The night rower meets my furious gaze. “You can quit yer glaring, missy. We tied ’er up only so she wouldn’t jump into the water. Thinks she’s a fish, she does.” I blink in surprise and turn to the hedge priest for an explanation.
He nods in greeting. “It’s true. The locals sent her to Saint Mer at first, thinking she was one of theirs. But the abbess took one look at her and knew she wasn’t. Turns out, her mother drowned, but they found her in time to cut the child from her womb. Except then the father wanted nothing to do with her. Thought she’d caused the mother’s death.”
Her story, like most of the girls’ stories, twists my heart. So many mothers dead, so many daughters blamed. It is almost enough to make me glad I do not know the circumstances of my own birth. What sort of death did my mother suffer? What sins were blamed on me for daring to come into this world?
“Well, you’re ashore now, so untie her at once. What’s her name?”
The hedge priest shoots an uneasy glance at the rower as he unties her. “Melusine,” he says. The sailor lifts the sacred conch shell he wears around his neck to his lips.
When I roll my eyes, it is his turn to glare at me. “’Tis a bad-luck name, miss. Especially for us sailors.”
“It is a foolish name,” the hedge priest mutters.
Ignoring them both, I turn my attention to Melusine herself. “What do you think of your name?”
She looks up at me with eyes the exact color of the sea, and nearly as fathomless. “I like my name. I picked it myself.”
I smile. “Then I like it too. The names we give ourselves are always the best. Now, come.” I hold out my hand to her. The hedge priest carefully helps her to the bow, then over the side and onto the beach. The girl glances longingly over her shoulder to the sparkling blue water. I quickly grab her hand and pull her toward me. “You can go swimming later,” I tell her. “When it is not so cold.”
When I turn to escort Melusine back to the convent, I find a small knot of three girls watching us with large, curious eyes. Aveline arrives just then, breathless from her running. “Sister Thomine is teaching the others right now, and Sister Widona is tending to a mare who is foaling. They said you can see to the new arrival. You’ve done it often enough.”
And so I have.
I shoo the younger girls on to their next lesson a little early—comportment with Sister Beatriz. She will be annoyed, but her petty annoyances are a lesser concern than getting this newest girl settled. I do not think Melusine is injured or ill, but it is customary to have new arrivals thoroughly examined, for many come to us malnourished, beaten, or in other ways physically abused.
As I lead her down the hall, I try not to think of all the other novitiates I have escorted this way, novitiates who are even now serving Mortain in a much more glorious manner than I. I try not to think of Ismae, ensconced at court with her finery and weapons, doing the work she was born to do. I push away thoughts of Sybella, currently on her fourth assignment, with no word for well over six months. Although I did not escort Sybella down the hall—it took four full-grown nuns, two on either side of her, to be certain she did not injure herself or bolt.
No, I will not think of that now. I will not indulge in the weakness of doubt and self-pity. Even though the infirmary door is open, I rap softly on it so that our presence will not startle Sister Serafina. She often becomes so absorbed in her work that she forgets to eat or sleep or even, sometimes, where she is. “Sister? We have a new arrival today.”
Sister Serafina looks up from a long, complex series of tubing and flasks, a contraption of her own design she built in order to streamline her making of simples and tinctures. She peers over a coil of copper tube at us.
“Her name is Melusine, and she was mistakenly sent to the convent of Saint Mer. Apparently, she has an affinity for water.” I smile down at the girl so she will know this is meant without judgment.
Sister Serafina sets down a glass flask, wipes her hands on a linen towel, and studies Melusine. “Fond of the sea, are you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once I have placed the girl in Sister Serafina’s capable hands, I leave the infirmary to inform the abbess of our new addition.
As I draw near her chambers, I hear voices coming from within. Hoping they have gotten word of Sybella or, better yet, word of some new assignment for me, I stand near the door as if merely waiting my turn to see the abbess, then lean my ear close.
“That is dire news indeed.” It is Sister Eonette who is speaking.
“It is most unwelcome,” the abbess agrees. “And could not come at a worse time.”
“Does it not worry you for other reasons?” Sister Eonette puts an odd emphasis on the word other, an emphasis that has me pressing my ear closer to the door.
“You mean other than Sister Vereda’s illness leaving us Sightless at a time when our young duchess is fending off angry suitors and trying to keep the French from sweeping in and claiming our duchy as their own? When our country is threatened by civil war and risking outright invasion?” The reverend mother’s voice is drier than the week-old bread we feed the pigs. My thoughts fly immediately to Ismae and Sybella and countless others out in the world. Without a seeress, how will we guide their hands? This will leave them exposed and instructionless when they can least afford to be.
“I should not have to point out to you that it is rare enough for one of Mortain’s handmaidens to take ill, even one as old as Sister Vereda. Does that not hint at some—”
“Enough!” The abbess’s voice slices through the air, cutting short the words I was so breathlessly waiting to hear. “You are not to share your doubts or concerns with anyone. Have Sister Thomine sent to my office immediately.”
There is a long, heavy pause that is finally broken by Sister Eonette. “But of course, Reverend Mother.” Her voice drips with sarcasm so sharp it is almost mockery. I expect the abbess to take her to task for it, to slap her or order her to do penance for showing such disrespect, but she does not.
The soft tread of Sister Eonette’s footsteps approaching the chamber door spurs me to action. Quickly, before she exits, I scamper down the hall, then begin walking toward the office so I am a good six paces away when Sister Eonette steps out. She glances at me. “She has a meeting with Sister Thomine,” she tells me.
“Is Sister Thomine in there already?” I ask innocently.
“No, I am to fetch her.”
“I will only take a minute.” I give her a quick, cheerful smile meant to appease her, but she simply jerks one shoulder in an annoyed shrug. “Very well, but I warn you, she is not in good humor this morning.”
“Thank you for the warning, Sister.”
She nods curtly, then brushes past me to fetch Sister Thomine. With my head swirling full of questions, I rap softly on the abbess’s door.
“Come in.”
It has taken me well over five years to be able to enter this office without my heart racing in fear. I am pleased that today all I must fear is that the abbess will sense my curiosity.
“Annith!” The abbess puts down her quill. Even though she smiles, it does not reach her eyes, and her skin is pulled tight with worry. “What a lovely surprise. Have we a meeting today that I forgot?”