I roll my eyes and grimace. “Oh, she knows. And is most upset, which is not unexpected. As for the rest, it is a long and complicated story.”
She studies me a moment longer, then gives my arms a squeeze. “Go. Sit. I will see some refreshment is brought and you can tell me your long and complicated story.”
“I would like that,” I say. As Ismae goes to the door and gives instructions to someone outside, I take my gown from the satchel and pull it over my head. Ismae turns around just then and grimaces. “You cannot wear that. Not in that state.” As she yanks the door open once more and calls to the servant to bring a fresh gown from her chamber as well as the refreshments, I marvel at the changes in her. Not just the physical changes, although those are marked, but the changes in her very manner, how she moves though the world and talks to others. The hesitant girl who was always waiting for permission and unsure of her station now has the bearing and confidence of one of our most experienced initiates. She is a full-fledged handmaiden of Death and living the life I have always imagined for myself. The joy I feel at seeing her once more dims slightly at my own uncertain future with the convent. “You’ve changed,” I say when she returns from the door.
She smiles. “As have you.” We both sit, and her polished demeanor falls away as she leans forward, her eyes wide and incredulous. “Did you truly leave the convent against the abbess’s wishes?”
“I did. Oh, Ismae. There is so much to tell you of, and very little of it good. Matelaine”—my voice gets stuck in my throat and I can hardly get the words out—“Matelaine is dead.” Much to my surprise, I feel tears form, tears I have not been able to shed since I saw the younger girl’s body. I swipe at my cheek, needing to get the rest of it out. “The abbess refused to send me out, refused to even consider it, and instead sent Matelaine, and now she is dead.”
“But she was only fifteen!”
“I said as much to the abbess, but she closed her ears to my arguments and instead told me I was to be the convent’s seeress.”
“But that makes no sense! You have not shown any talent for visions, not since I’ve known you. Not to mention you are the most skilled of all of us.”
I decide to say nothing just yet of my youthful visions, as I do not know if they are important. “It does not make any sense. It is a betrayal of the covenant the convent makes with the novitiates—that they will be properly trained and prepared before being sent out, or else they are just fodder.” I take a deep breath, relieved immeasurably to have shared all this with someone I trust. “And that is why I am here—to insist she face the tragedy her actions have caused and hold her to account before she starts sending even younger girls out, because clearly she will not send me.” I look down at my hands, which are twisted in my lap.
Ismae shakes her head. “I have never understood why I was sent to the Breton court and you were not.”
“Perhaps Mortain knew that your poison gifts would be needed?” I am not certain I believe that, but it cannot be discounted as a possibility.
Ismae nods slowly. “Perhaps.”
“When you met with the abbess, just before you left, could you tell if it was she who made the decision? Or had Sister Vereda Seen you at court?”
She shrugs helplessly. “The abbess informed me of the assignment after Duval burst into her office and confronted her. Whether Sister Vereda had seen it before then or not, I do not know.”
“Well, if it was Mortain’s decision, it is hard to argue with, but I still cannot help but wonder why. Have I displeased Him in some way? Failed in my devotion or obedience?”
“I cannot imagine that you have.”
“And yet the abbess choosing not to send me makes no more sense.”
“She has always been exceptionally fond of you,” Ismae points out.
I cannot help it—I snort. “Only because I excelled at my duties and was extremely biddable. And”—honesty compels me to admit—“because I think she felt sorry for me.”
“Felt sorry for you? Why on earth would she?” The disbelief is clear in Ismae’s voice, disbelief that anything in my sheltered life at the convent could have earned me someone’s pity.
I rise to my feet and busy myself with trying to smooth the wrinkles out of my gown. She deserves an answer, but it is so very hard to speak of those memories, to share them with anyone, that I am nearly overcome by a need to flee the room. “The previous abbess—the one our current abbess replaced—singled me out for special . . . attention.”
Ismae’s eyes narrow in concern. “What sort of attention?”
A faint hum of panic skips along my limbs, making me feel as if I have said too much already. “It is of no importance—it was a long time ago. But tell me, what of Sybella? The abbess said she was out on a dangerous mission and that I must prepare myself for the possibility that she might not return.”
Ismae’s face darkens. She pushes to her feet and begins pacing. “Oh, Annith. The abbess has done most poorly by Sybella. She has sent her back to the very family that nearly destroyed her.”
All the blood drains from my face, and I must grasp the bedpost to steady myself. Even now, I had not suspected such a gross betrayal. I had assumed there was some assignment for which Sybella’s unique skills would prove useful. But this? To return her to the source of her madness before she has fully healed?
“And her family—it is even worse than we had imagined. Annith, she is Count d’Albret’s own daughter.”
“Count d’Albret! The one who nearly raped the duchess?”
Ismae nods. “The very same. And he has a much darker history than even the most vile rumors about him reveal. Duval never trusted the man, which is why he was so against the match. But now that we have heard from Sybella’s own lips how Count d’Albret has treated his wives . . .” She shudders, then meets my gaze, her eyes stark and filled with horror. “He has killed them. All of them.”
“How many have there been?” I whisper.
“Six. The duchess would have been the seventh.”
My knees suddenly weak, I lower myself onto the bed behind me. To think of Sybella growing up in such a household, with murders being committed throughout her young life. It is truly a miracle that she was not warped and damaged beyond recovery.
It also makes the abbess’s decision to send her back all the more heinous, and anger surges through me once more. “And that’s where she is now?”