Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3)

Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3) Page 22

She is so friendly and her blue eyes dance so cheerfully that I cannot help but smile back. “I am Annith.”

“Well, Annith,” Floris says, “we are pleased to hear that you are unharmed, and even more pleased to hear that the Great White Boar has taken you under her protection, for indeed, it will be perilous going from here. You will have to postpone your trip to Guérande, I’m afraid.”

“What?” All the goodwill I had been feeling toward these women in the past few seconds evaporates. “You cannot stop me from traveling on my business.”

“Well, that is a matter of dispute,” she says, sounding faintly amused. “But it is not we who have caused the delay. The French troops have landed at Vannes and taken the city. These shores are crawling with them like fleas on a hound. In truth, that is who we thought to rescue you from—French soldiers.”

Chapter Twenty-One

IT IS EASY ENOUGH to fall in with them. At least for now. They will offer me protection from the invading French, and although they dislike the daughters of Mortain, they despise the hellequin even more. That hatred of the hellequin makes them the perfect ones to offer me protection.

Surely the sudden appearance of Arduinna’s followers on the road in my time of need is no accident. Indeed, it feels as if Mortain is placing small steppingstones at my feet, one at a time, so that I may have a chance to wrest my own fate out of the abbess’s greedy hands.

Even so, I must resist the urge to keep looking over my shoulder. The hellequin do not hunt in the daylight, I remind myself at least a dozen times. The others make note of my unease but say nothing, and I hope that it gives the stamp of truth to my story.

We have not been on the road but two hours before we come upon a cart. Two hedge priests sit in the front, and it is draped in black. Our group moves to the side to give them room to pass. As they do, I cannot help but look into the back of it, wondering who has made their final journey into death. Perhaps it is the first of the French soldiers’ victims.

But at the sight of the bright red hair spread out against the black sheeting, my stomach curls into a tight ball of dread. “Stop!” The word springs out of my mouth before I even realize I have spoken. Surprised by the command of my voice, the hedge priests reluctantly halt, then scowl at me while the Arduinnites shoot me curious glances. I dismount from Fortuna and toss the reins at Tola, who catches them easily.

As I draw near the bone cart, time seems to slow as if it is trapped in a thick slog of mud. Please not Matelaine. Please, please, please. The prayer hammers through my body with every heartbeat.

At last, I reach the side of the cart and look down. The girl’s face is covered by a shroud. Slowly, I reach for the edge of the black linen.

“Don’t touch her!” one of the hedge priests says in outrage, but I do not even pause. I grip the fine linen and pull it away from her face.

Matelaine’s face.

At the sight of her, I feel as if a shard of glass has wedged itself into my heart. She is still and whiter than bone, her face stark against the black shroud and red hair. Her hands have been laid upon her chest, and in the right one she clutches an ivory chess piece. “Where are you taking her?” My voice sounds dull and hollow, even to my own ears.

“Back to the convent of Saint Mortain. Do you know her?” the second hedge priest asks more gently.

I nod, my eyes never leaving her face. “She is my sister.” As I stare down at her, the pain from that shard of glass spreads out, filling my lungs, my chest, my arms with such a sense of wrongness that it is all I can do not to throw back my head and howl with rage and fury. She should never have been sent out.

And the abbess knew it. The abbess has betrayed the very tenets of the convent. The nuns are meant to foster and care for His daughters as they would their own, sending them out only when they are truly ready.

It is also, I realize with a sour sickness in my belly, my fault as well, for whatever the reason the abbess has held me back, it is at the root of her decision to send Matelaine. If I had been stronger, faster, more determined, argued my case better, I could have prevented this. I turn on the priest. “What happened?”

The kinder one answers. “We do not know. We were only given the body to transport back to the island.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin around in surprise. It is the oldest of the Arduinnites—Floris. “Is she your sister?” Her brown eyes are full of compassion.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“What do you wish to do?”

Her question reminds me that I have choices. Part of me wishes to crawl into the cart and hold Matelaine close for the entire journey back to the convent. To whisper all the words of friendship in her ear that I was too busy to utter in real life. To present her body to the nuns who are still there and scream at them, See what you have done? By your silence, your compliance? The unspoken words in my throat are as hot and painful as red coals from a fire.

My own plans and ambitions crumble like winter’s first frost under a heavy boot. A choking anger continues to build inside me, and rage spreads so quickly through my body that it is a wonder I do not erupt into flames.

Slowly, I turn to face Floris. “I wish to travel on and avenge her death by confronting those who have done this to her.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I see a measure of approval in them. “Are you also a daughter of Mortain?”

I look away. “Yes. I am sorry I did not tell you. I know there is a history of animosity between us. I will no longer travel with you if you’d prefer.”

“If you are avenging this girl, then you are on Arduinna’s business now, so you are welcome to travel with us. Plus, a lone woman is too easy to harass; a group of four women who are warriors and assassins, less so.”

We make camp just before nightfall. I suggest we spend the night near a church so we can be assured of the protection of consecrated ground, but they refuse, and Aeva outright laughs. “We have no love of or use for the Church.”

“But the hellequin claimed they would hunt me forever,” I explain. “I do not wish to bring their vengeance down upon you as well.” Not to mention incite some sort of civil war among the gods and their minions.

“They could not know you would find shelter with us,” Floris says. “And even if they did, the hellequin will not dare approach the followers of Arduinna.”

“But just to be certain, we will ward our camp,” Tola adds cheerfully.

Aeva turns on her, eyes sparking with annoyance. “You talk too much of things that are for our ears only.” When Tola simply shrugs, Aeva reaches for a handful of kindling and flings it onto the fire. “If you have so little care for the secrets that lie between her god and ours, why not simply get down at her feet and rub yourself against her ankles like an overfriendly cat?”

“Enough!” It is the first time I have heard Floris raise her voice. “It is Tola’s choice who she makes friends with, not yours.”

Unable to help myself, I glance over at the older woman. “You do not forbid it?”

She shakes her head at my question. “It is not ours to forbid. Every one of us must decide for herself.”

After another long moment of silence, I speak again. “Why is there so much animosity between Mortain and Arduinna?” I ask. “As the old stories tell it, Arduinna gave her blessing to Mortain and Amourna’s pairing.”

Aeva shoots me a scornful glance, and my hand itches to slap the look off her face. “We who serve Arduinna are made, not chosen and showered with otherworldly gifts like the daughters of Mortain. Every skill we possess, every feat we master, we acquire through our own sweat and determination. Not because we were sired by a god.”

I lean forward, wishing we were standing so I could back her up against a tree to shake her arrogance. “First, you will be comforted to learn that not all daughters of Mortain are blessed with His unique gifts and talents. I am one of those who have been given none, and have had to work hard for every skill I’ve acquired—often at great personal cost.” Our gazes hold for a long moment, then she looks away. I take a deep breath to calm myself, then turn to Floris. “How do followers come to serve Arduinna if they are not her children?” Although as soon as I utter the words, I realize how foolish that sounds, for no woman, not even a goddess, can give birth to hundreds of daughters. Not to mention she is reported to be a virgin goddess at that.

Floris stands up to add another branch to the fire. “When a woman feels love’s painful bite, that is when she prays to Arduinna. Every heart that has been broken, every lover who has been jilted, every soul that has been twisted by jealousy belongs to her. All girl children born of such a union—whether the jealous vindictive side of love or the heart-wrenching unrequited side—are Arduinna’s own daughters. They may never know it, but she does, and she watches over them. If they choose to dedicate themselves to her service, they are welcomed with open arms.

“And to answer your original question on the animosity between our gods, it is because your god played our goddess false,” she says softly.

The silence that follows grows thick, and they all exchange glances while I stare stupidly at her. Aeva looks smug. “Ah, you’ve not heard that story, have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“Well, you will not hear it from us.” Aeva sends the others such a searing gaze that even Floris does not contradict her. Then she rises to her feet in disgust. “I am going to do something useful, like hunt for our dinner, instead of huddling around and gossiping with our enemies.”

I raise my eyebrows and turn to Floris. “I apologize. I did not realize I was an enemy. I have no desire to put any of you in an uncomfortable—”

Floris holds up her hands to halt my words. “You are not an enemy. Aeva simply sees things more rigidly than most. Now, here, if you would kindly clear a place for our bedrolls.”

It is a simple task, even a mindless one, but I do not care, for my head is already overfull. As I pick up rocks and twigs from the ground, both Tola and Floris cut marks and sigils into the earth with their bone-handled knives. I am consumed with curiosity—we at the convent have no such magic, or at least none that I have heard of—but I do not wish to intrude on a private ritual that they are using in order to protect me, so I allow myself only occasional glances.

I finish my task before they finish theirs and look around for something else to do. Dusk is falling fast now, and a few squirrels and rabbits venture forth for a last forage before the night. The rabbits are thin, but thin is still better than nothing. Moving slowly so as not to startle them, I pick up my bow and two arrows. When they lift their heads, sniffing the air, I hold perfectly still so they will not sense me. As soon as they go back to their grazing, I fit an arrow to the bow and aim. There is an explosion of movement as the creatures take flight, but I am pleased to see that the largest of the rabbits lies still on the ground. I will much prefer eating a dinner that I have caught myself than relying on Aeva’s bitter hospitality.

That night, as we eat, Tola keeps looking at me, and I know she wishes to ask me questions. I am grateful when she does not. Aeva, however, shows no such restraint. “So, you are a daughter of Mortain, and yet the hellequin pursued you?”

I keep my attention firmly on the rabbit haunch I am gnawing. “I did not tell them who I was.”

“Why not?”

I should lie and turn her questions from me, but seeing Matelaine today reminded me that my reasons for leaving were justified. “Out of fear that it was me they were after.”

The frankness of that answer silences even the belligerent Aeva. At least for a moment. She opens her mouth to ask something else, but Floris puts her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Surely that is a convent matter and none of our concern.”