Evening, 10 October 1346
After dinner, Altair bade Uncle-Grandfather Leif farewell and left the Strauss estate by carriage.
She could have departed right after lunch, yet perhaps because Altair sensed how terribly lonely the old man was, she stayed on and did not leave until dinner was over.
Upon returning to the manor, Altair summoned Hahn—who had been running the weapons plant of late—into the study to ask about its operations.
Hahn had barely opened the door and stepped inside when Altair asked off-handedly, "Hahn, at noon today Uncle-Grandfather Leif said the plant has been running at full capacity and the weapons are selling well?"
Instead of answering at once, Hahn walked to the desk, stood opposite her, and replied cheerfully, "Yes, Count Altair."
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"After the plant was completed you ordered that, barring major problems, there was no need for daily reports—monthly ones would suffice."
"So I did not bring the matter to your attention."
Hearing this, Altair gave a slight nod.
The fault for this oversight lay with her; she simply could not bear to look at more documents.
The Sheffield Family had too many enterprises. Even with professional agents, Altair still had to spend half of each day reviewing their paperwork.
Thus, a month and a half ago she had decreed that, unless a weighty decision was required, weekly or monthly summaries would be enough.
After a moment's thought Altair said, "According to our earlier calculations the plant should already be running over capacity. See that the workers get adequate rest."
"And pay strict attention to safety—this is a weapons plant; any accident would be a major disaster."
"Understood." Hahn nodded firmly, then asked, "Count Altair, winter is coming. Shall we return to the ancestral lands this year?"
She had not considered the question, so she answered lightly, "Hmm… I'll think about it."
Backlund, like Victorian-era foggy London, was damp, cold, and smog-ridden in winter—hardly healthy for nobles.
Most of them therefore left the city for their ancestral seats.
A few stayed, usually high-ranking officials who had to administer the realm or newly ennobled families who needed the social season to build connections.
In the past Lucius could not go back every year because his father was alive, but he managed it every other year.
Now that Old Sheffield was gone, the choice fell to Altair.
Recalling those memories, the present Altair still felt a pang of loss. She could not tell whether she had taken his body or merged with him.
Rubbing her temples to clear her mind, she ordered Hahn, "Engage a cleric from the Church of the Night; I need systematic instruction in its rites and doctrines…"
Startled, Hahn asked, "Count Altair, are you settling your faith?"
"Yes." Then, as if recalling something, she added, "Rex hasn't chosen a faith yet—remind him to pick the god of storms."
"If there's nothing else, you may go. I wish to rest."
…14 October 1346
In the early morning, after a simple breakfast, Altair had Erin arrange her hair in a modest low chignon, fastened with a white lace ribbon. She put on a pale long-sleeved gown, a gauze shawl, and plain pearl earrings.
She left the estate in an unadorned black carriage and headed for Saint Samuel Cathedral on Pesfield Street in North Backlund.
Religious services were solemn affairs; anything gaudy clashed with their gravity—a matter of common etiquette here.
Altair chose this day to confirm her faith and formally join the Church of the Night because the church was holding its Sunday mass, and most of Backlund's faithful would attend—making it easy for her to declare her belief in the Evernight Goddess.
When the carriage reached the cathedral's front drive, she stepped down and saw a church built entirely of black stone, its twin bell towers rising in perfect symmetry.
Spotting the verger waiting at the gate, she approached with Erin.
Normally a young noble would be led inside by an elder when first professing faith.
Unfortunately, Altair was the last of her line; asking Uncle-Grandfather Leif would have been unthinkable, almost heretical.
"Good morning, Mr. Vergér," she greeted as she drew near.
"Good morning, Count Sheffield. Please follow me to the great nave." He gestured politely and turned toward the church.
Altair followed him inside. The interior was simple and elegant, stone pillars lining the aisle that bore the building's weight.
Along the quiet corridor, ancient murals and stained glass told stories from the Evernight Bible and portrayed the saints.
Soon they entered the great nave. Glancing around, Altair saw early worshippers already seated in scattered corners.
Faint candlelight glimmered, scenting the air with a mild fragrance and filling the hall with solemn peace.
When the verger indicated they might sit, she walked to the person she had arranged to meet and, once close, took a seat beside her with Erin.
As she settled, the girl beside her whispered, "You came."
Altair smiled and nodded softly. "Good morning, Miss Audrey."
She then inclined her head politely to the girl's family.
Unlike Audrey, Altair's birth was problematic; Old Sheffield had never forced her to choose.
Audrey's whole family worshipped the Evernight Goddess, and she had formally professed faith at fourteen the previous June.
Glancing around to see that mass had not yet begun, Audrey said,
"Good morning, Miss Altair. You've changed so much lately; if you hadn't greeted me I'd have doubted my eyes."
"A girl changes fast while growing up; you'll see the same when you're older," Altair replied casually.
They had not met for two months.
The reason was not that Altair avoided her—on the contrary, they corresponded regularly.
Audrey's eldest brother had simply kept them from seeing each other.
When the choir entered through a side door, the two girls ended their chat and waited for the service to begin.