Ethan Cross's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Ethan Cross wanted one thing that his coin could never buy: a single word with the noble who lived behind the frost-rimed walls of the great dark cathedral. He had loved her from a distance for a month. He had never spoken to her once. Each morning he watched her cross the courtyard, and each morning a gray-haired woman walked at her shoulder like a lock that never opened. That woman was her chaperone. She counted the noble's every step. She noted every face that lingered too long. Yesterday a guard had warned Ethan off the steps. If they caught him near her again, they would name him a trespasser and bar the gates for good. So Ethan changed his plan. He would not approach. He would send something in his place. He bought a bright bouquet from a cart, yellow blossoms with dark centers and pale sprigs woven between. He tucked a folded note among the stems. He carried it back to the small creature he had trained all winter, a fox with fur the color of hot coals against clean white. The fox knew the cathedral roofline better than any guard. It could reach her window and leave no track. "Take it up," Ethan whispered. He tied the note snug and pointed toward the high arched glass. The fox slipped along a wall, climbed a buttress, and vanished into the shadows above. Ethan waited below, out of sight. His heart knocked against his ribs. He pictured the noble opening her shutters, finding the flowers, reading his words in his own careful hand. For the first time she would know he existed. The fox returned faster than he hoped. It dropped the bouquet at his feet, stems crushed, note still tied. The flowers had not reached her. Then Ethan saw why. A sleek black cat sat on the low wall above him, wings folded against its back like dark cloaks. It watched him with one green eye and one gold. Its ribbon collar bore a small crest, the same crest carved above the cathedral doors. The noble's cat. And it had chased his fox from the ledge. A voice cut across the courtyard. "You there. Stand still." The chaperone stood at the gate, the winged cat's leash coiled in her fist. She had followed the animal down. Her eyes moved from Ethan's face to the ruined bouquet to the fox pressed against his boot. "I know a lovesick fool when I see one," she said. "That window is watched. So am I." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "But the flowers were pretty. And you did not climb the wall yourself." She did not call the guards. She turned and walked back toward the doors. At the threshold she paused. "Come at dawn," she said. "To the side chapel. Bring the note. I will decide if she reads it." The gate was no longer closed to him. Now it opened only through her.