Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3)

Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3) Page 7

When my prayer is finished, I lay my arrow down atop the other gifts there. As I do, the night breeze shifts, bringing with it an eddy of cold air from the barrow that feels as if it reaches out to caress my face. In that moment, I am certain He has heard me.

Satisfied, I rise to my feet and join the others.

Chapter Six

AFTER THE MIDWINTER CELEBRATION, THE black storm clouds move in from the north and envelop our island, bringing with them howling winds and stinging rain. It feels as if Mortain has come forth from the Underworld with a year’s worth of unshed tears.

I am feeling hopeful, but wary and nervous as well, for while I know Mortain received my offering, I also realize I have made a grave—perhaps even fatal—error in my strategy. In my desperation to get Sister Vereda well, I have managed to confirm the abbess’s belief that I am willing to do whatever is needed to serve the convent, and I do not know how to undo that. I wish that I could unravel time and replace my actions with different ones, but that is not possible. And so I wait. And fret. I am filled with a nearly unbearable tension, as if my body is a bow being drawn taut by the hand of fate.

When the clouds clear long enough for a crow to get through with a message, I try to haunt the rookery. But the abbess is always there first, as if she is watching even more closely than I am. It cannot be an accident, this new habit of hers to collect the messages herself, and I cannot help but wonder what it means.

What I truly need are some days of vigorous training to shed some of my tension, but the weather does not allow for that. Instead, Sister Beatriz arranges a mock ball so we may practice our dancing, but I am distracted and clumsy and manage to step on Sarra’s toes—twice—until she pinches me in retaliation.

This season, whose gifts have always calmed me and brought a renewed sense of purpose to my life, now holds only questions and uncertainty.

Sister Vereda is slowly growing stronger and some days I wish to storm into her chambers and pepper her with questions—on her visions, how she was chosen, and how she lost her sight. Finally, afraid I will go mad, I make my way to the armory. Sister Arnette is not only our weapons mistress but our smith as well. Surely she has something—anything—that needs the pounding of her smith’s hammer. I would even settle for horseshoes or cooking pots.

That is where Matelaine finds me, one week after the midwinter ceremony. “Annith?”

I look up from the dented vambrace I am planishing. “Yes?”

“The abbess is asking for you.”

Everything inside me grows still and I carefully set the vambrace and hammer down on the bench. “Did she say what she wanted?” Matelaine gives a quick shake of her head, and thoughts of Ismae and Sybella bring me to my feet. “Have there been any crows this morning?”

“No,” she says, the word allowing my heart to calm somewhat.

Somewhat, but not altogether. “Has she met with Vereda?” I try to keep my voice casual, but it is of little use, for Matelaine knows what I am hoping for.

“Not that I have heard, but then, I would not necessarily know.”

We exchange a glance, and she reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I will pray she has an assignment for you,” she whispers, then leaves me to make my way to the abbess’s office alone.

I stand outside the abbess’s chambers and try to compose my features into an expression of calm. I remind myself that this means nothing; I am often called to her office. It is most likely some new task she needs help with—taking inventory of convent supplies or checking on the seeds we have stored for the early-spring plantings.

When I have both my hope and my worry well in hand, I reach out and knock.

“Come in.”

The abbess sits at her desk, a pile of correspondence at one elbow, the large convent ledger in which she records all the assignments at the other. When I see that book, my heart gives another flutter of excitement. “You asked to see me, Reverend Mother?”

She looks up at me and sets aside the letter she was writing. “Ah, Annith. Yes, I did. Please come in. Sit down.” I have not seen her much of late, as she has been busy in her office writing missives that she sends out at the merest lull in the winter storms.

“The midwinter ceremony went well. Thank you for arranging that.”

“It was my pleasure to be of some small help, Reverend Mother.”

“I know. That is one of your best qualities, Annith. Your willingness to step in and do what must be done, cheerfully and with great skill. Sister Serafina says that Sister Vereda continues to do much better, thanks in large part to your help in nursing her.”

I clasp my hands in front of me to keep my desperation from showing. “She is doing much better, Reverend Mother. She is having visions daily now. She saw that Melusine would be swept into the sea and would swim out safely. She saw where the barn cat had her kittens, and she has predicted with great accuracy when the clouds will break and the crows get through, as well as precisely how many messages will arrive.” Except once, when she missed her count by one, but I do not mention that.

The abbess slips her hands inside her wide sleeves and smiles at me with such fondness and pleasure that in that moment, I am certain—certain—she will finally grant me my heart’s desire.

“That is why, after much thought and prayer and discussion with the other nuns, I have decided that you will begin training with Sister Vereda immediately so you may take her place as seeress when her aged body finally stops working once and for all.”

Her words are like a physical blow, sending all the air whooshing painfully from my lungs. “Please, no!” I whisper.

Her smile evaporates as quickly as my hopes. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, Reverend Mother, while I am eager to serve Mortain, I do not think I can do it as seeress.”

The abbess frowns at my words, but I cannot tell if it is in annoyance or simply puzzlement. “For a girl as dutiful and devout as yourself, I would think it the perfect existence.”

“No, Reverend Mother. It would not be.”

A brief flash of pain appears in her eyes, as if somehow my not wanting to be seeress has hurt her, but it goes so quickly I am hardly certain I have seen it. “Come, Annith. We always knew you were destined for something special—what is more special than being the seeress, the most unique among all the handmaidens? You will not be interacting with Mortain through intermediaries like the rest of us, but will instead be His voice in the world.”

Every word she utters is like a long bony finger wrapping itself around my heart, squeezing until there is no hope left within it. “Reverend Mother, I have spent my entire life training for one thing—to be Death’s handmaiden and carry out His will here on earth. At no time have I ever felt called to the duties that Sister Vereda performs.”

Her lips thin and her nostrils flare with irritation. “You are young and do not yet know what Mortain truly desires of you.”

I realize now, now that it has been taken away from me, that the only thing that kept me from despair all these years was the belief that one day I would finally be able to get off this island—this place where I have had to guard every thought, hide every true feeling, and weigh every gesture. It was the promise of having a life of my own—away from the convent—that fueled my determination to excel at everything they threw at me.

That gives me the courage to speak freely. Or foolishly. “How do you know this is what He wants? Surely, if Sister Vereda had Seen such a fate for me, she would have made some mention of it as I sat by her bed day after day for the last fortnight, would she not?”

“Are you questioning me?” The abbess’s voice is so forbidding and full of steel that I am reminded of Sybella’s insistence that she is not the kind paragon she appears but a cold ruthless adversary one should be wary of crossing.

“No, I am questioning Mortain’s will.” That suddenly seems far less frightening than questioning hers. “I cannot believe I am the best choice for this job. Does it not take a lifetime of training to be able to do what Sister Vereda does? I have only ever trained to kill.”

“Except the god has other plans for you.”

“Then why has He not allowed me to peer into the future as Sister Vereda does? For I assure you, He has not given me any such gifts.”

Ismae and Sybella used to tease me and claim that I was able to see the future, for how else was I always able to block their blows and slip away seconds before a door was opened or a curtain pulled back? But having a good sense of timing and quick reflexes is a far cry from being able to See the future, let alone See Mortain’s will—a cold trickle of dread seeps into my marrow, and goose flesh erupts along my arms. Unless . . . does this abbess know my secret? The Dragonette promised she would never speak of it, but what if she had and now this abbess knows and that is behind the plan to make me the new seeress?

When the abbess speaks again, her voice is quiet, gentle even. “Annith, you need to understand. This is Mortain’s will for you. You must either obey or be cast out. Surely you’re not saying you would rather leave us than serve in the manner that is asked of you?”

Once again, I cannot quite grasp what she is saying. “I cannot be sealed up in that room,” I whisper. She of all people should know that. I do not wish to let her down, but I fear I will wither and die if I must do as she asks.

Her face is so full of poignant regret that it pierces my heart. “If that is how you feel on the matter, we can make other arrangements.” Relief, giddy and sweet, fills me. Until she speaks again.

“There are any number of men who would be only too happy to take you to wife. You are so good with the younger girls, and I am certain there is a widowed farmer looking for someone to care for his children. There always is.”

I stare at her in utter shock, and the ground underneath my feet feels as if it has shifted irrevocably. “Are those truly my only choices?”

“Yes.” She stares back at me, daring me to choose the drab, colorless fate she has set out before me. She is no longer the firm, loving woman I have known all my life but the fierce, ruthless tyrant that Sybella struggled with all these years. Thinking quickly, I bow my head, as if subdued by her words.

She casts aside her sterness for a moment and leans forward. “Think, Annith! How many handmaidens do we have at the convent? And of those, only one is called to act as seeress, only one is deemed worthy of sitting at the very heart of the convent and being privy to Mortain’s wishes. You are being offered this great honor, one bestowed upon a select few.”

“Then it is not because I am flawed in some way? Or because I failed one of the Dragonette’s tests?”

She appears stricken by my words. “No! It is only that you are more worthy than most. That all your years of training and hardship and endurance have paid off in ways you had not dared to dream of.”

And even though her face is the very picture of loving concern, even though her need for me to believe her rolls off her in waves, it is impossible to trust her any longer. Not when she has just altered the shape and direction of my entire life.

Time. I must buy myself time to think.

I allow the overwhelming enormity of what has just transpired to show on my face. “This is all so much, Reverend Mother. So much more than I had ever even considered. I . . . I would like to spend some time in thought and prayer before I give you my answer. I want to be certain I can commit my full heart to what Mortain wants of me, for I will not shame the convent or myself by serving Him falsely.”

There is a brief spark of irritation, but she quickly tamps it down. “Very well. But the time I can give you is not infinite. I must know in three days so I can make other arrangements if need be.”

“I will have an answer for you by then,” I assure her, and I hope that it is true.

Chapter Seven