If Sister Claude knows there is a message, she will watch me closely to be certain I do not read it. And once I leave the rookery, I will not have access to the materials I need to reseal the message and hide evidence of my snooping. In different circumstances, I might have kept the message for a few hours until I found an opportunity to read it, but with the storm coming in, the timing of the crow’s arrival will be well known and my trickery easily caught.
But what if it is from Ismae? Or Sybella? Although I have all but given up hope of ever hearing from them.
Cradling the crow close, I remove the message from his leg. A surge of triumph rises in my chest when I recognize Ismae’s handwriting. Thus decided, I slip the message into one of the pouches of my apron, then slip the crow into one of the bigger pouches. Once I sneak him in, it will be easy enough to hide him among the other birds.
I hurry back to the rookery, an excuse at the ready. But when I let myself in I see that Sister Claude’s head now rests gently on her chest, the tankard empty and loose in her hand.
I murmur a prayer of gratitude, then move to the table and pull the exhausted, bedraggled crow from my apron. Before he can even think about opening his beak to squawk or complain, I slip one of the gobbets of meat in to silence him. I give him two more as bribery, and when he has thoroughly calmed himself, I place him on an empty perch, where he begins grooming his feathers.
I glance at Sister Claude to assure myself she is still napping, then slip my thin-bladed knife from its sheath and pry the wax seal from the parchment. I move over to the light of the fire so I may read the message.
Dearest Reverend Mother,
Much has happened in the last few days, and none of it good. Count d’Albret conspired to come upon the duchess alone and attempted to force himself on her. His attempt only failed because—warned by Sybella—I arrived before he could carry out his ill intent. Alas, there was no marque upon d’Albret’s vile person, otherwise I would have gutted him like a fish.
The duchess is fine, if a bit shaken, and is adamant in her refusal to consider d’Albret’s offer of marriage, no matter the consequences, and she has issued an edict to this effect. Duval, Captain Dunois, and Chancellor Crunard support her fully in this. Indeed, of all her councilors, I fear those are the only ones she can trust.
We all breathed easier when d’Albret and his retinue left the city but alas, our relief was short-lived. Last night, in front of the entire court during a mummers’ play, an attempt was made on the duchess’s life. The masked hellequin in the play leaped up onto the great table and pulled a knife. Luckily, Mortain guided my hand with His own, and my aim was quick and certain—I was able to bring the assassin down before he could strike.
Reverend Mother, I fear he may have been a true hellequin, for there was something unnatural about him—some absence of soul that leads me to believe he was not human. Or at least, not fully so.
Ismae’s words send a deep chill through me, for while most think hellequin no more than tales told to keep children from straying too far from home, we at the convent know that they are real, and that they too belong to Mortain, although they serve a different purpose than His handmaidens do. They are the tortured souls of the damned who have pledged themselves to serve Mortain in order to earn their redemption.
In the Privy Council meeting immediately after the attempt, Chancellor Crunard revealed my true identity to the others. There is much anger and confusion among the members of the court right now, along with much finger-pointing. Accusations are flying. I pray daily for Sister Vereda to See a way out of this mess. Or, at the very least, to See who is behind it so I may take action upon him.
Yours in Mortain,
Ismae Rienne
When I have finished reading, I hug the parchment to my chest and breathe deeply. Ismae is fine. She is better than fine—she has proven her worth and made the convent proud by saving our young duchess’s life. And she has been in contact with Sybella.
Close on the heels of that sweet relief comes a spurt of bitter heartbreak. I should be there with Ismae, protecting our duchess, doing our god’s work, not trapped on this island. I close my eyes and let the feeling pass through me. I have proof of the seeress’s returning skills; surely that will put a stop to this idea of the abbess’s.
I return to the table and remove the black sealing wax from the small cubbyhole where I keep it hidden. Holding it near the candle, I wait for it to melt, place two thin drops on the exact spot where Ismae’s seal was, then press the original seal into that. When it cools, it looks whole and unbroken, with no hint of anyone having tampered with it.
I slip the resealed message into my pocket, then cross over to Sister Claude. I gently remove the empty tankard from her hand and tuck the blankets closely around her old, thin body. It is time to give the abbess the good news about Sister Vereda.
As I make my way to the abbess’s chambers, a flutter of excitement rises in my chest and it is all I can do not to give a little twirl in the corridor, but I contain myself. Surely a handmaiden of Death should not feel so giddy with delight.
When I reach the abbess’s office, the door is closed. At my knock, she calls out, “Who is it?” and some part of my mind cannot help but notice this is not her customary response.
“It is Annith, Reverend Mother. Another crow arrived just after you left and I have come to bring you the message.”
“Very well, come in.”
When I open the door and enter the chamber, the abbess is just taking a seat. I dip a small curtsy, then approach her desk, the sound of my footsteps nearly silent against the crackle and snap of the fire in the hearth, a fire that does little to warm the chill in the room.
When I reach the desk, I smile—a smile I fill with every ounce of affection I have ever felt for her over the years, no matter that her recent decision threatens to undermine that. “Sister Serafina said I should let you know that Sister Vereda had two small visions this morning. They were true ones, not simply ramblings. And I bring proof.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in what she no doubt intends as surprise, but it seems to me that there is also a faint gleam of alarm in her eyes. “Indeed? And what were these visions?”
I hold out the note. “That we would receive two messages from the mainland today, and that it would be raining before noon. The first drops began to fall just as I came inside.”
The abbess’s face relaxes and she quirks her mouth. “The cook can predict the rain simply from the way her knees creak.”
“But she cannot predict the number of messages we receive,” I point out gently.
She nods her head in a reluctant gesture of agreement. Unnerved by the less-than-joy
ous reception of this news, I fold my hands before me. “Is that not a good thing, Reverend Mother? That in these most troubled times, our wise and experienced seeress is finally regaining her Sight? I would think that would be something worth rejoicing over tonight as we begin to celebrate midwinter’s arrival.”
“But of course, Annith. I am most delighted to hear this. I only wish that we had more than a report on the weather and a courier’s tally as proof of her returning abilities, but it is a good sign, nevertheless.” She takes up her quill from its stand and nods at me. “I imagine if you hurry, you will be able to help the others decorate the refectory. And Annith?”
“Yes, Reverend Mother?”
Her voice softens, filling with warmth. “That was well done of you, helping Sister Serafina nurse Vereda. It made both of their lives much easier, and I know it brought the old seeress much comfort.”
“It did?” I thought she hardly noticed whose hand was tending her.
“It did. And it proves once again how invaluable you are to the convent—how perfect your obedience and dedication.”
Words crowd up my throat—I did not do it out of dedication, I want to tell her, but because I wanted the seeress to get better so I would not have to take her place.
But I cannot say it. I cannot confess to the abbess that I overheard that conversation. My need to keep such transgressions secret drowns out the need to deny her words. “I am glad I was able to be of service,” I say, “for now that she is well again, perhaps she will See an assignment for me.”
The abbess smiles fondly. “Perhaps she will.”
I hold her gaze, trying to discern if she truly means that or if she simply thinks it is what I wish to hear.
In the end, I leave her chamber none the wiser.