I wandered downstairs, looking for ways to help. No one needed me, and Cedric was gone. I’d kind of wanted to brag to him about having laced up the dress in under a minute. So, I busied myself by going over my decorative handiwork but found no flaws in it—except the absence of holly. A check of the clock told me I had an hour until dinner, and I made an impulsive decision.

I traded my delicate party shoes for sturdy boots and donned a wool cloak. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the blast of cold that hit me when I went outside through one of the back doors. I questioned my decision for a moment, watching as my breath made frosty clouds, and then plunged forward.

I knew what Mistress Masterson would have said about me traipsing alone through the woods at this time of day. My grandmother would have said the same thing. But I’d been all over Blue Spring’s property in my time here, taking walks and picnics with the other girls. No dangerous animals roamed the grounds, and we were too far out of the way to have any vagabonds coming by. The only person I was likely to see was the kindly old groundskeeper.

It was the shortest day of the year, and sunset had come early. The light was almost gone from the western horizon, and the rest of the sky already glittered with stars. A rising moon and my own memory of the way to the holly trees made navigation easy. The cold was my biggest obstacle, and I regretted not bringing gloves. A thin coat of snow crunched softly as I passed over it.

I found the holly trees where I remembered, on the farthest edge of the property. Here, the grounds gave way to what was left of the wilder, original forest. Those who’d built Blue Spring long ago had cleared the trees around the house, replacing them with vast manicured lawns and ornate specimen plantings. It was a common practice among fashionable estates, and these sorts of wild woods were becoming scarce.

I’d had enough sense to bring a knife, and set to cutting off branches of holly. I wouldn’t be able to fashion them into a true wreath, but I’d have enough to make some nice arrangements for the mantels that would certainly outdo Clara’s ivy. I’d just about finished when I noticed something in my periphery.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I could see fairly well out here. The moon reflected off the snow, and stars spilled across the sky. Squinting at what had caught my eye, I wondered if I was seeing just another reflection. But no—this wasn’t the pale, silvery light of moon and snow. This was warmer. The golden light of a flame.

It was coming from even farther into the old woods, in a copse of hazel and oak. I crept forward to investigate. Most likely it was the groundskeeper. If not, and it was some trespasser, I could easily sneak away without being seen, and report it. Again, I knew Mistress Masterson and my grandmother would have a lot to say about this reasoning, but I didn’t care.

Clutching my holly boughs and knife, I crept forward, keeping to the shadows and concealment of the trees. As I drew closer, I saw that there were actually twelve lights: tiny lanterns in the snow, arranged in a diamond formation in a clearing canopied by the skeletal branches of ancient trees. Standing in the middle of the diamond, facing the most venerable of oaks, was a man in a billowing greatcoat that glowed scarlet in the lantern light. He knelt down, facing the diamond’s eastern point, and bowed to it, murmuring something I couldn’t make out. Then he knelt to the south and repeated the ritual.

Terror filled the pit of my stomach as I realized what was happening. I’d dismissed Tamsin’s joking comments about Alanzans and Midwinter, but here, before my very eyes, was one of those heretics conducting some arcane ritual in the night. I might not know as much about them as Mira, but I’d learned enough from whispered conversations in Osfro to know that the diamond made of twelve points was sacred to the Alanzans. It represented the twelve angels, six light and six dark.

A heretic is using our lands! I needed to get back and report it. Quietly, I started to retreat, just as he turned toward the northern point—facing me. It illuminated his face, revealing features I knew. Features I’d seen less than an hour ago. Features I’d spent far too much time contemplating.

Cedric.

Chapter 8

In my shock, the holly slipped from my arms. I attempted to recover it—covertly—but it was too late. I’d already made too much noise and alerted him to my presence. He shot to his feet, and I considered running but knew I wouldn’t get far in these skirts. In a moment, he was before me, staring down in disbelief.

“Adelaide? What are you doing out here?”

“Me? What are you— Never mind. I know what you’re doing!” I backed up, swinging my small knife. “Stay away from me!”

“Put that down before you hurt someone.” There was a hard set to his face, not angry . . . just resigned. “It’s not what you think.”

The words were so ludicrous, it drew me up short in my retreat. “Oh? Are you saying you’re not in the middle of a heretical Midwinter ritual?”

He sighed. “No. I’m saying the Alanzans aren’t whatever bloodthirsty creatures you’ve been told we are.”

The use of “we” wasn’t lost on me. “But . . . but you’re saying you’re one of them?”

He took a long time in answering. A chill wind blew, ruffling my hair and freezing my skin. “Yes.”

The world seemed to sway around me. Cedric Thorn had just admitted to being a heretic.

He reached toward me. “I mean it. Will you please put that down?”

“Don’t touch me!” I said, brandishing the knife higher. Behind him, the lanterns glowed with a sinister light, and I suddenly wondered if he was going to attempt some Alanzan curse on me. I’d heard plenty about them but never expected to be the victim of one. But then, I’d never really been in this situation before with someone I thought I knew. I wondered if anyone in the house would hear me if I screamed.

“Do not scream,” said Cedric, anticipating me. “I swear, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Everything’s the same. I’m the same.”

I shook my head and felt the knife tremble in my hand. “That’s not true. You believe in communing with demons—”

“I believe the six wayward angels are every bit as holy as the six glorious ones. They aren’t demons. And I believe divinity is all around us in the natural world, free to anyone,” he said calmly. “Not something only accessible through the priests in their churches.”

It sounded less sinister when he put it like that, but I’d had too many warnings drilled into me.

“Adelaide, you know me. I covered for you when you ran away. I got your old cook a job. Do you really think I’m some servant of darkness?”

“No,” I said, lowering the knife at last. “But . . . but . . . you’re confused. You need to stop this. Stop . . . um, being a heretic.”

“It’s not something I can just stop being. It’s part of me.”

“They could kill you if you’re caught!”

“I know. Believe me, I’m well aware of that. And it’s something I’ve long come to terms with.” I shivered as another icy wind passed over us. He looked me over, his face turning incredulous. “Come on, let’s talk somewhere warmer before you get hypothermia.”

“Like the drawing room?” I asked. “I’m sure your dangerous and illegal beliefs will make compelling conversation back at the party! We’re not going anywhere until I understand what’s going on. I’m fine. I put on a cloak.”