Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  “I don’t suppose it matters,” she murmured under her breath.

  Leethan opened the door and invited Laurel into her sitting room. The room was drafty and cold—then again, what room in the Abbey of Nandel wasn’t?—and Leethan had long ago learned to be miserly with her firewood. A single log smoldered in the grate, barely enough to keep the chill at bay, and both she and Jaizal were wearing cloaks intended for outdoor wear. The abigails’ winter robes were of wool, but the Crown cut corners on expenses by providing only coarse, scratchy, and woefully thin material out of which to make them.

  It was a sign of just where they stood in the eyes of society that Laurel—a lowborn servant—wore a brown woolen dress of much finer and heavier weave than that of the abigails’ robes. But even she in her warmer clothes habitually wore a weighty shawl over her shoulders. She greeted Leethan with a smile and a quick hug, and Leethan’s throat tightened with gratitude. It was one thing for Laurel to hug her after not having seen her for over twenty years; it was another to be willing to do so after the initial joy of reunion had worn off. Even the lowliest servant would usually treat an abigail—even the abbess—as an unclean creature beneath her notice.

  “Come in, come in,” Leethan beckoned, leading Laurel to the sofa near the fire. “You’ve met Sister Jaizal, have you not?” she asked, indicating her friend—and co-conspirator—with a sweeping gesture of her arm.

  “I have,” Laurel confirmed, gracing Jaizal with another of her warm smiles. Jaizal returned the smile with no sign of strain—except for the fidgeting hands, which only Leethan understood.

  The three women sat by the fire, and Leethan served real tea—a rare luxury here at the Abbey. Usually “tea” at the Abbey was a thin, grassy-tasting drink made from steeping the dried leaves of a hearty mountain bush known as teaweed. It smelled like tea, but the taste was far less appealing.

  Leethan endeavored to make small talk while they sipped their tea, though she was aware of the curiosity that was building behind Laurel’s eyes. Clearly the governess knew that she had not been invited to the abbess’s private rooms for a social call.

  Eventually, Laurel put her teacup aside and gave Leethan a stern look that she had no doubt bestowed on many of her young charges over the years. “I think we’ll all be happier and more comfortable if you’d just go ahead and say whatever it is you called me here to say,” she prompted, not unkindly.

  Jaizal looked for a moment as if she was about to intervene, her hands continuing their worried dance, this time fidgeting with the teacup instead of her robes. But she held her peace. Leethan appreciated the show of trust and hoped she was worthy of it. After all, her relationship with Laurel had always been unequal—she’d been a princess at the time, and Laurel merely her daughters’ governess—and it was perhaps foolhardy to think she actually knew the woman.

  “I have something important I want to talk to you about,” she said, picking her words with great care. “What I want to share with you is…dangerous information. In many ways, we would all be better off if this conversation did not happen at all.”

  “Dangerous to whom, exactly?” Laurel asked with a tilt of her head and no hint of judgment in her voice.

  “Everyone,” Leethan said. “But I suppose you especially, for it will put you in an uncomfortable position. Which is why I wanted to warn you before I started talking. If you’d rather not know, then tell me now.”

  Laurel smiled faintly, though the shadow in her eyes said she was taking Leethan at her word. “Sounds like I won’t know whether I want to know or not until after I already know.”

  Leethan chuckled nervously and slanted a look at Jaizal, whose fingertips were tapping against the teacup. Jaizal looked down at her hand and her fingers froze. She blushed and put the teacup down. At least when she started fidgeting again—which Leethan had no doubt she would—she might make less noise about it.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble, dear?” Laurel asked gently.

  Jaizal couldn’t contain herself. “She’s been locked up in the Abbey for decades. If that doesn’t qualify as trouble, I don’t know what does.”

  Leethan reached over and put her hand gently on Jaizal’s arm, which was enough to quiet her friend’s protests. Then, she told Laurel about the vision she had had and watched the governess’s face pale and her eyes widen with every word.

  When Leethan had finished, Laurel looked back and forth between her and Jaizal, as if hoping one of them would start laughing and admit this was all a prank. Leethan bit down on the urge to explain or cajole, letting Laurel absorb it all in peace.

  “I had heard rumors about the existence of seers,” Laurel murmured, her voice so soft Leethan had to lean forward to hear her. “Of course I’d heard them. Everyone has. But…”

  “But you assumed it was superstitious nonsense,” Jaizal interjected, and there was no missing the note of hostility in her voice.

  For the first time, Leethan wondered if some of Jaizal’s resistance to confiding in Laurel sprang from jealousy. She had been Leethan’s closest friend and confidante for so many years that perhaps she was reluctant to share.

  Laurel seemed not to notice the hostility. “I would not have put it in those terms. But I’d never seen any evidence to suggest it might be true.”

  “That’s because you’ve had no contact with Unwanted Women before now,” Leethan said, giving Jaizal her most quelling look. “It is no secret in the Abbey that genuine seers exist. It is more widely known outside of Nandel, where Unwanted Women practice magic. Growing up in Grunir, I knew from very early on that seers existed, but I imagine that is not the case here.”

  Even outside of Nandel, much of society viewed seers as charlatans. But the talent for visions ran in families, and only women who’d inherited the trait from both sides of their families could trigger visions. What that meant was that despite the skepticism of the general public, there were certain families—like Leethan’s—wherein the existence and validity of seers was not questioned.

  Laurel shifted in her seat, her expression filled with unease. “And you believe these…visions are sent to you by the Mother?”

  Leethan had chosen to conceal her belief in the Mother of All; there were only so many shocks she was prepared to inflict on the governess. “Yes, I do. And I believe that the Mother wishes for Jaizal and me to take Princess Elwynne away from the Abbey.”

  Laurel chewed her lip, the wrinkle between her brows so deep it looked painful.

  “Why?” she finally asked. “And where to?”

  “I can’t claim to know the answer to either question,” Leethan admitted. “Not with any certainty, at least. It may well be that Elwynne is in some kind of danger here. I find it uncomfortable and ominous that Waldmir sent her to the Abbey at such a tender age.”

  “It’s also possible the Mother has plans for her elsewhere,” Jaizal added. “The reason need not be ominous, although the fact that Leethan saw us traveling through the snow does add a sense of urgency.”

  Laurel sighed deeply, nodding. “I can’t help but agree,” she said. “It is already frightfully late in the season to travel. I hope we will be leaving soon.”

  Jaizal and Leethan shared a look.

  “There is no ‘we,’ ” Jaizal said firmly. “Leethan’s vision did not include you.” Leethan made a sound of exasperation, and Jaizal hurried on to soften her words. “It will be difficult and dangerous enough for Leethan and me at our ages…”

  Jaizal’s voice trailed off as she realized there was no truly kind and polite way to end the sentence she had started, and Leethan swallowed a laugh.

  Laurel was less restrained, her face breaking into a grin that showed off every one of her wrinkles. “Are you trying to figure out a delicate way to remind me that I’m old?”

  Jaizal’s face was a lovely shade of red that matched her robes. She had been rude enough
that Leethan felt no urge to come to her rescue, and she planned to tease her friend about the faux pas mercilessly.

  Jaizal cleared her throat. “Wherever we choose to go, it is a trip that would be hard on us if we were all twenty,” she said, embarrassment giving way for the moment to trepidation. “And the consequences if we are caught…”

  Laurel waved that off. “I’m old, not senile. I know a terrible risk when it looks me in the face. But if you think Elwynne will happily flee the Abbey with two women she barely knows, then you are very much mistaken.”

  “That’s why we’re confiding in you,” Leethan said. “We’re hoping you will convince her to come with us.”

  But Laurel was shaking her head. “The poor dear does not trust easily. Even with my help, it would take time to win her over, and by the time I convinced her to go with you, the snows would be upon us. No,” she concluded, “if you want Elwynne to leave the Abbey—and not try to run away from you at the first opportunity—then I must come, as well.”

  “I fear what it means that I did not see you in the vision,” Leethan said. “If you don’t come with us, then that would explain it. If you do…”

  Laurel nodded. “It likely means I won’t survive the journey. I understand. But you must understand…” Her eyes teared up, and she blinked rapidly. “Elwynne has no one in the world but me. Her mother is gone, her father barely acknowledges her existence, and the rest of the household takes their cues from him. I cannot send her off into danger and stay here in safety myself—assuming I would be safe, which is no sure thing if Elwynne disappears while in my care.” She dabbed at a stray tear. “I would risk a great deal to see Elwynne safe and happy, and I see neither safety nor happiness in her future if she stays in Nandel. This vision of yours is the first truly hopeful sign I’ve seen for her in a long time. I will convince her we are embarking on an adventure, and she will come along with no fuss whatsoever.”

  Leethan’s reservations were not eased. However, it was clear that Laurel could not be dissuaded, and she had been thoroughly warned of the risks she was running.

  “I am working to procure transportation for us, as well as some men’s clothing that might make us attract less attention,” Leethan said. “As soon as we have everything we need—and the weather is as friendly as it’s likely to get—we will leave.”

  Laurel nodded briskly. “Very well. I will make sure I have a bag for myself, and that Elwynne is packed and ready so that we can leave on a moment’s notice.”

  * * *

  —

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” Corlin said.

  Rafetyn, who’d been so loudly sloshing his mop in a bucket of water he hadn’t heard Corlin approach, stiffened. He gave the mop a couple more desultory dunks.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be washing dishes at the mess?” he asked without turning around.

  “It turns out I’m the fastest dishwasher in the Citadel,” Corlin said, congratulating himself on the cleverness of his ambush.

  For more than three weeks, Rafetyn had been skillfully—and creatively—avoiding Corlin’s company. No matter how late Corlin arrived to meals, Rafetyn always managed to be later, so that, although they still shared the same table, there was never time to talk while Rafetyn was hastily shoving in what food he could manage. The highly regimented schedule of first-year cadets meant that there was almost no true leisure time in which Corlin might catch Rafetyn alone, and he dared not break any rules to try to engineer a meeting. Hurrying through his chore so he could catch Rafetyn trapped by his own chore was the only solution he’d come up with.

  The mop made a wet flopping sound, splashing water on both of their trousers as Rafetyn lifted it from the bucket and slapped it on the barracks floor. From the looks of it, he was at most a third of the way through with the task, which was one of the most despised among cadets. Corlin imagined it was especially difficult for Rafetyn, with his slender build and questionable endurance.

  Rafetyn gave Corlin a brief glance over his shoulder, his mouth set in a frown before he returned his gaze to the muddy floor and began scrubbing. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” he mumbled, but even the most skilled of liars could not have sold that particular fiction.

  “I don’t blame you,” Corlin hastened to assure him. “I’d avoid me, too, if I were you. After I’ve said my piece, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

  Rafetyn grunted, but did not otherwise respond. As with everything he did, he was performing the job of mopping the barracks floor with intense dedication, as if the fate of nations rested in his ability to remove every fleck of dirt. There was no question he was a terrible cadet, but no one could deny his level of effort.

  Corlin cleared his throat, finding that now that he finally had a chance to apologize, he felt remarkably tongue-tied and awkward. He was sorely tempted to prise the mop from Rafetyn’s hands and finish the job himself, just to have something to do. However, the only thing keeping Rafetyn in the room was the need to finish his duty, and if he was as determined as Corlin suspected, he might just walk out if Corlin took the mop.

  “First of all, I hope you know that I had no idea Lord Aldnor was going to—” He choked off the words, feeling once again the horror that had washed over him when he’d realized Rafetyn would suffer the punishment that was rightfully his. He cleared his throat again. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said miserably, wishing that words could somehow undo the terrible damage he had done to his friend, however unwittingly. “I would happily have taken twice as many lashes if it would have spared you.”

  Rafetyn let out a heavy sigh and leaned his forehead against the mop’s handle. Then he shook his head and turned around. He looked as miserable as Corlin felt.

  “This is why I was avoiding you,” Rafetyn said. “I knew you’d get all apologetic and I’d feel guilty.”

  “What?” Corlin cried, his eyebrows climbing nearly to his hairline. “Why the hell would you feel guilty? I’m the one who got you in trouble through no fault of your own!”

  “I’m supposed to lie to you,” Rafetyn said. “By omission if nothing else.” He made a face. “I’ve been ordered to lie about it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rafetyn rubbed his eyes. “Lord Aldnor will have my head if he finds out I talked,” he muttered, almost to himself.

  Corlin shook his head. “You are making no sense at all.”

  Rafetyn started pushing the mop around again, staring at the floor. “You might not have known that I would take the punishment for you, but I did,” he said.

  Corlin blinked. “I don’t get it.”

  “Once he knew you and I had become friends, he offered me a deal. Captain Norlix has more than once recommended my dismissal, and we all know I am not built to be a soldier. Lord Aldnor promised me that he would not accept the recommendation as long as I agreed to take your punishments.”

  Corlin could do nothing but gape, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

  Rafetyn heaved the mop into the bucket once more, dunking it furiously and sloshing water all over the floor. “He said you were far more likely to control your temper to protect someone else than to protect yourself, and that you were headed for a bad end if you didn’t learn.”

  Corlin put his hand to his sternum, rubbing at the strange ache that had begun there. Their fellow cadets—and even Captain Norlix—considered Rafetyn a pathetic weakling because of his small size. That just proved what idiots they all were.

  “You agreed to that?” Corlin asked, dumbfounded.

  Rafetyn shrugged. “I’d agree to just about anything if it meant I didn’t get dismissed.”

  “But why?”

  Rafetyn met his eyes, and there was a hint of fire in his expression. “Because a few lashes with a strap are nothing compared to what my father would have done to me had I been expelled from the Citadel. I know Lor
d Aldnor knows that, or he’d have expelled me the first time Captain Norlix recommended it. Justal and the rest of them can do their worst; it is nothing next to what my father can and will do. My brothers eventually grew big and strong enough to fight back, but it’s not looking like I ever will.”

  Corlin sat heavily on the edge of one of the bunks. Of course, he’d known almost from the start that Rafetyn was far from his father’s favorite, but he had not grasped the extent of it.

  “It was no big deal,” Rafetyn said, once again turning to his work and shoving the mop across the floor. “Only a dozen lashes, and they gave me something for the pain before it even started.”

  “Still,” Corlin said hoarsely, “they should have been mine.”

  Rafetyn grinned incongruously. “If you’d like to finish mud-wrestling this mop in penance, I won’t stop you.”

  Corlin leapt to his feet and all but snatched the mop from Rafetyn’s hands, though guilt still sat heavily on his shoulders. “It doesn’t come close to making us even.”

  Rafetyn rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Because of you, I’ve earned my place at the Citadel even if I don’t belong here. I’ll be out of my father’s reach until I’m old enough to be free of him anyway. It’s an easy trade.” He tried for a fierce frown, though “fierce” wasn’t an expression that sat naturally on his face. “I would prefer it if you don’t get into any more trouble, though, if you can help it. Lord Aldnor ordered me not to tell you the truth because he was worried it would blunt the effect. If he guesses you know, then the next beating might not be so easy.”

  Corlin put his back into scrubbing the floor, making much quicker work of it than Rafetyn had. He met his friend’s eyes briefly before looking away again. Knowing the truth lessened the fury he felt toward the lord commander and reduced the sense of injustice to some extent. Eventually, it might even help put a bit of the guilt to sleep, but he could never live with himself if he knowingly allowed Rafetyn to be hurt once more because he lost his stupid temper.