Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3)

Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3) Page 10

She smiles then and gives my hand a return squeeze. “I will look forward to hearing it.”

I surprise her by throwing my arms around her and giving her a fierce hug. “Be safe, Matelaine. I will pray for you every day until your return.” Tears sting at my eyes and try to crowd their way up my throat. With one last encouraging smile, I turn and leave before the abbess arrives.

Chapter Ten

FOR ALL THE TRAINING I have done, for all that I have practiced stealth and cunning and deceit, I never dreamed that my first true use of those skills would be against the very convent I serve.

Because I do not want the abbess to change her mind about leaving, I become as biddable as the sheep she wishes me to be. I do not even give in to the temptation of letting my mind stew over all the questions and issues that plague me, for fear that she will sense it somehow.

It is like putting a lid on a boiling pot.

My new role at the convent is announced that night at dinner amid much merrymaking and goblet-raising, as if the abbess is determined to show me just what a joyous occasion it is. I smile so much that my cheeks ache with it, and I look demure, as if slightly stunned that such an honor should be laid at my feet.

By the next day, as the abbess makes her final preparations to leave, the other girls have begun to look upon me with poorly hidden suspicion, as if I suddenly have the ability to snatch the very thoughts from their heads, and they withdraw from me. They edge away on the prayer bench, claiming to remember something they forgot, then choose different seats when they return. All these girls whose bruises I have tended, whose bodies I have trained, and whose secrets I have shared now act as if I have suddenly sprouted wings or a second head. They have started to separate me from their daily lives just as Sister Vereda is separate, and I feel a lifetime of isolation stretching out before me, as endless as the sea.

Of course, it is too much to ask that the abbess should leave the island without one final meeting between us. I marshal every fiber of deceit and subterfuge I possess and weave them into a façade of calm acceptance to wear for our encounter.

“I have told all the other nuns of your new duties so they know you are not to participate in any further training exercises except as seeress.” She is not sitting behind her desk but standing beside it, putting a few final things into her valise.

I smile cheerfully. “Very well, Reverend Mother.”

“Sister Vereda will start with small daily lessons that you can then practice on your own.” She pauses in her packing. “Annith, I cannot tell you how important it is that you apply your considerable talents to these tasks. The gathering political storm is bearing down on our country. From all reports, the duchess’s court has splintered into factions, leaving her and our country even more weak and vulnerable than before. We must bring every skill and every resource we possess to her aid.”

“But of course, Reverend Mother. I will use every talent at my disposal to serve Mortain and our country in this most dire time.” I wait to see if she catches it, the way I have avoided promising to devote myself to my new seeress duties, but she is so distracted by her imminent departure that she does not appear to notice.

She rattles off a few more last-minute instructions. Apparently, just because I am to be seeress does not mean I am not to serve as her right hand as well. When the meeting is finally over, I wish her a warm farewell, then turn to leave.

“Annith?”

I pause with my hand on the door. “Yes, Reverend Mother?”

“Is everything all right between us?” The note of longing in her voice surprises me. After all that has transpired, after all her bullying and cajoling, can she believe things might ever be right between us again? I look over my shoulder and give her a smile so warm I almost manage to convince myself of its sincerity. “But of course, Reverend Mother. Everything is exactly as it should be. I will pray daily while you are gone.”

I do not tell her that the nature of those prayers will involve asking Mortain to help me find a way to expose her actions for the lies and betrayals that I believe them to be.

Needing to be certain she is truly leaving, I follow her down the path to the beach. Hidden from view among the bushes that edge the rocky beach, I watch as the night rower helps her into the boat. She is taking two of the lay sisters with her as traveling attendants, and they will row themselves across in a second boat.

As the old sailor pushes off, she sits, stiff and straight, in the prow of the boat, her gaze firmly fixed on the mainland.

Why has she changed the very nature of my service to the convent? Is it something inside me, or inside her? And what options do I have, short of running away? For if I were to do that, it would leave her plots and machinations unchecked and unquestioned, and she might send Sarra or Lisabet out next.

Surely there are rules that abbesses must follow, and avenues of redress available when they do not. Or are we novitiates fully at the mercy of the convent?

That prospect is too grim to contemplate, so instead, I decide to do everything in my power to learn what is behind her decisions. Then I will see if that knowledge can be shaped into a weapon that can be used to force her to change her mind.

Chapter Eleven

WHEN IT IS TIME FOR me to meet with Sister Vereda for my first seeress lesson, it is all I can do not to run screaming in the opposite direction.

“You’re late,” she says when I let myself into her chambers.

“How can you say so when you cannot see the hourglass?”

She sniffs. “Monette brought my tray in some time ago.”

“Perhaps Monette was early, Sister.”

Her mouth twitches and I cannot tell if it is due to some faint hint of humor or she merely found a crumb of bread hidden in her cheek. I fold my hands in front of me and try to look contrite. “What shall you be teaching me today?”

“Punctuality, for one. And respect for your elders. If you happen to learn a bit about how to read Mortain’s will in the flames of the sacred fire, that would be good too. Bring that empty brazier closer to the bed now. And be careful not to spill the ashes.”

Once I have done that, she sends me to fetch the small bag of crow feathers we will need. Unable to see a thing in the gloom, I light a candle before I move toward the shelves. They are crowded with boxes and small caskets, piles of small bones, and a silver chafing dish. I grope carefully, hoping not to knock anything over. My hand bumps into something as cold as glass but far, far heavier. Even though it is clearly not the sack of feathers, I pick it up and bring it closer to the candlelight.

It is a small, dark vial, but so heavy that I know it is made out of crystal, although I did not know crystal could be as black as night. The surface is cut into facets, and the candlelight shimmering upon it gives the illusion of stars in the night sky. Carefully, I lift the stopper, which ends in a long, thin pointed wand. That is when I know precisely what I hold in my hand. It is the Tears of Mortain, administered to every novitiate who sets out on His path so that she can better discern His will for her.

My hand closes around the vial and I clutch it tight, as if I could absorb the knowledge and gifts the drops bestow through the crystal. It is just one of the mysteries of the convent that I have been denied.

“Annith?” comes the old voice. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, Sister. The feathers were buried under the bones. What sort of bones are they, anyway?”

As she prattles an answer, I reluctantly return the Tears of Mortain to their place. I cannot use them now, but it comforts me to know where I can find them should I ever need them.

Having no intention of spending all my days studying augury, I begin making plans to learn what is at the heart of the abbess’s decisions, for it has become painfully clear that she is not using me simply to fill some general need of the convent. Her desire to have me be seeress is personal. If it is something about me that makes me uniquely suited for the position, then why not just tell me? And if she will not, then perhaps there is something in the convent records of my birth that will explain her decision. Now that I have been awakened to how thoroughly trained I am to accept lies as truth, I feel I must reexamine everything I have been told.

It is possible that I am not truly alone in the world. Perhaps I have some family—however distant—to go to should I decide to escape.

And there it is: escape, the word I have been avoiding since I first realized I had no choice but to pretend to accept the abbess’s plans. She has changed the very nature of the bargain we made so long ago, when I pledged my undying loyalty and unwavering devotion in exchange for—what? For her to see me as unflawed? For her to allow me to pursue what I had dreamed of my entire life? Of course, I was too young to put all that into words, but she knew well enough. She has always played me like an instrument tuned to her hands, and this was no exception.

After a week of scouring the convent’s scriptorium, I acquire only a small pile of information, but it is more than I had when I started. I learn that the seeress must be either a virgin or a woman beyond childbearing years who has sworn an oath of celibacy. That is it—the only two requirements for the office. Those who are caul-born or whose eyes have been blessed with Mortain’s gift of Seeing into a man’s heart make the best seeresses, but nowhere does it say that either is required. So whatever is behind the abbess’s desire to have me serve as seeress, it is not my having something that others here do not possess. I am not the only one—or even the best one—to take on those duties.

But that is the only fruit my search has borne. I have found nothing about my own past. While I did not have a surname or place of birth to go by, Annith is a rare enough name, and I had hoped it was used only by certain noble houses. However, although I have learned that the noble houses of Brittany contain three hundred Annes, four Mildreths, and two Annelises, there is no other Annith on record.

With so very little on which to hang my hopes, I find it ever harder to endure my lessons with Sister Vereda. Thoughts of escape dance around in my head like leaves in a windstorm, and I fear she will reach out with her gnarled hand and snatch one, then all my hopes will be lost.

It is two weeks before I find an opportunity to search the abbess’s office. Sister Eonette appears to enjoy her time in there and lingers far past her morning hours. I wonder if she wishes to be abbess, and if so, would she welcome my exposure of the current abbess’s lies? I remember her heated conversation with the abbess on the day I first overheard the plans to make me seeress and realize I may have an ally in this, if it comes to that.

I do not like the unsubtlety of having to pick the lock on the abbess’s door, but it cannot be helped. I slip one of my nearly needle-thin blades into the lock, lift, turn, and sigh in relief at the satisfying snick as it unlocks.

Pale moonlight spills in from the two windows, illuminating the enormous cupboard that covers most of the wall behind the desk. It might well take me all night to search each of its hidden drawers and shelves. I push away from the door, eager to get to work. Although there is only a quarter-moon, it is bright enough for me to see by, so I do not need to risk lighting a candle.

The intricate scrollwork of the cabinet is carved with strange wild beasts cavorting among curves and arches, their polished wooden eyes watching me as I try to open one of the doors. It is locked. I cast about for a likely hiding place for the key. Hopefully it is not dangling from the ring Sister Eonette wears at her waist.

My luck holds and it is in the first place I look, the drawer of the abbess’s desk, for who would dare breach the abbess’s inner sanctum without invitation?

Me, that’s who, and I will dare much more than that before I am done.

There are four keys, and one by one I try them. The third unlocks it. The first drawer coughs up nothing but bills and receipts for goods sold to the convent: bolts of dark blue samite for new habits and white wool for the midwinter cloaks, leather for shoes and grain from the local miller. In the second drawer is correspondence with Church officials about local matters, such as the leasing of fields on the mainland, and the letter from the abbess of Saint Mer just before she sent Melusine.