Later that day, Nora got a text from Cyrus. Hey, is your Viking okay?

She replied, I doubt it. Why do you ask?

I shouldn’t tell you this but I’m paranoid now, he wrote. He asked me for the name of my therapist.

Nora stared at the text a long time, certain she knew what it meant. She closed her eyes, saw her and Søren together again in her mind’s eye. They were standing side by side in front of a church. He broke away from her, and approached the double red doors alone. One opened and he walked inside. He looked back, and instead of following him inside, she turned and walked away.

When she opened her eyes, she knew what her cards meant—leaving the High Priest.

Don’t worry. He’s not going to kill himself, Nora replied. He’s decided to go back to the Jesuits.

Wednesday.

Nothing in the news. Nora texted Cyrus about that. He told her to sit tight, the tea was brewing.

She waited though the wait was hard and lonely. They’d all seen little of each other since last Thursday when Nora had made her choice. Kingsley, Juliette, and Céleste were holed up in their white palace behind the black iron gates. Nora stayed in her office mostly, trying to work or trying to read, but really doing nothing much but stroking Gmork’s head and staring out the French doors to her wild backyard garden. And Søren? She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. Even Cyrus disappeared on her, spending his free time with Paulina doing their wedding errands. It made Nora smile to think of him taste-testing wedding cakes, his eyes glazing over when the florist tried discussing bouquets and boutonnieres with him. He needed that time with Paulina doing sweet easy things.

They all needed that time. They were like injured animals, isolating themselves from the pack to lick their wounds and privately heal.

Gmork nudged Nora’s hand, his signal she needed to get back to petting him. And she did. It was a sweet and easy thing to do, and while it didn’t make her feel too much better, it didn’t make her feel any worse.

Thursday.

Nora hated waiting. She told Cyrus that in a text message. He replied with a message asking her to come have dinner with him and Paulina.

She wants to meet you, Cyrus wrote her.

I’m not fit for company.

Get fit. You do not tell my fiancée “no.”

Nora didn’t want to leave her house but knew she couldn’t hide forever. She took a shower, dressed in her most conservative outfit—red slacks, white boatneck blouse, and matching red ballet flats. When she arrived at the little white cottage, a pretty brown-skinned woman in a yellow dress and white lace cardigan opened the door. This was Paulina. Cyrus stood behind her, watching the show.

“Hi,” Nora said. “I’m Nora. Thank you for—”