She purses her mouth. Beneath the cowl of her hood, shadows swirl, even in brightest sunlight. “I am in the market for a blade. One can never underestimate the tithe. I’m sure you understand.”
My palms dampen, the leather-wrapped hilt fusing to my skin. She dares speak of the tithe? Here?
“May I?” She reaches for one of the blades encased in its protective sheath, and I nod, watching her slide the weapon free of its casing, fitting the hilt to her palm.
“Ah!” A bark of pain, and the dagger slips through her grotesquely elongated fingers. It clatters against the table. I recoil from the sound.
The woman whimpers, clutching her hand to her chest, teeth gritted. Horror bleeds like a killing cold through me. “I’m so sorry.” I glance around in a panic. Harper hunches behind Isobel, who clings to another novitiate as the group cowers behind the wagon. “I can fetch you a healer—”
“It’s not your fault.” Her hand unfolds, revealing large white growths swelling on her streaked gray skin. “A mortal-forged blade would contain iron.” She closes her wounded hand, smiling tightly, and slips it into her pocket. “I should have known better.”
“You should not be here.” Mother Mabel speaks softly, stepping in front of the woman with her chin erect, dark eyes ablaze with the fury of a thousand suns. She presses forward, forcing the visitor into the center of the lane. “I will give you the opportunity to leaveKilkare freely. Otherwise, I will call the sheriff, and he will not be so merciful. Choose wisely.”
The woman looks to me. I flinch, yet hold my ground. Is that fear, or do I only imagine the emotion crossing her expression? Pulling her cloak tightly around her body, she hurries off, glancing over her shoulder once before slipping down an alley.
Mother Mabel turns to me, her mouth pinched with suppressed rage. “She did not harm you, did she?”
“No, Mother Mabel.” My voice wobbles. It must be shock, for my limbs buzz with a numbing cold.
Relief softens her face, eases those lines of worry. “Good.” She scans the area. “I do not know how that creature was able to enter Kilkare, but if one managed to slip through the gates, there might be more. It is best if we return to Thornbrook immediately.”
We have barely finished unloading the wagon before I’m hurrying to the dormitory, taking the stairs two at a time. I’ve ten minutes before the dinner bell rings.
My boots slap the icy flagstones. The wall sconces dance, teased by the moving air snaking through the vacant hall. I’ve nearly reached my bedroom when a shape snags the edge of my vision, and I falter.
Harper stands in a shadowed alcove, watching me.
The surge of fear is so overpowering I momentarily cease to breathe. How did she arrive here before me? When I left the courtyard, she and Isobel were deep in discussion, likely plotting how best to humiliate me, and at the soonest hour possible. It matters not that we are women grown. In their eyes, I am Mother Mabel’s pet. My very existence is a threat to their ambitions, for they, too, desire the acolyte’s red stole.
“Are you following me?” I ask, chin lifted despite my thundering heart.
Harper slinks into the light, no better than a fox in the brush. “What are you hiding, Brielle? What is it you wish to keep hidden from prying eyes?”
She suspects, but she does not know. It makes no difference. My door is locked. Only Mother Mabel and I have a key.
“I’m going to change for dinner,” I state with impressive calm.
She cuts into my path, blocking my way forward. “Do you think I’m blind? The others are oblivious, to be certain. Perfect Brielle, who can do no wrong. But I see beyond that.” One step closer and we stand nose to nose. She is so slight in comparison to me. “I see the truth.”
I’m shaking. The fury and the fear. “I do not answer to you.”
“No, you don’t.” Looking over my shoulder, she croons, “Good evening, Mother Mabel.”
“Good evening, Harper.”
My heart skips a beat. Harper’s smile reveals bone-white teeth.
Slowly, I pivot to face Mother Mabel. Hands clasped at her front, she strides forward, boots scuffing the ground. That heavy gold necklace hangs like a yoke around her neck. “You claimed the matter was urgent,” she says with thinly veiled irritation. “Well? What is so urgent that you would have me delay supper?”
Harper’s mouth pulls in obvious discontent. “I’m afraid one of our own has made a grievous error.” She gestures to me. “It is my belief Brielle has brought an outsider into the abbey.”
I cannot speak. If I open my mouth, I fear I will vomit.
Mother Mabel’s face grows pointed with displeasure. “That is a harsh accusation. Do you have evidence to support this?”
“I do,” she replies, head bowed, the image of pious humility. “I’d hoped it was untrue, but I heard something yesterday. A man’s voice.” She swallows. “Groaning.”
There is a pause. All is still. “A man, you say?”
