“It all feels like a dream. A nightmare, rather, I should say,” Andraste said. She went to the window and looked out. They stood in St. Cyprian’s office. Gallowglass was downstairs, making tea. After Andraste had awakened, St. Cyprian had retreated to his office to consult what texts he owned that might make reference to similar situations. Andraste, somewhat out of sorts, had followed him. She turned away from the window and studied his bookshelves.
“Your library makes Jadwiga’s look...