The baker’s daughter, Lynn, had eyes as deep as the sky. I had, with the help of stolen coins, been buying loaves of bread from her for the past week, establishing a rapport and beginning a dance of unspoken gestures. Softly, I asked, “How long has the cathedral been abandoned?” ‘Abandoned’ was the polite way of saying werebeasts had claimed it for their own.
“Oh, but a year or so,” Lynn said. “When it was first abandoned, things were quiet in town.”
I leaned my hip against the stand and studied the hint of freckles on her face, much to her delight. “Were?”
Lynn bit her lip, gaze flicking up to mine and back down to her hands. “Things are stirring up as of late. God’s servants are losing themselves, doing what they ought not.”
Curious, I asked, “What are they doing?”
Lynn pursed her l
