“Let’s remember, no one knows you’re fae. Not yet. We’re saving that secret until the right time.”
“I remember,” she reassures me.
I flick my eyes to the road ahead. “Why not let me deal with the Sisters. I have no qualms about rubbing old ladies’ faces in goat shit. I’ll tell them you sent a message—me, with a wooden baton to break down the damn cell they used to lock you in.”
She flicks me a grateful glance but shakes her head. “Thanks, but I need to see their faces myself. I want them to seeme. Think hard about how much they wronged me and Myst and?—”
We crest the hill, and I see it before she does.
But only by a split second.
Sun-bleached stone walls ten feet high, surrounding several acres, with a heavy oak gate. The only thing visible above the wall is a church spire.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, it can only be one thing.
Sabine settles back in the saddle as if struck. Myst stops short, too, her tail swishing in irritation.
I rub my shoulder—that damn old ache is going to kill me. “So that’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.” Her voice is distant.
I’d clung to a small hope that maybe the Convent had been shut down, or the old Sisters inside had all died from some plague. But even from here, I can smell a cookfire burning. Hear the bleating of goats, followed by a woman’s sharp scold to them.
Sabine nudges Myst forward with a heaviness like they’re both somewhere I can’t reach them.
“Fuck their apples, right?” I say.
And get no response. As far as Sabine is concerned, I don’t think anything exists anymore beyond her and the Convent.
We’re twenty feet from the gate when the hinges suddenly groan, and a bent-over woman shuffles out, dragging a sack of apple mash with bees buzzing around it, muttering curses under her breath.
She stops short when she sees us.
She’s younger than I expected. Maybe late forties. The only Sister I’ve met before was the ancient and wizened Matron White, when she came to Hekkelveld Castle for Rian’s coronation. But despite this Sister’s relative youth, the deep sagsat the corners of her mouth speak of decades of scowls, frowns, and sneers.
Her eyes scan over me—a ripple of licentious interest entirely unsuitable for a nun—but then land on Sabine.
Recognition fills her eyes. She positivelyyelpsin surprise.
I see Sabine straighten, hear her pull in a clean breath.
Damn right, I think to myself, because a part of me will always want to see Sabine’s enemies bow to her.You fucked with the wrong little violet.
“Sabine!” the woman cries, one hand on her unkempt red robes, a filthy apron thrown over top. “What are you doing back here, girl?”
I wince at that.Girl. As if she’s still the servant who scrubbed their floors. Surely—surely—rumors have reached them that their former ward is no one to trifle with now.
“Sister Rose,” Sabine says, drawing herself up to her full height like a queen about to lay down a pronouncement. “It’s been a long?—”
Sister Rose suddenly bursts into laughter, cutting her off. The crone doubles over, gripping her belly to hold in her cruel taunts. “By the gods, am I looking at that same old nag? Myst, was it? Lords above! How is it still standing? We all thought it would collapse on the road to Duren, all bones and sinew. Not enough meat for the coyotes.”
Sabine’s lips hang open in shock. She looks frozen—except for her rapidly reddening cheeks.
I shift on Ranger, snapping to alert.
The Sister doesn’t seem to notice Sabine’s growing anger—or care. “Oh, that fine lord who bought you didn’t keep you long, did he? Must have seen how much trouble you were, just like we knew he would. Threw you out, eh?” She ducks her head back through the gate. “Sister Ruby! Sister Scarlet! Come see the latest riffraff to blow up to our doorstep!”
No, I think to myself sharply.No, lady. Shut up.
