Her question gives me pause. No one has ever asked this of me, but I thought the answer was obvious. “I wish to bring myself closer to the Father,” I say. “I wish to be His servant in all ways.”
“You do not wish for something different? A family, or your own home to tend? There is no shame in it.”
“I do not.” My response does not waver. Only the Father may claim my wounded heart.
Mother Mabel closes the Text with a snap. “I wonder if the abbey is enough for you.”
The pit that has steadily amassed in my stomach opens wide and engulfing. Am I no longer welcome here? If so, what purpose will I serve?Whowill I serve, if not the Father? Another moment ticks by before I’m able to collect myself. “It is enough, I promise you. I do not wish to leave.” My voice fractures.
She sighs. Fabric shifts as she rounds the desk in a few short strides and gently cups my cheek with one hand. “I do not wish that either. I have never met anyone so focused on their studies. But with your behavior of late, I have begun to question your place here.”
The coolness of her touch only serves to remind me how feverish I have become. Turning my head away, I fight to regulate my increasingly chaotic emotions. “I never want to disappoint you, Mother Mabel. I’ve worked hard to prove I belong here.”
“You are dedicated,” she assures me. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
I should find satisfaction in Mother Mabel’s words. Rarely does she bestow praise. Yet this conversation stirs up many long-lived insecurities.
“If I am worthy,” I dare to say, “why have you continued to pass me over?” My hands ball into fists. “A decade I have been at Thornbrook. Why choose novitiates less driven, less experienced, than I?”
She drops her hand, pulls away. I cannot read her expression. “I admit I have been unfair to you. When one becomes an acolyte, one gives everything to the Father. Your studies become more intense, your cause calls you away to the outer reaches of the realm.” Finest lines feather her mouth, its subtle upward curve. “But I need you here, in the forge. You are the only one who can do what you do.”
“So you will keep me a novitiate forever?”
She shakes her head. “Truthfully, I was going to select you as a candidate this year, until I learned of recent occurrences.”
We stare at one another, but she has always been obdurate, uncowed. I drop my gaze to the floor.
Mother Mabel says, “I know you have visited Under.”
Calmly, I lift my eyes. Sadness and grief bring years to one’s face, but this has never been more evident than it is now. Between one blink and the next, folds sink into the soft flesh of her visage, the skin sagging beneath the chin, but in the next blink, the vision vanishes. She remains unaged.
“Mother Mabel.” The words crumble to a dry wheeze, and I fall to my knees. “I’m sorry. I admit, I have visited Under, just once.” The trembling in my limbs intensifies, for I fear. Oh, how I fear. “When you asked me if there was anything I wished to tell you, I was afraid. I thought that if you learned I had broken the rules, you would send me away. The truth is, I stumbled across a wounded man in the forest, and he manipulated me into trusting him. He took me into Under.”
“Who did? I want a name.”
“Zephyrus.” Curiously, the air changes shape around his name, but I fear witnessing the abbess’ reaction and keep my focus on the floor. “I do not know how to explain it, Mother Mabel. It was…”
“Terrifying?” she inquires softly.
Closing my eyes, I let the warmth of her compassion wash over me.
“Yes.” That inky lake, those scarlet glass orbs, the field of roses sheltered within the cave. “There is much I do not understand about the realm.”
Mother Mabel rounds my other side. “My dear, we have all been tempted by Under one way or another. However, as Daughters of Thornbrook, we must remember our purpose. We must stay the course.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It was a brief upset. I promise it will not happen again. I will work hard to regain your trust.”
“It is not my trust you need to regain. It is His.”
The comment lands with painful precision, as intended. I stay quiet.
She touches my shoulder in comfort, a fleeting warmth. “I wish you would have come to me. I would have been able to guide you through this mess. It hurts me to know you have been suffering.”
She’s right. Ihavebeen suffering. But wasn’t that the point of my punishment? What else did she expect me to do?
“Do you know why you’re asked to forge the iron daggers for the tithe?”
“I assumed it was for the ceremony, for the participants’ protection, since iron is fatal to the fair folk.”
