Isabelle’s pulse picked up a little. News of the Temple was rarely good for her. “When?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Coquetta said.

“Oh good,” Isabelle said. “I have an alibi.”

Coquetta huffed a laugh. “They will eventually get tired of hounding you and move on to pestering some other poor soul.”

Isabelle said, “That sounds like punishment out of an old goblin story.” She affected an old woman’s cackle. “The only way you can be free of your curse is to pass it on to an unsuspecting innocent.” She let her voice drop back to its usual register. “It sounds like what I should be doing is annoying the Temple so much that they spend all their energy trying to get rid of me. I can save some poor sod from getting his head chopped off for the crime of having an atavistic sorcery.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Coquetta said.

“Around you? Saints forefend.” Isabelle said. “Do we know why it burned?”

Jean-Claude’s voice rumbled from the curtainway behind her. “Hasdrubal turned into a pyrebird and set the place alight in the middle of the oration.”

Joy lifted Isabelle’s mood and she twisted to turn, which earned her a sharp squeak from the seamstress, who was trying to make Isabelle’s skirt fill up naturally despite the fact that she had no hips to speak of.

Coquetta strode over to Jean-Claude and took his hands. “Welcome, my friend.”

“Jean-Claude,” Isabelle said. “Were you there? What happened?”

“The good news is, the hunter’s eye worked like you said it would. We tracked three of the Last Men to the temple.”

Pride in her creation bolstered Isabelle’s spirit. “I’m glad it worked, but if that’s the best news, what is the worst?”

“The worst is that people died,” Jean-Claude said. He told them of the battle they’d fought and its aftermath. “The crowd was packed in and when the gunfire started they panicked; some died in the crush. Some died in the fire. We won’t know how many until they’ve cleaned up the rubble.”

Cold dismay settled in Isabelle’s breast. “That’s horrible.”

“Poor souls,” Coquetta said, and made a sign against evil.

Jean-Claude shook his head in the manner of a horse bothered by a stinging fly. “We gave aid and comfort where we could. Everything that can be done has been, save for the mourning. On matters yet unresolved, Hasdrubal managed to make off with the Hand of Saint Cynessus, a reliquary with an excellent pedigree.”

Coquetta tilted her head. “Do you have any idea what he means to do next?”

Jean-Claude said, “He said he was going to unmake all the Breaker has wrought.”

“That’s … ambitious,” Coquetta said.