and family have gone to dust, everyone seems young. But kindly don’t interrupt. I’m not a fool, though many think me foolish. I’ve had one foot in the mists for years and am not easily blinded by pride. Ebigail believes herself a growing shadow that will eclipse us all. But even a shadow has no purchase in the Dark. Your patron knows that better than any.”

Apara shook her head. She wanted to discount the old woman’s words as babble. However, her proud demeanour demanded otherwise. And she definitely didn’t want to be reminded that the Raven had his talons deep in her soul.

“I’m in no mood for a sermon.”

“I imagine not. But the Dark always returns. It whispers in our souls. It gorges on our quarrels. And it breaks us apart so that tyranny can flourish – until there is no voice save its own. Konor Belenzo knew that, but the first council hid the truth. They thought it enough to bury Malatriant and forget her. Make her physical fact into deepest myth. Arrogance.”

Perhaps she was mad, thought Apara. But if so, it was a quiet madness borne by many whose faith outshone their reason. “You’re fortunate I’ve come. The church’s provosts would burn you as a heretic for those words.”

Lady Marest ran a hand along the nearest scroll. “Not my words. Belenzo’s. It took Karkosa and I a lifetime to find them all. Longer to understand their meaning. So many lessons we should have heeded. Now it’s too late.”

Apara frowned. If the scrolls truly contained the last sermons of Konor Belenzo, they’d be worth a fortune. As she started forward, Lady Marest toppled a candle. Fire crackled across dry brittle paper.

“No!” Apara cried out. “Why did you do that?”