“I’m all right,” I say, the truth confined in that tiny inner room. “Truly. Just tired.”
“I’m sure an Apostle wedding is quite an undertaking,” Carina says with a little laugh, looking over at me.
“Lady Amadeus is handling most of it,” I say with a shrug, taking a sip of my tea. It’s still too hot and singes the roof of my mouth. “How are things with you and Augustus?”
“Butyou’ll be Lady Amadeus soon,” she reminds me, shifting to sit closer to me, our shoulders brushing. I wait for her to answer my question, but she just arches her brow at me.
“You know I have no interest in any of that,” I tell her with a laugh, turning away. “I just want to be safe from Sergio.”
“I know,” she replies, her words barely more than an exhale. “But that’s the trade-off, I suppose. And I can hardly believe Sir Renault doesn’t havesomefeelings for you to offer such a thing.”
My fingers tremble around the wide, gilded mouth of the teacup, some of that safety ebbing away. “I believe he values my abilities, my devoutness,” I say carefully, blowing on the hot tea to cool it down. “But love or infatuation? I think not.”
“You are widely considered to be the most beautiful of foundlings.Andyou were Spared,” Carina reminds me wryly, arching a brow. “’Tis a fair match, I think. The First Son rewards Renault for all his accomplishments with your beauty and acknowledges your unwavering faith with a marriage that’ll make you a noblewoman.”
At no time in my life would I have agreed with Carina’s words, but now I disagree for entirely new reasons. Unholy reasons. I stare into the coils of steam wafting off the dark mouth of my teacup, yet again unable to stop thinking of the Lupa Nox. Her words slink into my mind, unbidden.
The men of the Host love nothing more than a woman’s suffering.
Is the suffering sweeter, I wonder, if the woman is considered beautiful? If they can take a thing they see as near-perfect and mar it with the teeth of a flail, the bite of endless rebukes? Is the reward a woman’s beauty, or is it the ability to do with that beauty what they see fit?
I slam the teacup into my teeth, taking another searing gulp. I deserve the pain for such thoughts, these impurities clogging my mind. My fingers tighten, and I consider breaking the porcelain, using the shards to cut into my skin until I feel I’ve served my penance.
That won’t do, particularly not before the wedding. With a shuddering breath, I set the teacup down on the edge of the stone hearth. My body—my weak, ineffective, wicked body—is already compromised enough by my penance last night. And by the dark-haired, cruel-mouthed knight in the Vincula.
“Ophelia,” Carina says gently, breaking the spiral of my thoughts. I turn sharply to look at her. My dearest friend raises her hand, tucking a loose wave of hair back into my braid. Then her fingers cup my chin, and she holds my gaze, examining me. “What is going on?Somethingis going on. Please don’t try to deny it. Is this because of the Saints? Because I lied to you?”
The breath dies in my throat, and I choke on nothing, causing Carina to release my chin and shift back, offering me my teacup.
“I’m fine,” I manage, pressing my hands to my eyes. “I mean, I don’t need a sip of tea. Tea won’t fix this.”
And then, wrapped in the orange glow of the hearth and the comfort of my room and the safety of my oldest friendship, everything comes spilling out. The Lupa Nox, the threats from the High Ecclesia, my fears about Sergio or a burning if Renault and I can’t marry, if the First Son never grants me the Mysteries, if the knight corrupts me.
My dear, sweet, thoughtful Carina listens without interrupting. When I collapse into tears—complete with unseemly hiccups and strained words—she pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and then takes my hand in hers.
“So,” I mumble, gripping her palm. “That’s all of it, I suppose.”
For a few moments, she raises her free hand to dab the tears from my face. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of care, of love, of support, come what may.
“But she is a woman,” Carina eventually murmurs, her head tilted to one side, lips pressing together as she considers. “How could she corrupt you in that way?”
Panic crowds my throat, and I stutter out something meaningless. Carina just waits, her deep brown eyes patient, as I find my words.
“I’ve...I’ve al-always been like this,” I manage, my voice hoarse from crying. “The w-way we used to talk about our future h-husbands as girls? I’ve always f-felt it for w-women, not men.”
She furrows her brow, the movement exaggerated by a slant of firelight, and pulls her hand from mine. My heart plummets.
“Ophelia,” Carina whispers, something not unlike horror etching her face. “This is a grievous sin. We are only meant to couple in order to bring children into the Church, and such a union could never result in that goal.”
A sob spills out of my mouth even though I could’ve sworn I had no tears left. “I know,” I choke out. “I’ve tried to stop, Carina. I cannot tell you how much I’ve prayed and begged and cleansed. And I thought I had. I thought it was gone when I no longer felt that way for you?—”
“For me?” Carina demands, her tone shrill, as she leaps to her feet. I realize my mistake too late, my hands still floating in the air somewhere around where my dearest, oldest friend should be. “Me, Ophelia? You’ve harbored these feelings forme?”
I swallow and say nothing, unable to summon a defense of myself, but apparently that’s answer enough for Carina. She storms the few quick steps to the door, shoves her feet into her boots, and is gone before I can manage to stand. I still try, though, snatching my cane and hobbling across the room. Myheart pounding, I pull the door open desperately and stumble into the hall, tripping on the uneven stones.
I fall, my knees and then the heels of my palms hitting the cold floor. Pain ricochets through me, and every part of my body that hurts—my hips, the flog wounds on my back—explodes into agony. But I have no tears left, no words to fix the destruction I’ve reaped, so all I can do is open my mouth in a silent scream.
In the distance, I hear footfalls and a low, gruff voice calling out. I push myself to my knees, grappling at my cane, and drag myself to my feet before anyone can come to my rescue.
