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gobbet of meat to feed him.
    Just as he snatches it from my fingers, the door to the rookery flies open and crashes into the wall. For a moment I fear that the abbess has returned and has been listening at the door, but no, it is merely the wind howling into the room, causing the crows to raise their voices in caws of annoyance.
    “I’ll get it,” I tell Sister Claude. I hasten across the room to push the door shut when my eye is caught by a small, dark speck dizzily making its way through the gathering clouds. It takes me a moment to realize it is another crow.
    My spirits lift; the old seeress was correct after all. “I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder, then hurry outside.
    The poor creature struggles mightily against the wind, which seems to be playing with it much like a cat plays with a mouse. A gust flings the crow higher into the sky, only to have an invisible hand bat him back down so that it is all he can do to stay in the air. For a few seconds he can do nothing but hover, trapped by the force of the wind, before it releases him and he shoots forward.
    I raise my arm and the crow lunges for it, grabbing hold with sharp eager claws. Quickly, I bring my other hand up around the bird and begin murmuring soothing noises as I smooth his feathers. I stare at the bulging packet on his right leg. I must make a decision, and quickly.
    If Sister Claude knows there is a message, she will watch me closely to be certain I do not read it. And once I leave the rookery, I will not have access to the materials I need to reseal the message and hide evidence of my snooping. In different circumstances, I might have kept the message for a few hours until I found an opportunity to read it, but with the storm coming in, the timing of the crow’s arrival will be well known and my trickery easily caught.
    But what if it is from Ismae? Or Sybella? Although I have all but given up hope of ever hearing from them.
    Cradling the crow close, I remove the message from his leg. A surge of triumph rises in my chest when I recognize Ismae’s handwriting. Thus decided, I slip the message into one of the pouches of my apron, then slip the crow into one of the bigger pouches. Once I sneak him in, it will be easy enough to hide him among the other birds.
    I hurry back to the rookery, an excuse at the ready. But when I let myself in I see that Sister Claude’s head now rests gently on her chest, the tankard empty and loose in her hand.
    I murmur a prayer of gratitude, then move to the table and pull the exhausted, bedraggled crow from my apron. Before he can even think about opening his beak to squawk or complain, I slip one of the gobbets of meat in to silence him. I give him two more as bribery, and when he has thoroughly calmed himself, I place him on an empty perch, where he begins grooming his feathers.
    I glance at Sister Claude to assure myself she is still napping, then slip my thin-bladed knife from its sheath and pry the wax seal from the parchment. I move over to the light of the fire so I may read the message.
     
Dearest Reverend Mother,
Much has happened in the last few days, and none of it good. Count d’Albret conspired to come upon the duchess alone and attempted to force himself on her. His attempt only failed because—warned by Sybella—I arrived before he could carry out his ill intent. Alas, there was no marque upon d’Albret’s vile person, otherwise I would have gutted him like a fish.
The duchess is fine, if a bit shaken, and is adamant in her refusal to consider d’Albret’s offer of marriage, no matter the consequences, and she has issued an edict to this effect. Duval, Captain Dunois, and Chancellor Crunard support her fully in this. Indeed, of all her councilors, I fear those are the only ones she can trust.
We all breathed easier when d’Albret and his retinue left the city but alas, our relief was short-lived. Last night, in front of the entire court during a mummers’ play, an attempt was made on