When Kyla and Thomas announced their wedding, it threw the convent into a flurry of preparation.
They’ve forgotten,Una thought bitterly.And when Laird Dickson comes with all his soldiers to wipe them out, they’ll be surprised, as if they weren’t expecting it.
Fools.
The Great Hall was empty now. Only a few of the nuns remained, sweeping up old, crushed rushes and scrubbing a few wine stains off the heavy wooden table. Una was vaguely aware that she should offer to help. She still lived in the convent, as she had since she was taken away from Keep Dickson, but she hadn’t received any official duties for what seemed like weeks.
When the daily drills were over, Una found herself with nothing to do. She wandered around the library, although she’d never been much of a reader. She learned well enough, just like her brother Kai did when they were children, but there was never much opportunity to read after that. She’d taken to jogging around the perimeter of the convent if the weather was good, just to give herself something to do.
“The Abbess wants to see ye.”
Una flinched at the voice from behind her and twisted around to see Senga there, concentrating on picking up scraps of bread from a low table.
Senga was one of Kyla’s friends. When Una had first come to the convent, she’d met the four girls, all firm friends. There was Kyla, Senga, and Astrid, along with Freya. At the time, Una had longed to be part of a group like that, with such closeness, almost like sisters.
But now Kyla was newly married, and so were Astrid and Freya, both with clans of their own to run. They all barely saw each other, and not outside the realms of politics and warfare. Senga especially seemed like a sad figure, thin and tired andalone, stuck inside the convent. She was beautiful, with long, fair hair that always came loose from its bindings and hung around her face.
Una didn’t bother to ask if Senga missed her friends. She already knew the answer. Lately, Senga had begun keeping the nuns’ hours, getting up for prayers through the night and attending services during the day. Una wondered if she intended to become a nun herself, lacking anything else to do with her life.
Senga paused when Una didn’t answer and glanced up, eyebrows lifting. She gestured with a piece of bread. “For the birds, in case ye were wondering. Well? Are ye going? The Abbess doesn’t like to be kept waiting, ye know.”
Una flushed. “Sorry, I’m… I’m not myself today.”
“Aye, ye haven’t been yerself since the battle.”
She flinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Senga shrugged. “Warfare is hard on a person. All that blood.”
“I’m a warrior,” Una insisted. “I can fight.”
“I didn’t say ye couldn’t fight. I didn’t say ye weren’t a warrior,” Senga returned tiredly. “I only said that it’s hard on a person. If ye don’t mind my saying, ye look as though ye haven’t been sleeping. In fact, I know ye haven’t. I came back from matins to see a light on under yer door.”
Una bit her lip. “Aye, well, with the guards taking to falling asleep during their watches, somebody has to be awake. They seem to think that the danger is gone and that Laird Dickson has forgotten about us. How stupid can they be? We have his son. He’s coming for him, make no mistake.”
Senga sighed, swiping her sleeve across her forehead. “Aye, people do forget quickly. But they can be reminded, too. Just like I’m about to remind ye to go and see the Abbess.”
Una rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Fine, fine, I’ll go.”
Senga chuckled, shaking her head, and continued along the table, picking up pieces of bread. In the corners of the room, Una saw tiny shadows, which were probably rats and mice, coming to feast upon the fallen bounty. She turned her back purposefullytowards the empty Hall, with Senga moving sadly and slowly through it, and headed back into the convent itself.
It was nearly time for Compline—the time for evening prayers. Una had learned the canonical hours very well since being here. She had never thought she would feel comfortable in a convent, but St. Deborah’s was something else. The nuns acted as mediators, accountants, and healers to the town, and their dining hall was kept as an infirmary.
In the days after the battle, it was full of moaning, bleeding soldiers, dying and recovering alternatively in the overcrowded space. Una had gone there herself and bore a scar across the outside of her upper arm, about a hand’s length long, in memory. It had been sewn up well by Sister Abigail herself, generally thought to be the best healer in the convent.
Everybody in the town came here. They received medicine, got bones set, cuts sewn up, babies delivered, and more. They borrowed books from the library, went to the Abbess for advice if she had time to see them, and worked in the gardens or kitchens. The convent was the heart of the town.
That meant that if Laird Dickson wanted to kill the town, he only had to rip away the convent.
Una shivered. Without their soldiers, the conventwouldfall. What could a bunch of nuns—quiet, unassuming, and often middle-aged women—do against a man like Laird Dickson?
She reached the unobtrusive door that led to the Abbess’ study and knocked.
“Come in,” came the older woman’s deep, authoritative voice, and Una did just that. The Abbess was leaning over her desk, scribbling something, and flapped her hand vaguely in Una’s direction. The implication was clear.
Wait.
The Abbess’ study was always untidy, a stark contrast to the rest of the place. There were books and papers everywhere, thewalls covered in hangings and pictures. Most recently, a well-polished copper circle, engraved at the corners, had been hung near the door. Despite herself, Una leaned closer, eyeing it curiously.
