“Your methods may be kinder, but what you have done is a betrayal all the same. At least with the Dragonette, we would not have been fooled by a false sense of kindness and regard. We were not tricked into believing she had our best interests at heart.”
Except for me. I had been that stupid and blind, and even now, I still don’t know if the Dragonette cared for me more than the others or hated me beyond reason.
The abbess’s lips press flat and her pupils grow small, two small black pinpricks in orbs of blue silk. “Is this how you thank me for all those years of kindness to you? For all that I have done on your behalf?”
“I do not want your kindness if the cost is others’ lives. Even if you are willing to pay such a price, I am not.” And that is at the heart of it. The rottenness at the core of her fondness for me.
She holds her hand up, as if warding off a blow. “Enough. I do not have time to bring a wayward novitiate to heel. There are too many real problems that threaten to destroy the very fabric of our country and our faith. I have half a mind to strap you to a cart and have you hauled back to the convent.” She is quiet a long moment and I wonder if she sees something in my face that makes her reconsider such an action. “But for now,” she continues, “I will have you escorted to chambers, where you will remain until I come for you.”
She steps from behind her desk and brushes past me. I wonder what she would do if I reached out and grabbed her sleeve and demanded she answer me. My hand twitches, but I cannot bring myself to do it.
She jerks open the door to call for a page.
“Where are Ismae and Sybella?” I ask.
At my question, she freezes, then slowly turns to face me. “Ismae is here, attending the duchess. Sybella . . . Sybella is out on an assignment. In fact, I must prepare you—it is possible she will not return. Even if she were to survive the task Mortain has set for her, her own death wish has been heavy upon her of late, and I cannot vouch for what she might be thinking.”
A new wave of fury swells up within me, but before I can act on it, the page arrives. Ignoring me, she turns to him. “See that Lady Annith is given a chamber in the western wing, then tell the maids to arrange a bath.” She turns back to me and rakes her searing gaze over me. “You reek of poorly tanned leather and wood smoke.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ALONE IN THE CHAMBER AND feeling as boneless as an eel, I lower myself onto one of the short stools.
I did it. I faced the abbess and called her to account. The very core of my being is a-tremble with the ramifications of that.
Ever since I was a child, I knew in my marrow that if I did not wish to be cast from the only home I had ever known—to lose the only small crumbs of affection I had ever received—then I had to do and be exactly what the nuns wished.
And now I have sent everything tumbling madly into disarray.
The knock on the door nearly causes my heart to fly out of my chest. Gripping my skirt in my fists, I stand up, raise my chin, and hope that the tangle of emotions I am feeling will not show on my face. “Come in.”
It is only two maidservants bearing a copper tub. I leave them to fill it and go to stare out the window, their gentle prattle falling over me like a soft rain.
The abbess may well try and force me to return to the convent, silent and in disgrace, but I will not go back. Not like that. Indeed, I can see no way I can ever return to the convent, for the abbess will not let me return in victory, and I refuse to do so in defeat.
“Does my lady wish assistance with her bath?” It takes me a bewildered moment to focus on the maid’s voice.
“No, thank you. I can tend to it myself.” Once I am alone, I step out of my skirt, then remove the leather leggings I wore under it, wrinkling my nose. The abbess is right; I do reek.
I slip out of my shift, check to make sure the linen towel and small pot of soap are within reach, then lower myself into the steaming water. I try to quiet my mind, to simply be satisfied that I am here. I have made it to Rennes and presented my grievances to the abbess. Considering all the dangers and detours I have faced on this journey, I have achieved far more than I had ever hoped for.
I turn to the business of scrubbing away weeks’ worth of travel. When I am done, I step out of the tub and reach for the linen towel. I am nearly dry when I realize the only clean gown I have to wear has been wadded up in my satchel for well over a month. I grimace at the idea of donning the wilted, wrinkled thing—especially having seen all the finery worn at court—but there is nothing for it. I cannot prance about in naught but a linen towel.
I have just slipped my one clean shift over my head and tugged it into place when there is a small commotion at the door. Expecting the abbess to come in and resume her earlier argument, I whirl around just as it is thrown open. It is not the abbess, but—
“Ismae!” My entire body lights up like a candle, and before I know what I am doing, I cross the room and throw my arms around her.
She takes a moment to shut the door behind her with her foot, then hugs me back. “It is you. The page kept insisting he had escorted someone named Annith, and I kept insisting he must be mistaken.”
Keeping her hands firmly clasped on my arms, she pulls back to study me. She is the same Ismae, but different too. There is an ease to her face and manner, but a new sharpness as well. “I take it by your warm greeting you are not angry with me?”
“No!” I hug her once more, savoring the warm, solid feel of her in my arms, safe and alive and unharmed, then force myself to release her lest she think I have turned into a clinging vine. “Angry with you? Why ever would I be angry with you?”
“When you did not answer my last two letters, I thought perhaps the abbess had told you of how I had veered from the course she had set for me.”
“But I answered the last letter I received from you. It was the one asking about lovers. Were there more after that?”
“Yes. Did you not receive the message I wrote begging you to tell me the antidote to Arduinna’s snare?”
Her question punches me like a fist, for it could only mean that the abbess confiscated the letters. “No, but surely you know the antidote? It is one of your gifts!”
Ismae looks down at her hands as if she still cannot believe it. “I do now, but I did not know until it was nearly too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Oh! We have so very much to catch up on! But first, what are you doing here? How did you get here? And does the abbess know?”