Four of the younger girls are grappling together, and Sister Thomine has paired herself with Annith. when she sees me, she waves me over, glad to pass off this duty to someone else.
Annith is highly skilled in this art.
As she steps away, I bow formally to Annith. She returns the bow, then takes her stance. As I take mine, I suppress a snort of laughter. If only that oaf from the tavern could see me now.
And then Annith comes at me in a quick flash of supple muscles and sleek limbs as she steps inside my guard and wraps her arms around my neck. “How did it go?” she whispers.
“Perfectly.” I bring both my arms up and jerk them outward, breaking her grip. “As smooth as Sister Beatriz’s finest silk.”
Annith feints to the side, then grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. “There were no difficulties?”
I grit my teeth against the pain. “None. except for bit of lip from a serving maid and a grope from a drunken oaf, but that was all. I even saw the marque of Mortain,” I whisper.
“But you have not yet received the Tears of Mortain!” she says, relaxing her hold.
“I know.” I try to keep the smugness from my voice, but it is there all the same. To distract her, I step sharply back to knock her off balance, then spin out of her loosened grip and continue moving until I am behind her with my right arm tight against her throat. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure it will be your turn soon.”
“Girls!” Sister Thomine calls out. "Enough chatter, unless your plan is to talk your victims to death.”
Annith reaches up and pinches a spot at the base of my wrist. My hand goes numb and she slides out of my grasp. I try to hold on to her with one hand, but she is slippery as an eel and evades my hold. “No news of Sybella yet?” I ask as I shake off the numbness.
Annith springs behind me. Like a whipcord, her arm comes around my neck. “No, none of the sisters will breathe a word. And if Reverend Mother talks of her, she does so only when I am asleep and cannot listen at the door. It is as if Sybella has ceased to exist,” she says just before she tries to choke me.
I tuck my chin under to block her attempt. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” My words are thick and garbled under her grip at my throat. “This is her third assignment, after all.”
Annith grunts, and I know her thoughts turn to their familiar concern — why others have been chosen and she has not. She grabs my arm, spins around in front of me, then levers my body over her shoulder. For one brief moment I fly through the air. The painful landing on my back forces all the breath from my lungs, and I gasp like a caught fish.
“Fourth,” Annith says, looking down at me. “It is her fourth assignment.”
Chapter Seven
“Careful!” Sister Serafina scolds. “Don’t let it boil or it will turn to resin and be of no use.”
“Yes, Sister.” I keep my eyes fixed on the small flask I hold over the flame. Tiny bubbles have begun to form along the sides of the glass, but it is not boiling. Not yet.
"Excellent,” she says from just behind my shoulder. “Now put it over here to cool.”
Using iron tongs, I lift the flask and set it on a cooling stone. we are brewing up a fresh batch of night whispers. In its current volatile state, it will kill anyone who breathes its fumes, causing the lungs to harden and become rigid and brittle as glass.
Anyone except for Sister Serafina and me. we are immune.
“Once it cools,” she says, "We’ll add it to this candle wax, and then — ” A knock on the door interrupts her. “Don’t come in!” she calls out in alarm.
“I won’t.” It is Annith, who surely knows better than to enter. “Reverend Mother has asked that Ismae come to her office right away.”
The thrill of this summons makes my heart flutter. The only time I have been called to her office since I arrived is to receive news of an assignment. without waiting for the nun to dismiss me, I hurry to the stone basin, where I begin scrubbing the last traces of poison from my hands.
Sister Serafina heaves a sigh of annoyance. “How the holy mother expects me to supply all our poisons without help is surely one of Mortain’s great mysteries.”
I glance sideways at her. “You’d think she would send Annith instead.”
Sister Serafina pins me with a severe look. “The reverend mother has her reasons. Now go. Do not make her wait.”
I go, being sure to curtsy so as not to antagonize her further. She thinks she has told me nothing, but it is just the opposite. I now know that there is an actual reason that Annith has not been sent out. And if Sister Serafina knows what it is, surely Annith and I can find out as well.
On my way to the reverend mother’s office, I straighten my veil and brush a bit of dust from my skirts. I pause at the door, take a deep breath and compose my features, then knock.
"Enter.”
when I step into the office, the sight of a man sitting there is as shocking as a clap of thunder in the quiet room. His hair is white, as is his neatly trimmed beard. A heavy gold chain with a bejeweled pendant winks at me from the fur collar of his thick brocade robe.
“Come in, Ismae,” the abbess says. “I’d like you to meet Chancellor Crunard. He is a patron of our convent and acts as the liaison between us and the outside world.”
He is also head of one of the oldest and noblest families in Brittany and a hero of the last four wars. He has fought long and hard for our independence. Indeed, every one of his sons has died fighting against the French. I sink into a respectful curtsy. “Good day, my lord.”
He nods a brief greeting, his eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts.
"We have another assignment for you,” the reverend mother says, and a fierce triumph rises up in me at this newest opportunity to prove my worthiness.
The abbess leans back in her chair and folds her arms. "What has Sister Eonette told you of our political situation?” She asks the question lightly enough, but with the reverend mother, everything is a test. She will not care how many of Sister Eonette’s lectures I have missed because Sister Serafina needed my help or because I was stuck in the scriptorium, struggling with my letters.
I fold my hands primly in front of me. “Our beloved Duke Francis died nearly two months ago, harried unto death by the aggression of the French regent. He and the other nobles fought hard to halt France’s overreaching her authority, but they were defeated. Because of this defeat, our duke was forced to accept the Treaty of Verger, the terms of which are favorable to the French and make it difficult for our country to maintain its independence.”