The original chapter house had grown over the years into a sprawling compound that encompassed living quarters, meeting halls, smithies, the forcing ground, classrooms, the seers’ kloster, and other functions. It was part of Arioch’s Old Quarter and had the same baroque limestone architecture as the surrounding colleges.
Cathrynne’s left hand throbbed fiercely, so she was glad the White Foxes drove straight to the infirmary. She got out, feeling a moment’s satisfaction at their looks of disgust when they saw the bloodstained backseat, and then Mercy was steering her through the doors.
A new, modern infirmary was being built on the east side. In the meantime, a makeshift clinic occupied the ground floor of a former gem storehouse. Inside, it smelled of alcohol and harsh cleaning products.
A witch named Angus Valinger was on duty. His mournful face softened when he saw them. “Ah, my two favorite repeat clients. Back so soon?”
“You’re not laying a hand on me,” Mercy warned. “I have enough scars already, thanks.”
He laughed. “Come now, Blackthorn. How many times have I stitched you up?”
“Too many. Just look at me. I’m a patchwork quilt.”
He arched a brow. “Are you saying it’s my fault that you keep getting in brawls?”
“No, but you could take a few sewing lessons. A blind butcher would do a better job?—”
“Enough banter,” Cathrynne interrupted, holding up her hand. “Can you fix this?”
“Ouch.” Angus led them to a surgery in the back and examined her, his touch gentle despite Mercy’s ribbing. “You’re lucky it’s a simple fracture.”
She ground her teeth as he manipulated the bones into alignment. Then he wrapped the fingers in a bandage, leaving the thumb free.
“Best I can do. Try not to use it for a few weeks,” Angus said.
“Not a problem.” Cathrynne flexed her right hand. “I can still give a hot ride with this one.”
“You should have seen the last one,” Mercy put in. “It was glorious.”
Angus shook his head. They left the infirmary and went to report to Felicity Birch, a.k.a Sister Felony. It was the dinner hour and most cyphers and witches were eating in the dining halls—separate, of course.
“I think I might be in trouble,” Cathrynne confessed as they crossed into the cyphers’ territory. There was no sign or outward indication, but the buildings got a bit smaller and shabbier.
“Lump and Crump?” Mercy guessed.
Cathrynne nodded glumly. “Mostly Lump, though I don’t think Crump is happy with me either. I accused Claymond of setting us up.”
Mercy grimaced. “Bet that went over well.”
The sinking sun cast long shadows as they crossed the grounds. As always, Cathrynne’s gaze drifted to the top of the tower that stood in a wooded area at the far edge of the grounds, distant from other buildings. The seers’ kloster. Its windows were four-inch slits. Once you went in, you never came out—not until they carried you out in a pine box.
Seers were both mad and dangerous, or so the witches claimed. They mostly talked gibberish, though an occasional genuine prophesy might emerge. Telling the difference was next to impossible.
Cathrynne had no idea why her own talent was different. Why she saw symbols instead of the future. Why she wasn’t stark raving yet, when most seers didn’t make it past their teens before they were found out. But the end result would be the same. The witches would never let her roam loose if they knew what she could do.
Mercy followed her stare. “Courage Hazel just got sent up.”
Cathrynne didn’t know her well, but she recalled a quiet, kind girl who fed the pigeons that strutted around outside the mess hall. “How did it happen?”
She always asked this question. Someday, she might be the one getting sent up. She was obsessed with the early signs. If she knew them all, maybe she could recognize them in herself and run away while she was still rational enough to plan ahead. It was usually strange behavior, outbursts, a distancing from the real world as the visions took hold. Courage had always struck her as normal, which was even more terrifying.
“I’m not sure,” Mercy said. “Poor woman. She’s only nineteen.”
They were quiet for a moment, regarding the kloster through the trees. Cathrynne blew out a breath. “Do you think I’ll get suspended?”
“It’s all thrice-damned nonsense,” Mercy replied, which wasn’t an answer.
They walked in silence. Cathrynne ruminated about being stuck in her cramped barracks for weeks on end. She couldn’t escape the memories of being eleven years old and trapped in a coach with two White Foxes for weeks, taking the long way round from her childhood home to Kirith because the winter storms wouldn’t permit a sea passage.
