Isabelle refused to be flushed from cover. “I don’t trust Quill.”

“Do you think he was lying, or is this a manifestation of your generalized distrust of anyone in yellow robes?”

“Why are you assuming it can’t be both?” she asked. “Will you follow him for me, see what he gets up to?”

“For you, mon capitaine, anything.” He tipped his hat to her. “Is there anything in particular you suspect him of?”

“An ulterior motive,” Isabelle said.

“The one he provided wasn’t ulterior enough?”

“It seemed tailored to please Madame. Quill may not agree with the Omnifex or the Traditionalists, but I doubt he truly wants to fracture the Temple.”

Bitterlich nodded and tugged at his lacy cuffs. “I’ll follow him, but what about you? You seemed a little preoccupied. Are your passengers acting up?” He rubbed his temple with the catlike pad of his thumb.

“I just need a private spot to take my silence draught,” Isabelle said, patting her belt pouch. She always carried some with her. “There’s a difference between needing a little help and being helpless.”

“I wasn’t suggesting … I just don’t want to abandon you.”

Funny he should put it that way. He’d been on the verge of courting her when she told him about the voices in her head, and it was about at that point their blossoming intimacy had started to wither. Bitterlich was still funny, friendly, and ever so attentive, but he seemed more careful now and less playful. He certainly had never tried to kiss her again, despite her open invitation. He wore his reserve like a mask.

It wasn’t hard to understand; nobody wanted to be intimate with a woman who might just be going mad. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, as much as it grieved her, and as much as she felt a fool for keeping the lantern lit. She didn’t want to go looking for someone else. She hadn’t been looking for anyone when she found him.

“You haven’t abandoned me,” she said. Failing to come closer was not the same as leaving, and if an arms-length friendship was all she could get, she would take it and be glad. “I’ll see you at the gala tonight. I’ll even put on a gown.”

Bitterlich’s ears pricked up and his honey-colored eyes grew wide as if trying to lure this vision in from the future. “I pray that my quarry goes to bed early. I … uh. I had best be on my way.” He backed up until only the tips of his toes were on the staircase and bowed to her. “Builder keep.”

“Savior come,” Isabelle replied.