Bitterlich darted through one of the arched openings, caught the air with his wings, and shot up to the domed ceiling, which was decorated with a suspended lattice like the spreading branches of a tree over a stylistic painting of a daytime sky.

Bat eyes weren’t the best for big rooms, so he turned his attention inward and summoned a different shape. His animal shapes were all tucked away in his Seelengewölbe—a space within his mind that he was aware of in the same way he was aware of his limbs. Weaving a skin felt a bit like unraveling a bit of old cloth with one hand, stiff knotted threads bump-bumping as he tugged, whilst knitting a new shape with the other hand. There was a feeling of spilling away and then of tugging back together a shape one could anticipate but not really feel until the last thread was knotted.

Like knitting, it took real skill to improvise, and one had to be very careful to keep the skeins from getting tangled.

He landed on the suspended branches as a witch owl, a stout little bird with feathers the color of charcoal, huge eyes the color of embers, and excellent hearing.

At least a hundred people milled below. Courtiers and ambassadors, nobles, pilgrims, and scores of servants eddied their way across the floor. Several enterprising vendors had set up shop smack in the middle of the space selling buttered bread, mugs of soup, and the lemon pastries to which all native Célestials seemed to be completely addicted.

Quill moved through the crowd in fits and starts so as not to get bowled over by steadier pedestrians. Whatever had debilitated his body certainly hadn’t stopped him from rising in the Temple. He was but one step below the exalted ranks. Such a man was not to be underestimated. He departed through the passage that led toward the foreign apartments where many honored guests were kept. What had happened to cripple him so?

Bitterlich flew back through the archway into the spires’ interior and zipped ahead to the next major junction, where he combined the clinging pads of a gecko with the color-changing camouflage of a lesser reef kraken and slithered in through a small hole to await his mark. In this way, he forward-followed Quill to the guest quarters, where the sagax approached the suite given over to the Fenice delegation.

The thrill and terror of discovery raced up Bitterlich’s spine. Did Quill have a master besides the Temple? He would not put it past the Fenice to send a spy after Isabelle, just to be sure, or an assassin to make the point moot.

The clayborn soldiers acting as door wardens recognized Quill on sight and pulled the curtain aside to let him enter. Bitterlich slipped through a crack in the wall and scuttled underneath the structure before creeping up again through a hole in the floor.