They rode through streets leading to the river. He knew them all, these streets, even though most people were at ease only in their own neighbourhood. He knew his city very well, even in the night. He could see the Great Sanctuary on its island, ahead of them. The majestic dome of it a massive presence. Some grumbled that it was too big, too dominant. Thierry loved it. Grace and power, both. Could the men who made sanctuaries like this be named holy? It rose up like a blessing as they drew nearer.

A blessing. Strange word for him to think of. He would die loving this city, he thought suddenly, whenever that came to pass.

The provost, in turn, now cleared his throat. It made Thierry more nervous, that this man was on edge.

“There’s been a murder,” said Robbin de Vaux.

There were murders in Orane just about every night, Thierry thought, but was wise enough to stay silent. The king’s provost was out in the dark with a dozen or so serjeants. This wasn’t a tavern stabbing over dice or cards, over a girl, or by a girl.

He waited. He became aware his heart had begun beating rapidly again. The horses stepped carefully on the ice, or in the mud.

“We’re going to need to investigate quickly, and I do require someone who can talk to people in the taverns and shops as soon as they open, without drawing attention. At the market stalls, too. Even before sunrise, if you can get into places. They won’t speak readily with any of us.”

“Or with me,” Thierry said quickly, “if I’m known to be with you, my lord.”

De Vaux nodded. “Yes. You’ll come with me now, see what we can see by torchlight, then go off on your own before morning.”

“The body is…in the street?”

“Three bodies. Only one matters. You’ll go to your usual places after. Just be curious, seek out what people are saying, thinking. The way you always are, no? The whole city will be doing the same, after sunrise. You’ll come find me—at home, not the Châtelet—at midday. I imagine you know how to move about without being seen or followed.”

“Unless someone is waiting outside my door with serjeants.”

A grunt. Acknowledgement more than amusement. They rode without speaking again. The clop and jingle of the horses. Eventually Thierry really couldn’t wait anymore.

“Who is it, then?” he asked.

And this time the provost answered him.

Thierry found himself gripping the reins of his horse very tightly. He realized he’d made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cry.