The moment Bianca left the room, Peregrine dropped face-first onto the desk.
Iggy, exhausted after spending the last several minutes desperately trying to stop his master from signing what was apparently his own destruction, drifted toward the nearest candle and merged with its flames.
"Did you read that parchment before signing it?" he asked wearily.
Peregrine shifted onto his side, resting his cheek against the desk as he looked at him.
Then his expression changed.
A smile slowly spread across his face. This was not his usual faint, barely noticeable smile. This one was wide, unburdened, almost absurdly happy.
A short giggle escaped him, so unexpectedly boyish that Iggy simply stared.
"She’s mad at me..."
"Did you read it?" Iggy repeated.
Peregrine continued smiling.
Iggy knew his master became a blithering idiot whenever Bianca was involved, but this was beyond anything he had witnessed before.
Peregrine had trusted her so completely that he hadn’t even bothered to read what she had placed in front of him.
This was bad. Very, very bad.
"She could pawn off my life if it made her feel better," Peregrine said dreamily. "I shouldn’t have let my Account Sigil end up in that woman’s hands. Did you hear her? She was so mad at her."
He paused.
Then he sat up.
"She isn’t very round anymore, is she?"
The moment the word left his lips, his mind supplied an entirely different kind of roundness.
His gaze flickered downward as he remembered Bianca leaning over him and stuffing the pastry into his mouth. The neckline of her dress had been low enough to make certain thoughts dangerously easy to entertain.
Peregrine immediately shook his head.
No.
He was not going to let his mind wander there.
Iggy stared at him.
His master had turned beet red and was shaking his head so vigorously that, for a moment, Iggy wondered if he had actually burned his own brain.
Finally, Peregrine looked toward the door Bianca had disappeared through, a small smile still lingering on his lips.
"Her cheeks aren’t as round." His gaze grew thoughtful. "She looks like she’s lost some weight."
He reached for another crab-apple pastry and stuffed it into his mouth.
Iggy sighed. "You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, you know?"
Peregrine simply shook his head.
"But she cooked it for me." He chewed thoughtfully. "Her hands smelled like..."
He stopped, apparently distracted by the memory.
"Like what?" Iggy asked despite himself.
Peregrine didn’t answer. His attention had already shifted to the documents Bianca had left behind.
"Why did she leave these?"
Iggy rolled his eyes. Because she got what she came for!
Peregrine picked up the papers. Then he paused.
"She changed her perfume." He lifted the documents closer and inhaled. "This has a hint of white roses." His expression softened. "She must have found a fragrance with white roses in it."
He smiled faintly.
"She loves white roses."
Iggy nearly extinguished himself.
This fool.
This lovesick fool.
He had completely missed the point.
"She played you!" Iggy finally burst out.
Peregrine’s hand paused.
"The parchment you signed was a formal consent for the renunciation of one’s titles, inheritance, and worldly possessions, binding oneself to relinquish one’s station and enter the service of the Temple."
Silence.
Peregrine stared at him.
"For me?"
"No!" Iggy nearly screamed. "For her!"
Peregrine’s expression emptied.
"For her?"
He stayed frozen for some time. After what seemed like an eternity, his gaze dropped to the tray, to the remaining crab-apple pastries.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Iggy watched him carefully.
He could sense Peregrine’s moods better than anyone, yet even he couldn’t understand what was happening inside his master’s mind.
"Fenrath."
Peregrine’s voice was quiet.
The next moment, the familiar appeared in the study.
"What happened to my wife at the auction?" Peregrine asked.
Fenrath was in his dormant state, his massive form reduced to a small form so he could fit inside the room.
"I barely stretched after three years. When will you—"
"What happened to Bianca?" Peregrine interrupted.
Fenrath looked offended.
"Do I look like some common spy who skulks about eavesdropping on women? I am a war-familiar! I have brought empires to their knees, toppled kings, and watched armies flee before me, and now I am reduced to spying upon some little human female who possesses neither manners nor sense?"
Peregrine’s eyebrows twitched. "Return," he waved his hand.
Fenrath vanished.
Iggy sensed the sudden rage radiating from his master.
"It’s her fau—"
Before Iggy could finish, Peregrine glared at him.
Iggy immediately shut his mouth and quietly settled over the candle flame.
Peregrine picked up another pastry.
He ate it.
Then another. And another. Until the entire plate was empty. He wiped his fingers carefully and rose from the desk.
Without saying a word, he walked toward the door.
Iggy immediately followed.
"What are you going to do?"
Iggy was angry with Bianca. He was furious, in fact. But he didn’t want Peregrine to do something he would regret later.
Peregrine didn’t answer.
He simply kept walking.
In the dark chamber of the Registrar of the Temple of the High One, the Temple Registrar quietly sorted through the applications.
The room was still, lit only by the faint glow of oil lamps along the stone walls.
Then, without warning, a consent form appeared on the desk.
The Registrar frowned.
The parchment carried a powerful enchantment, one normally granted to those seeking refuge from an abusive spouse. Once signed by the husband, the enchantment ensured that even the most powerful noble could not interfere with the applicant’s departure.
His eyes moved down the parchment.
Then widened.
Duchess of Valois, the Glyph-less.
The Registrar stared at the name.
His gaze shifted to the signature beneath it.
Duke Peregrine Alistair de Valois.
Even a monk who had isolated himself from the affairs of the kingdom and renounced worldly possessions knew that name.
The most powerful summoner in Lysaria. The Duke of Valois. Why would his wife, the one hailed as the most beautiful woman of Lysaria, decide to join the monastery?
The Registrar slowly reached for the parchment. Perhaps he should verify it before processing the application.
He set it aside.
Then the fire in the room flickered.
The shutters rattled against the windows.
A low hiss seemed to pass through the stone walls, and the air suddenly grew heavy with an ancient presence.
The Registrar froze.
He rose from his chair as his hood slipped from his shoulders.
From the darkness beneath the arched ceiling, something began to move. A long, scaled body emerged from the shadows.
The Oracle Serpent.
The Registrar immediately bowed his head.
The Oracle Serpent served no master but the High One. And it rarely appeared.
He remained bowed as the ancient creature slithered toward the desk.
Why had the High One sent it here?
The serpent stopped before the parchment. Then it exhaled.
The consent form lifted from the desk as though caught by an invisible current. The Registrar watched in stunned silence as the parchment floated across the room. It landed inside a sealed jar.
The jar bore a single inscription: The Spire of Myrk-Saer.
The Registrar’s breath caught.
The Spire of Myrk-Saer stood upon a solitary rock in the middle of the Myrk-Saer, the Black Sea, in one of the most unforgiving regions of the realm.
It was not the monastery where ordinary applicants were sent. For decades, anyone seeking sanctuary had been directed to the mountain monasteries.
The Spire was different. Almost no one entered it anymore.
Only the kingdom’s most dangerous prisoners, criminals, and men deemed too violent or untamable for ordinary confinement were sent there.
The Registrar slowly lifted his eyes toward the Oracle Serpent. The serpent simply stared back at him.
The monk lowered his head once more.
The High One had chosen the Duchess.
Why would the High One send the Duchess of Valois there?