“No, sir,” I said, still staring at the haunt, worried where she’d end up next if I took my eyes off her.
“Aye, it is. You must have seen it at our house in Iversly—”
I gave my uncle a quick glance, and he broke off. He sighed, muttering “brother” and “nodcock,” moving back to the table, and I heard the chair scrape as he repositioned it, sitting down. “So,” he resumed, “for some reason this ghost has attached itself to you—”
“She has—had the same symbol on her right hand, sir,” I said, watching Honor. “So does Laurel. All Faena do. A marking to bind them to truth.” I vaguely wondered what would happen if she were to raise her rune. Then I more urgently thought that I didn’t want to know. Honor ghosted back to the wall, once more facing the ladder.
My uncle was quiet. “I see,” he said after a moment. “And what are these faenas?”
“They are the Border’s justicers—”
“Thieftakers then,” the vice admiral said.
“No, sir. More like thiefcatchers. They don’t just go after those that they know have broken the law, they also discover who has.”
“Discover how?” he asked.
“Well, say there’s a murder and no one knows who did it; they find out, and then go get the murderer.” My voice trailed off and my eyes widened as the haunt turned her head to look at me.
“I see,” Uncle Havram said again.
I reluctantly looked back at my uncle. “But they do more. Are more.”
“Such as?” Havram asked.
“Warrior priests—they led us in the war with Iversterre.”
Uncle Havram nodded, while the doyen slid a glance at Honor Ash. “What else?” the vice admiral asked.
I hesitated, wondering how to explain the effect the Faena had on a land full of excitable, disparate folk, all pulling in different directions. After the battle between Dragoness Moraina and the intruder dragon over our farm, Honor Ash had gone, unasked, to visit both as they recuperated from their wounds. Not only did my parents get reparation for their destroyed crops and damaged buildings, but Moraina’s son Gwyyn had come to our Weald while the other dragon had hosted a bard, and between the two we had nights of poetry, songs and stories that healed us as the land was healing.
“They balance us, sir,” I finally said, “and hold us together.”
“They are very important, then,” Vice Admiral Havram said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And the murder of one is very serious,” he continued. “Perhaps even catastrophic.”
My throat closed for a moment and I had to swallow, hard. “It would be like the murder of a doyen, sir. Worse.”
“So she’s come to you to be her, uh, thiefcatcher,” the vice admiral finished. “As has the trooper who has been murdered by one of his own. You who have the symbol of truth on your right hand, drawn as it is in both Ivers Palace and in the House of Chause.”
“But what about the magic?” Doyen Allwyn asked.
“Last I heard, being able to work magic wasn’t cause for excommunication,” Captain Suiden said.
Doyen Allwyn waved his hand. “I know Church law, Your Highness,” he said, his voice dry once more. “Unfortunately, so does Obruesk—better than either of us, I fear.” He saw me looking at him and he sighed. “The archdoyen-turned-chaplain is calling you apostate, young lord, and is saying that you should be expelled from the Church.” He once more tucked his hands into his robe sleeves. “Never mind that without you he—along with the rest of us—would be at the bottom of the sea.”
“Hmmph,” Uncle Havram said. “His reverence is saying the reason why the Dauntless is full of phantoms is because you have called them to us.”
“And that you were able to fight off the djinn storm because you conjured it in the first place,” Captain Suiden added.
“But he can’t excommunicate me,” I said, skipping over the archdoyen’s charges. “He couldn’t when he was an archdoyen, and he certainly can’t now as an army chaplain. Only the patriarch can expel someone from the Church.”
“That’s true, Lord Rabbit,” Doyen Allwyn said.
“However, if he could convince someone that you imperil the physical and spiritual well-being of the crew and passengers—” Captain Suiden began.
I made a sound, deep in my chest, and the doyen stepped back while Uncle Havram’s gaze sharpened. “Just like your grandpapa,” he said, his voice soft.
“—and offer the Church’s sanction and covering—” the captain continued.
The sound increased.
“—who knows who might do what?” Suiden finished.
“Do not worry, lad,” Uncle Havram said. “You have guards.” He cast a glance at Honor’s haunt. “Most of them alive. Just in case someone’s piety overcomes their good sense.”
I looked down and was rather surprised that my hands weren’t shaking. “This man is second only to Patriarch Pietr?” I asked, my voice almost normal.
“Rabbit—” Uncle Havram began as he and the doyen frowned at me.
I met stare for stare. “Why did His Holiness palm him off on us, sirs? He knew what kind of man Obruesk is. And if he’s like this here and now, what’ll he be like when he reaches the Border?”
“He was sent for the same reason that Commander Ebner allowed Slevoic to write his own orders to join us,” Suiden said. “It got him out of the commander’s backyard, making Freston a much nicer place. So it is with Obruesk and the patriarch.”
Vice Admiral Havram turned his frown on the captain. He then sighed. “That’s true. It is sometimes easier in the short haul to push the problem onto someone else. Unfortunately, the only place we can push the good chaplain is overboard.” The vice admiral gave a sudden grin. “Though the captain here threatened to hang him from the yardarm and do all kinds of interesting things to him if the chaplain didn’t stop inciting his men.”
There was an answering smile on Doyen Allwyn’s face, which he tried to hide by picking up my dropped cup, setting it on the table. “I have moved in with you and Lieutenant Groskin,” he said. He looked up and met my eyes. “It shows that you have the support of the Church—and are not considered a heretic.”
“But—” I began, thinking that a knife in the dark didn’t care who was bunking with whom.
“But, in the meantime,” Suiden said over me, “you will adhere to your guards, Lieutenant. I have asked Sro Laurel to hold your lessons under the mainmast—”
Uncle Havram quickly turned his head to the captain. “Oh, aye?” His brow rose. “The ‘What cannot be hidden is to be thrust down everyone’s throat’ approach?”
“More the ‘What is frightening in the dark becomes ordinary in daylight, and so can’t be used as a bogey’ approach, sir,” Suiden replied.
“That will irritate His Reverence,” the vice admiral remarked.
“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “However, adversity, I’ve been told, is good for the soul.”
Doyen Allwyn smiled again, this time not bothering to hide it. “Rabbit should do his devotions there too, gracious sirs, so that everyone can see that he’s still a faithful son of the Church.” His smile faded rather fast as he took in my expression. “You have been diligent in your prayers, Lord Rabbit?”
My uncle gave me a quizzical look as I muttered something about not really having time lately.
“If I recall correctly,” the doyen said, frowning, “you made time for them during our trip from Gresh to Iversly.”
I muttered again as to how it was different then.
“I see.” Doyen Allwyn turned to Captain Suiden and Vice Admiral Havram. “The ambassador gets him only after I do.” He looked back at me, his face full of reprimand for the backslider. “Daily devotions, overseen by me.”