She burst into the room she shared with the other nuns, her heart racing. The echo of her footsteps stirred the silence of the convent, waking the others.
“Claire?” a voice called sleepily from behind one of the doors. Another creaked open. Questions followed her down the hall. Half-asleep, confused voices asked what was happening, but she didn’t answer. She grabbed her father’s coat, her clothes and keepsakes hidden beneath her cot, and piled them onto her bedsheet before tying it into a makeshift bundle.
Her hands froze when her gaze fell on the drawing atop her table. Mirela’s sketch. Someone must’ve been snooping around if it was on the table next to her bed. She pickedit up with trembling hands and pressed it against her chest, holding it there for a heartbeat before tucking it carefully into the folds of the bundle with the new drawings Mirela had gifted her back in the cathedral.
Somewhere in the distance, voices rose. There were footsteps and Sister Margaret shouting as Mother Beatrice’s voice came in a frightening and sharp yell. “Sister Claire! Come back!”
Claire ignored them. She ran. Down the corridor, past the doors, through the main hall where candlelight flickered against the walls. The sound of her own heartbeat drowned out everything else.
When she reached the heavy convent doors, she pushed them open with both hands as cold night air rushed in. Standing at the edge of the courtyard, cloaked in moonlight, was Mirela, waiting for her.
Claire didn’t look back as she ran toward her.
Chapter ten
Claire
Thecathedralwaseerilyquiet when they returned. The candles along the hallways had burned down to their stubs, their faint light quivering against the cold stone. They took the spiral stairs, their footsteps echoing softly up the tower’s spine, the air filled with the flutter of wings.
Birds circled above them, their coos threading through the stillness. Claire glanced up uneasily. “Do they never unsettle you?”
Mirela smiled faintly. “No. They’ve become my friends. I feed them when I have leftover bread. I don’t get too attached since many never return.”
“You remember each one?” Claire asked, her brow furrowing.
“Other than the gargoyles,” Mirela said, “they’re the only ones that keep me company.”
Claire didn’t answer. She could feel Mirela’s curious gaze on her. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She knew that. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to leave if it meant leaving Mirela alone.
When they reached the landing, Mirela opened the door to her chamber. Inside, the air smelled of dust, wax, and charcoal. Drawings covered every surface. There were birds, gargoyles, the city skyline, and her. Mirela had clearly kept herself busy.
Claire froze. “You have more drawings of me,” she whispered, stepping closer to one of the sketches pinned near the wall.
Mirela turned away shyly. “I can’t seem to find beauty in anything else. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Claire smiled softly and reached into her bundle, pulling out the folded paper she’d kept tucked away since that first night. “I kept the first one you gave me.”
Mirela’s eyes widened. “You did?”
She sounded so surprised Claire’s heart ached. Why wouldn’t she keep it? That drawing was a treasure she would cherish for the rest of her life…
“Of course. It’s a reminder of the day we met,” Claire said, pressing the drawing to her chest.
Mirela said nothing, but her expression softened. She touched one of the sketches on the table.
“When I was younger, I used to beg Ferron for pastels, pencils… anything I could draw with. I was obsessed with the paintings in the church. I wanted to make something beautiful too.” Her voice faltered. “He thought that a creature like me could never make something beautiful, and even so, he brought me the materials…”
Mirela stopped tapping her fingers over one specific drawing of a bird.
“I would gift him the drawings…” She shrugged. “It was the only thing I possessed… and he would take what I made but never keep them. Once I saw him throw them out into the street.”
Claire’s heart twisted. That man was evil. There was no doubt about it in her mind. “If I were him, I’d have kept every single one. I’d build a whole room filled with them.”
Mirela blinked, startled, as though the idea had never occurred to her.
Claire smiled through her ache. “We will have a room full of them.”
“Claire—“
