Meanwhile, atop the Great Cedar tree…
High above the plaza, perched among the thick, fragrant branches of an ancient Great Cedar that had stood since the founding of the Sanctum, a figure sat hidden from the world.
He was draped in the white silk of the high clergy, but his movements were far too fluid and restless for a man of the clergy.
He sat with one knee hooked over a branch, his white head-wrap discarded and lying carelessly on the branch next to him.
This was Castor.
He leaned forward, his breath hitching as the silver carriage door opened. He had heard the whispers for months—of a 'Saint' whose soul had been deemed even purer than the popes.
He had expected to see a fanatic, probably old man who was already getting proud of the title that he, Castor, wasn't sure he earned.
But instead of a prideful old man, he saw Julian.
