The tragic outcome of the hospital delegation's visit resulted in the hasty escort of the three individuals back to Aberdeen under Sister Bloom's supervision. All three sustained serious injuries and required medical attention, while it fell to Sister Bloom to report the strange case of the arriving woman to the police.
Meanwhile, Arya spent the entire afternoon in the sitting room, where she was only given a jug of water. The reinforcements from the city still hadn't arrived, and the sick children lay in their beds, having been deprived of food for over a day, just like Arya, who had only water.
Sister Lemoine, as best as she could, tried to ease Sister Forsyth's worries and spent the whole afternoon tending to the ill and reviewing the library to see if anything had been overlooked. Arya's latest outburst during the scuffle with the hospital staff had made them treat her with more respect than ever before.
Dusk, like dawn, began each day in the Bay with a heavy grey. Unless a storm or sudden weather break came, the overcast skies and capricious winds reminded them that either one could strike at any moment. But no weather whim could now serve as an excuse for the strange events unfolding in the Bay. The nuns were left alone with empty pantries and children struck down by an unknown illness. All hope rested on Mrs. Brahe, who was expected to return with help from the city as soon as possible.
Sister Forsyth and Sister Lemoine stood by the library windows, gazing out at the dark horizon. For it was shrouded in an ominous darkness, and the clouds now resembled black smoke from a fire rather than storm clouds.
"This is our end." Sister Forsyth said coldly.
"How is it possible that they just disappeared…" Sister Lemoine said almost in a whisper.Silence answered her.
"After all, there's no one else here… and the children didn't…" she continued.
"And how do you know what they were doing before they fled?" Sister Forsyth said with stoic calm.
"But what would be the point… what could they…"
"Most likely nothing. After all, someone in the city would have noticed the disappearance of the coachman." Sister Forsyth said, carefully watching the clouds drifting toward the windows.
"And what do we tell them? That he resurrected? How is it possible that the bodies vanished!" Sister Lemoine cried out hysterically.
"Maybe someone threw them into the sea… I don't know…" Sister Forsyth replied emotionlessly.
"And the horses?" Sister Lemoine asked. "The horse carcasses disappeared too. Did someone throw them into the sea as well?" she asked rhetorically, glancing at Sister Forsyth. "What actually happened to the coachman?"
"How should I know? He was already dead when I went in there…"
"If he died so suddenly, it was probably his heart." Sister Lemoine shrugged.
"And the animals? Did the horses die from heart failure too?" Sister Forsyth asked, somewhat sarcastically.
"Horses often die from heart failure. And the heart usually gives out from fear." Sister Lemoine retorted.
"Maybe they saw something? Something that we humans can't see?" Sister Forsyth spoke as if to herself.
"Or maybe they were just sick?! Coachmen don't usually take care of their animals! They're tools for work! As long as they're useful, until they start limping!" Sister Lemoine raised her voice, trying to dismiss any irrational thoughts from the discussion.
"Arya saw something too." Sister Forsyth said grimly. "And I saw it too."
"What do you mean, Mother Superior?" Sister Lemoine asked, her eyes wide as she stared at Sister Forsyth.
"That aurora…" Sister Forsyth said. "Why did Arya go out in such a storm in the evening? She saw something."
"What?" Sister Lemoine asked, almost in a trance.
"A sign. A reptile's eye."
"And where did you see it, Mother Superior?" Sister Lemoine asked.
"On Arya. She had exactly that mark on her right forearm."
"It's probably some kind of sickness! She kept scratching it nonstop! It's because of her sneaking around. She was constantly hiding and probably caught something in the forest! She infected the rest of them!"Sister Forsyth gave her a stern look. She had thick skin, but this persistence at such a moment was too much, even for her. Apparently, Sister Lemoine had forgotten her own words about the bad curse hanging over the place.
"Do you think I'm imagining things? That I'm rambling in a fever? It was a ghastly omen! And it appeared along with everything we found this morning!" Sister Forsyth said angrily.
"Or maybe she's had it for a long time. From the very first moment I told you, she brought something with her!"
"She didn't have it in the first few years. I'm sure of that! Just as I'm sure that something did this! Something that killed the animals and the coachman, devoured the supplies, and brought the disease!"
They both fell silent, for Sister Forsyth's words sounded more ominous than ever before.
"And the attack on the assistant…" Sister Forsyth spoke again "… what was it… and how did she do it…"
"Maybe it's some side effect… like the charring of objects…" suggested Sister Lemoine "… could she have arranged the junk room like that…"
"I don't know… but our methods have probably stopped being enough… this child is a walking disaster." Sister Forsyth hissed.
"That stone… I didn't even try to take it from her… terrifying… should we call the bishop?" said Sister Lemoine as if she had already buried the future of this place forever.
"I think it won't be necessary. The mayor will decide what happens next. Start the fire!" ordered Sister Forsyth.
She herself approached the long table and began untangling the leather strap at the top of the jute bag.
"I've already told you it won't help!" Sister Lemoine said irritably. "It didn't work yesterday! It didn't work the day before! It didn't work years ago, so it won't work today!"
"Have faith, sister." Sister Forsyth said calmly, placing paper between the logs in the fireplace.
"And what if it doesn't help? What if all of this doesn't stop… oh heavens!" Sister Lemoine suddenly screamed.
"What happened?!" Sister Forsyth snapped back to attention.
"Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or has God punished us with a spectre!" Sister Lemoine cried, pointing at the window. "There! In the garden! Tell me I'm dreaming, just like Bloom that night!" she shouted, clutching her cross tightly.
Both women stared at the pale light from the small window of the shed. Against its glow, the lower branches of the trees swayed eerily. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the window. The nuns squinted and strained their eyes. There was someone in the shed. Against the window, a bulky figure was visible, with a hump growing on its back and unnaturally long arms. It seemed like the figure was rummaging on the shelves. Then it stopped and lifted its head. It looked as though it was sniffing the air. Sister Lemoine instinctively rushed to the heavy curtains and covered the window.
"What was that?" she whispered, trembling with fear, then sat against the wall like a helpless child and prayed in a half-whisper.
Sister Forsyth continued to stoke the fire. Without thinking much, she tossed the jute sack, along with all its contents, into the flames.
"Aren't you afraid?" Sister Lemoine asked, standing up and holding onto the wall. Sister Forsyth didn't answer, but with a stony face, she watched as the fire quickly consumed the woven sack. However, as Sister Lemoine had warned, the contents, as always, remained unharmed. The wooden box still gleamed between the tongues of fire, its fresh varnish intact. Sister Forsyth sighed heavily, and Sister Lemoine finally gathered herself, cautiously parting one of the curtains by just the width of a finger, like a spider waiting for its prey, and peered outside. The light in the shed went out.
Meanwhile, Arya, for the past hour, had been turning the kitchen and pantry upside down with One-Ear. Nothing had been left untouched. Hunger had to be suppressed with boiled water. They sat by the stove, where Arya, with a small ladle, drank warm water and continually refilled One-Ear's bowl.
"Do you think this is a warning? You know… all of this…" she spoke to the rat, who tilted its head like a listening dog.
At that moment, the four candles Arya had placed on the kitchen counters suddenly went out. During the previous storm, all the lamps in the orphanage had shattered. Arya already had her glowing amulet ready. The gloomy room was flooded with a beautiful light. One-Ear opened his mouth and followed the shimmering particles dancing on the walls and floor. Suddenly, Arya heard something in the corridor. She went to the door and pressed her ear against it. A faint whisper was bouncing off the walls. She cracked the door open and cautiously peered through the gap. The corridor was empty and dark, like an underground tunnel. If it weren't for the grey dusk outside, it would have been impossible to distinguish the windows from the walls. A strange sound howled throughout the space. Arya slipped the stone into her pocket and, on tiptoe, pressed herself against the wall. The whisper, now mixed with an ominous growl, awakened all her senses. An intruder had entered the orphanage. Arya listened, but it wasn't speech—just a growling mumble.
"Do you hear that too?" she whispered to One-Ear, who was perched on her right shoulder, trembling.
At one point, she heard in her head the words, almost spoken with venomous anger: "insult" and "chase." Immediately, she ducked behind the thick curtain of the window and listened carefully. After a long moment of silence, she stepped out. It seemed to her that the growl was coming from almost every brick she looked at, as if the walls had absorbed it. She focused and strained her hearing. The echo led her to the bathhouse.
From the corridor, it seemed like someone was there. Arya pressed her ear to the door. Not a sound. She turned the handle and slid one foot over the threshold, then the other. The stench of dampness and mustiness immediately hit her nostrils. The girl grimaced and looked around. From one of the washbasins under the wall, water was dripping. The echo of it in the eerie silence was unsettling. The bathtubs reflected hazy shapes against the backdrops of privacy screens and cabinets with towels. Through the tall windows, the last light of evening poured in, casting large dark patches in the corners. Arya again heard the familiar crunching noise. She quickly shifted her gaze to the drain grate under the bathtub. She knelt and lay on the floor. She pinched her nose. The smell of dampness and mustiness was unbearable. One-Ear tugged at her hair with his little paws. But Arya endured the stench and peered into the grate. It was as dark as a grave. But she was sure that, just as she was looking from above, something down below was staring back at her.
Whatever was there was keeping very still, making sure not to breathe too loudly. Arya slowly slipped her hand into her pocket. She closed it around the stone and placed it by her head. After a moment, she opened it and shone it into the grate. She only heard a dull thud and then the terrifying sound of bones cracking. Something was either running away or falling, breaking everything in its path. The strangest part was that it didn't make a single groan of pain. Arya ran out into the corridor and listened to the walls, trying to catch a clue. She ran downstairs and to the bathhouse, but the trail stopped there. Then she turned back and ran to warn Sister Forsyth and Sister Lemoine. She overheard their conversation from the corridor:
"As usual..." Sister Forsyth said, her voice filled with anger as she maneuvered the poker to pull the box from the fire.
"It's always the darkest under the streetlamp." Sister Lemoine replied, then, with all her strength, drove her heel into the top of the box.
"Not a scratch" Sister Forsyth hissed.
"If the fire and the axe can't destroy it, then something from beyond this world must be protecting it." Sister Lemoine said, wiping her forehead and sighing heavily. "Perhaps we should throw it into the sea." she added after a pause.
"It's a devilish artifact! The sea will immediately wash it ashore! It definitely won't sink!" Sister Forsyth declared.
"What could this all be about…" Sister Lemoine mused aloud. "Do you remember the nonsense Spall used to spread about the old herbalists?"
"You mean the Witch Trials in Inverness?"
"Mm-hmm."
"He said they had devilish familiars" Sister Forsyth sneered maliciously under her breath.
"Yes." Sister Lemoine nodded. "Two years ago, he had the last of them executed. She was accused of growing poisonous plants and practicing witchcraft. She supposedly had a cat that roamed the village at night. It would curl up on the doorsteps of houses and sleep like that. In every house it visited, someone fell ill the next morning."
"What are you getting at?" Sister Forsyth asked.
"What if what Spall condemned so vehemently actually exists?" Sister Lemoine replied.
"You think witches exist?" Sister Forsyth raised an eyebrow.
"The last one from Inverness wasn't executed. She wasn't found in her cell the next morning. She simply vanished. Like mist. I don't know if witches exist, but something beyond us humans… definitely does."
Sister Forsyth was not laughing this time. For the first time in a long while, she did not give in to harsh criticism, but instead, she pondered Sister Lemoine's words. She was about to say something when a collective scream echoed from the dormitories. The nuns sprang to their feet, and Arya immediately ducked behind the window curtain. As they disappeared around the corner of the corridor, she slipped into the library. Her gaze immediately landed on the shining box on the floor.
"It seems this is mine," she muttered to herself and moved toward it.
To her surprise, One-Ear appeared in front of her and blocked her way. With his eyes, he silently asked her not to touch the item.
The nuns reached the dormitory and, already standing at the door, scanned the endless rows of beds. The candles by the sick children's beds were fighting to stay lit, even though there was no sign of a draft in the room. In their light, the children's faces were clearly visible. Along with the fever and cough, a new symptom had appeared: a dark pink rash. The nuns immediately rolled up the sleeves of the nightgowns, one by one. The children's faces and arms were covered in a burning, nettle-like rash. All the children were begging for something to drink. The fever intensified their thirst.
Help from the town would likely arrive in the morning, but anything could happen overnight. They had to provide what help they could with what little they had. There was no food or medicine, so the only recourse was the yarrow growing in the old garden behind the orphanage. Sister Forsyth ran there with baskets, and Sister Lemoine prepared kettles of water. She then prepared mugs and pitchers and took them to the dormitory. Within an hour, they had four pots of strained herbal tea. They had no one to help them, so they had to rely on each other. They were working tirelessly, running from bed to bed, giving out the tea and making cold compresses. By midnight, they had tried to prevent the spread of the illness with home remedies.
"If we weren't so far from the town!" Sister Forsyth exclaimed angrily, placing the basket of yarrow on the counter. "Where's Arya?"
"She hasn't poked her nose out of the sitting room. As usual! Only she's not sick!" Sister Lemoine shouted furiously, pulling yarrow from the basket and stripping it of leaves. "All these years..." she continued, now more calmly. "... so many strange things have happened... why did we do nothing about it?"
"Over time, they stopped being so strange... we got used to them... that's why now... it's even stranger..."
In the library, just like in the dormitory, darkness had settled over the room. The flames of the candles danced convulsively, and suddenly it was as if a dark curtain had enveloped the library. In the distance, a lightning bolt flashed from the Shetlands. Arya, in the darkness, watched the sky in the distance. Every now and then, bright serpentine streaks hit the sea. Finally, she pulled the stone she had found in the forest from her pocket, and the entire room was flooded with a bright glow.
Arya exchanged glances with One-Ear. The rat sat on top of the box, unwilling to get off. Arya had no choice but to remove him by force. She grabbed him by the neck like a small cat and laid him on the table.
Then she knelt beside the shiny box and examined it from every angle. It was the size of a large notebook and as tall as a one-litre jug. It looked like an ordinary piece of lacquered wood. It had no hinges or lock. Only its top had a narrow gap from the rest, which suggested it was its closing mechanism. Arya tapped it and pressed it millimetre by millimetre, but it didn't budge. Suddenly, she heard the sound of Sister Lemoine's heels. Quickly, she shoved the stone into her pocket and rolled under the table. The nun peered into the library, holding a small candle in her hand. She looked at the box on the floor and then walked away. Arya listened for a moment to the receding footsteps, then crawled out from under the table. In the distance, a lightning bolt flashed, followed by the thunderclap that made the air tremble. Arya stood still, counting in her mind, certain that the storm was approaching very quickly. She was right. Another lightning bolt split the sky. Then, on the top of the box, a dark navy-blue glow appeared, shimmering, and suddenly disappeared. Arya was sure that the lightning must have caused it. She waited for the next one. The box once again glowed with a wonderful, sparkling hue. Arya grabbed the narrow napkin lying across the middle of the long table, not paying attention to the mess of objects falling to the floor, and quickly tied a sling. She dropped the box into it and slung it over her back. Carefully, so as not to encounter Sister Lemoine, she ran to the atrium, from where she again made her way to the courtyard. From there, following the familiar path, she reached the cliff.
The sky had darkened, and the wind was quickly driving dark, fluffy clouds away. The tall waves were crashing more and more fiercely against the cliff's edges. The sea foam below puffed up like dough rising in the oven. The rumblings from the horizon were getting closer. Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck the sea. Arya set her prize down on the concrete floor and crouched under the concrete balusters. The lightning split the sky again, and her find glowed with a deep blue light. The bolts of lightning were getting closer to the cliff. Finally, one of them struck the lacquered box. The object stopped shining, as if the strike had "peeled" off its lacquer cover. However, it didn't chip away; it dissolved, as though it had never existed. Arya widened her eyes. Now, lying on the concrete, was a rotting box, with flakes of wood falling off like the skin of a leper. But from between the decaying walls, a faint light began to shine through. Arya approached cautiously on all fours. From the rotting layers, something beautiful began to emerge. Its edges flared up with golden flames, and the walls pushed thin, barely visible runes to the surface that flickered and shimmered like the breath of a sleeping creature. The whole thing resembled molten glass, glowing from afar with warmth and an intense golden-orange light, like something alive, a pulsating light woven into its structure. On top, however, there was something that looked like glass mixed with metal—cold, immobile, and stern, completely out of place with the living torch beneath it. Arya drew closer, only a few inches away. On top, there was a serpent, seemingly carved from blue glacier ice, coiled into a spiral, its gaze fixed ahead with its forked tongue sticking out threateningly. After a moment, however, it came to life. It placed its maw on the lid and, crawling to the right, traced a perfectly symmetrical circle, devouring its own tail, then froze again. Inside the circle, something resembling an icicle had been carved. Arya immediately recognised it. She reached into her pocket.
She held the necklace up in the air. It fit perfectly. She placed it into the groove. Nothing happened. She looked at the snake and deduced that its movement indicated the direction for the "key". She turned the icicle to the right. The lid of the box clicked softly. Arya had already extended her hand but hesitated. Just then, One-Ear jumped onto her shoulder, as if confirming that she should not look inside. A moment later, he bristled his fur like an angry cat when he saw Arya reaching for the glowing object again. She immediately withdrew her hand and grabbed her ear. It was One-Ear who had bitten her ear hard. Arya became angry and grabbed the rodent by the neck. The rat kicked and squirmed as much as he could to free himself from her grasp, squealing as though she was choking him. His front paws reached toward the box, as if trying to tear it apart with his teeth.
"What's gotten into you, One-Ear?" Arya asked, carefully setting him down on the stone terrace.
The rat, however, looked her in the eyes with such a pleading and tearful gaze that she raised an eyebrow. She could have sworn that, in his previous life, he must have been an extraordinarily good creature. A sudden lightning bolt struck the Clock Tower. Arya heard a piercing screech as the shorter hand of the clock tore away from the face, followed by a crash against the retaining wall. She set the box down on the stone terrace and lifted the lid. Inside lay something round but terribly damaged. An object covered in thick patina. Arya reached out for it. Suddenly, One-Ear jumped into her hair and tried to knock her over. Arya, in anger, ripped him off her head and tossed him off the wall onto a lightning-struck ash tree below. He bumped into several branches before falling onto the grass, looking up helplessly.
Arya glanced more closely at the lid. There was some writing on it. She lifted it higher to read. A lightning bolt struck the surf zone. Arya stepped back against the wall and quickly glanced at the inscription. The words read:
"WHAT IS HIDDEN CANNOT BE EXPOSED. THE ARCANA LOSE THEIR NOBILITY WHEN REVEALED, AND WHEN PROFANED, LOSE THE GRACE THEY ONCE HELD."
"What does that mean...?" she thought aloud, but immediately snapped back to her senses when the wind whistled so loudly it hurt her ears.
The sea began to play dangerously. Arya's gaze fell upon the breach in the balustrade where she had nearly fallen into the sea. The memory immediately drove her from the cliff, back to the library. Her mind was swirling with a torrent of thoughts. The past few days and the sheer number of unexplained strange occurrences that had plagued the bay were either a mere coincidence of unfortunate events or the workings of a higher force, something beyond human comprehension. Arya took a few deep breaths and stretched several times. She lit several candles, placed the box and the piece of metal she had retrieved from it on the table in their light. Then she twisted the piece of metal into a necklace and placed it in a row. The box returned to its original lacquered form. Arya paced in front of the table from right to left, staring at the three objects, and began to think aloud.
"Right. Now it's my turn to ask questions. Sister Forsyth ordered Sister Bloom and Sister Lemoine to destroy my property, but why? Since she kept it all this time, she must have wanted to return it to me at the right moment… or someone may have ordered her to give it back to me…"
Here Arya paused and asked herself another question: Who? Someone who left me here? Perhaps this isn't my property, but that of the one who brought me here?
She pushed the box aside as if it were a separate chapter of the story.
"What is hidden cannot be revealed," she quoted the words from the strange object. "What is this about? It sounds like a warning. Maybe Sister Forsyth knows more than she's letting on. 'Do not wish to know what is beneath the earth.' Does she know? What did she mean by that? And the woman who was attacked… 'Whoever comes… trust no one.' Another warning." Arya recited all the suspicious words she had heard and analysed them in her head. "Why did she lose her things right here? How are they connected to me? What is this mark? She was terrified when she saw it…" Arya ran more voices through her mind. "'Today, because of you, three ghostly things were created. Do you know why? Because you are a ghost.'" Sister Forsyth's reproach when the children fell ill. "Sister says it's conjunctivitis? I don't see any redness or excessive tearing. She really can't cry, it seems." The voice of the doctor from the hospital, "Omne Trinum Perfectum" – Sister Lemoine deciphering the strange behaviour of the arrived woman, "That's Latin!" the doctor's voice when he understood Sister Lemoine's digression. "Everything that is triple is perfect," she said aloud to herself, then immediately rushed to the shelf of Latin textbooks. She searched for the famous phrase. "A perfect person is one who thinks, speaks, and acts in the same way." My curse… Susan lost her hair… thought… word… deed… is this mark an omen of evil? Was Sister Forsyth right? Am I a ghost? In what sense… thought… word… deed… and that fury I felt when they wanted to examine me… everything that is triple is perfect… but does it really refer to thought, word, and deed, or maybe something material? She stopped and looked at the three objects on the table.
There was a common denominator, yet something didn't quite sit right. The cufflink still nagged at her. She took it out of her pocket and examined it carefully by the candlelight. Now, she noticed a dark streak along its edge. She brought it closer to the fire and placed her finger over it. A red drop fell onto the tip of her finger.
"Blood… I was right… someone attacked her… and the butterfly… how did it get here… the forests in the bay have long since died out… there aren't even any ants here… Sister Bloom said that botany has no explanation for mutations in the trees… 'Do not wish to know what lies beneath the earth.' I need to talk to Sister Forsyth…"
She made up her mind, pocketed the cufflink and the necklace, threw the box into the sling she'd made herself, and blew out the candle. She was about to rush out to find the Mother Superior when an enormous noise rang out in the courtyard. Arya ran to the window. Through the gate of the orphanage, several carriages came rushing in, the rest of the procession spilling out behind them. The carriages were surrounded by a crowd carrying torches and gas lamps, filling the air with a hum, the voices swirling in the throng of people. It was a veritable fairground buzz. Arya heard Sister Lemoine's heavy footsteps in the corridor and the dull clatter of her shoes. She peered out the window. A tall man dressed in black stepped out of the crowd and, with his fist, struck the orphanage doors three times.
Sister Lemoine was barely catching her breath as she ran to the atrium. There was no sign of Sister Forsyth. Sister Lemoine looked out one of the windows, hoping to spot the Mother Superior in the garden. But outside, only ink-black darkness stretched. The fist struck the door again three times. The nun had no choice but to open it.
"Mayor Merril," she said, as though suddenly relieved.
"Good evening," the newcomer said, bowing his head slightly. "We received a telegram. Where is Sister Forsyth?"
"In the garden… we have here… truly… like never before…" Sister Lemoine stammered incoherently.
"What's going on here?"
"We'd like to know that ourselves."
"And the children?"
"Badly."
The Mayor signalled to the group of people behind him, and they surged forward like a wave flooding a cave, forcing their way inside and rushing after Sister Lemoine to the dormitories. There, they were met with a nightmarish sight. The children writhed restlessly in their beds as if they were dying. They were carried out one by one, wrapped in blankets, and placed in carriages, which then drove off, one after another. Arya listened intently to the noise from behind the library door. When it quieted, she stepped into the corridor. The courtyard was slowly emptying. Only the mayor, accompanied by the police, remained.
"Where is Sister Forsyth? We need to lock down the area and secure all inventory," the mayor asked again.
"She was in the garden… collecting herbs for medicine…"
"Why didn't she come when she heard us?" Mayor Merril inquired.
Sister Lemoine couldn't answer him. The Mother Superior was the last person on earth who would hide or cower from anything, especially from responsibility for her duties. Everyone followed Sister Lemoine and called out to her for several minutes. The only response was the echo. In the gaslight, the basket in which the Mother Superior had been gathering yarrow was revealed. It lay destroyed on the ground, with a hole in its side. Beneath the trampled yarrow, a thick leather thong was visible. Sister Lemoine bent down and, through the flowers, felt for the Mother Superior's mission cross. The thong had been torn. Cold sweat poured down Sister Lemoine's face as she looked directly at the broken door of the old garden tool shed. The intruder they had seen from the library must have attacked her here. Sister Lemoine struggled to steady her trembling hands and, stealthily so none of the officers noticed, slipped the cross into the pocket sewn under her habit, choosing to remain silent about everything she had deduced. Suddenly, a beam of light shone right behind her, and a policeman's voice made her break out in cold sweat again. Certain he had noticed her actions, she slowly turned around.
"Sister Lemoine!" the police chief called out, his voice full of outrage. "There's another child! Alive!"
Sister Lemoine breathed a sigh of relief and looked over his shoulder. But her eyes widened in shock. Arya was getting into the carriage, holding the lacquered box in her hands.
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