“You are welcome to check with whomever you like,” Alyce said evenly. “But the state of the soul you do not think I have is the affair of my confessor alone—and God, of course. But certainly not you. Good day to you, Father.”
With that, she dropped him a curtsy—correct to the letter in technical exactitude but devoid of any genuine respect—and darted past him, seizing the arm of the astonished Zoë to propel her and Cerys on along the corridor. All three of them were shaking by the time they gained the safety of the cloister yard—though at least Father Septimus had not followed them.
“Alyce, you mustn’t taunt him!” Cerys whispered, eyes wide. “He’s a pompous idiot, and everyone here knows that, but his brother is a bishop.”
“All true,” Alyce agreed, “but he is not my confessor! And he can’t excommunicate me just because I voiced an opinion differing from his.”
“Don’t be too certain of that,” Zoë murmured.
But the matter seemed to drop there. There were no repercussions during the following week—and Father Septimus was coolly civil enough in class. Still, Alyce told Father Benroy about the incident, and Jessilde—and also Mother Judiana, when Jessilde urged her to go to the convent’s superior.
Judiana heard the report in silence, making no pronouncement about the relative appropriateness of the behavior on both sides; but before summer’s end, a new chaplain came to Arc-en-Ciel, a merry catechist called Father Malgar de Firenza, and Septimus de Nore found himself transferred to a prestigious parish in Cassan. Nothing was ever said of the circumstances behind this transfer, which had also been a promotion for Father Septimus, but all the community breathed a little easier for his departure.
That summer also brought a surprise visit of old friends from home: Sé Trelawney and Jovett Chandos, knighted the previous Twelfth Night in Rhemuth, who arrived bearing letters and gifts for the demoiselles de Corwyn from their brother and their father. With the two young knights came their old tutor from Castle Cynfyn, Father Paschal Didier.
The arrival of two handsome young men at Arc-en-Ciel set many a heart aflutter, even though the pair were allowed no farther than the guest parlor and chapel. The bearded Father Paschal inspired more thoughtful contemplation, elegant and somewhat exotic in his flowing black robes and the black, flat-topped cap of the R’Kassan clergy, with knotted prayer beads wrapped around one wrist.
The priest’s visit came as something of a surprise, albeit a most welcome one. For while his previous remit ostensibly had been the religious and secular education of Corwyn’s heirs, it also had included instruction in other disciplines apt to raise eyebrows in his charges’ present circumstances—a resumption of which their father now proposed.
“The choice is yours, child, if you would rather I not proceed,” Paschal told Alyce, when she and Marie had read the pertinent letter from their father and passed it on to Jessilde, who had brought them to this meeting in the guest parlor. Sir Sé was standing with his back against the door, head bowed; Sir Jovett remained in the corridor outside the room, as further security against interruption.
“I will not deny that there is some small risk in what your father has asked,” Paschal went on, “but both he and I believe the risk is acceptable. And Lady Jessilde, I have permission from your mother to include you in the instruction I give to Lady Alyce and Lady Marie, if you wish it.”
“I don’t understand,” Jessilde murmured, her face pale beneath the white of her novice veil as she looked up from the letter. “How is this possible?”
“That one of our blood may validly wear this?” Paschal replied, briefly lifting the plain wooden priest’s cross that hung against the breast of his black robes. “Let us merely observe that not all the world is like Gwynedd. I am Bremagni-born, though I was educated at Nur Sayyid and the R’Kassan seminary at Rhanamé. It is true that, even there, our kind must go warily, but perhaps because of the Torenthi royal house, the Eastern Patriarchate of Holy Mother Church has always been . . . ‘flexible’ regarding holy orders.”
“‘Flexible?’” Alyce said.
Paschal shrugged and smiled faintly. “One of the privileges—and duties—of the Patriarch of Torenth is to preside at the empowering of Torenthi kings,” he said. “This requires certain . . . skills . . . that are nowhere to be found among Gwynedd’s clergy.
“The Eastern Hierarchy acknowledges the usefulness of such skills, at least in moderation, but also recognizes the potential for much abuse, should their number come to be dominated by men who can wield such powers. To minimize this danger, Eastern canon law stipulates that human bishops must always constitute a majority within the hierarchy. Thus far, the measure has proven effective.”
“A practical resolution of a very real human fear,” Jessilde said thoughtfully, nodding agreement.
“Father Paschal, I can tell her about this later,” Alyce said impatiently, finally daring to interrupt. “Are we to have a session today? How long can you stay?”
“Patience, child!” Paschal said with a laugh. “We have leave from your father to abide here for several days, and I have already explained to Mother Judiana concerning your father’s wish that I brief you regularly about the state of affairs in Corwyn and Lendour. She has agreed. In return, I have offered to celebrate Mass tomorrow morning, to give respite to the chaplains of this house. But we shall need to be both concise and circumspect about your ‘briefings,’ as you can imagine.”
Marie, hitherto largely silent, glanced at Jessilde, concerned. “Is it safe for him to do this in a religious house?” she whispered, wide-eyed.
“So long as we exercise due caution, there should be little danger,” Jessilde replied.
“Precisely,” Paschal said. “To that end, I have been obliged to somewhat restructure my methods of instruction—and the presence of Sir Sé and his companion should ensure that we are not disturbed without due warning. In the future, should they not be able to accompany me, I shall ask the three of you to keep watch, each in turn, while I work with the other—assuming, of course, that Sister Jessilde wishes to avail herself of my instruction,” he added, with a glance at the young religious, who nodded.
“Excellent. In a moment, then, dear Sister, I shall need leave to probe behind your shields, so that I may assess your present level of ability. You will kindly prepare yourself. And Lady Alyce, you will come and sit beside me, please,” he added, seating himself near the window and patting the bench beside him. “With your permission I should like to resume your training by imprinting a set of ‘lessons’ for you to contemplate until my next visit. Then I shall do the same for your sister—and also give you the ‘briefing’ that Mother Judiana expects you to receive, if not in the manner she expects.”
Alyce smiled as she came and sat beside him as instructed, seizing his hand to kiss it in affection and respect.
“Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “I have longed for this day.”
“I know, little one. And believe me when I tell you that you are a worthy pupil. Relax now and open to me,” he instructed, passing his free hand downward before her eyes, which closed as she felt a familiar lethargy wash across her consciousness, product of training triggers set long ago, master to pupil.
“Excellent . . . now deeper . . . Good . . .”
Thus did the Earl of Lendour’s household chaplain take up his tutorial duties again, not only with Alyce and Marie de Corwyn but now with Jessilde MacAthan as his pupil as well, in quarterly installments that soon took on a rhythm of regular and welcome visits. Though Sir Sé and Sir Jovett did not always accompany him, as Earl Keryell made increasing use of their services, Paschal brought letters from both young men when he could, and almost always from Ahern. Keryell’s letters were less regular, perhaps at the instigation of his new wife, but Alyce and Marie were relived to note that no new Lendour heirs were forthcoming.
Meanwhile, the residents of Notre Dame d’Arc-en-Ciel came to look forward to the visits of the serene and somewhat exotic R’Kassan
priest, whose arrival was always much welcomed, for along with the letters he carried for his noble charges, he always brought news and amusing anecdotes from the outside world, and sometimes new manuscripts for the convent library, and dainty sweetmeats for everyone.
The girls, for their part, flourished under the discipline of the convent school, with sufficient solitude to reinforce the inner work that Father Paschal set for them each time he came to visit and also the leisure to pursue the artistic potentials being developed by their convent training. Marie was developing into a lutenist of promise, to accompany her vocal talents; and Alyce’s calligraphic skills continued to unfold, to the delight of Sister Iris Althea and Father Benroy. Nor could any find fault with their growing domestic competence, or their adherence to the disciplines of their faith. Both girls were confirmed shortly after Easter of their second year there, when a bishop came up from Rhemuth to administer that sacrament.
On a personal level, as Alyce continued the shift from girlhood to young womanhood, she was also learning important lessons. Though she continued to share a room with Cerys, and the two enjoyed an amiable enough relationship, it was Zoë Morgan with whom she found herself spending most of what leisure time they were given, not only because the two of them often worked together in the scriptorium but because Zoë’s father, when he came occasionally to visit his daughter, often brought letters from Jessamy and even from the queen, that must be delivered in person.
These visits, though infrequent, became occasions of welcome diversion, not only for Zoë, but for Alyce, Marie, and Cerys as well. Though the girls had not been long at court before they came to Arc-en-Ciel, Alyce well remembered the tall, sandy-haired knight usually to be found not far from the king’s side, and fell gratefully into the fatherly affection he offered to his daughter’s friends.
Sir Kenneth Morgan tended to stay for several hours when he came to call, delivering his letters and then regaling his appreciative audience with the latest news from court. In addition, he usually included all of them in the largesse of marchpane sweets and other dainties he sometimes brought as a special treat.
Sometimes, when absent on the king’s business, he sent letters to Zoë by royal courier, and always included a few words of fond comment for his daughter’s friends. Very occasionally, if he had chanced to see Earl Keryell in the course of his duties, the courier’s pouch would also include a letter sealed with the Lendour arms, but both Alyce and Marie understood that their father was much occupied in the king’s service, and accepted that he had little time for correspondence. Also, they suspected that letters were actively discouraged by their stepmother.
Drawn into this semblance of substitute family with Zoë’s father, then, it was little wonder that Alyce should come to regard his daughter as another sister. Since Zoë already had sisters aplenty, it had not occurred to Alyce that the feeling might be mutual, but their friendship was growing strong, whatever one called it.
Just how strong became apparent one wintry afternoon early in 1084, more than a year after Alyce’s arrival at Arc-en-Ciel, as the two of them worked alone in the scriptorium. Earlier, Father Benroy had given them both a tutorial on painted capitals, for Zoë had been turning her focus increasingly to the illumination of the pages Alyce penned. Their assignment had involved a foliated and illuminated D for Dominus, with a furry creature of their choice peeking from amid intertwined vines. As Zoë surveyed the squirrel she had painted, cleaning one of her brushes on a bit of rag, she glanced across at Alyce’s considerably less competent lion nestled amid oak leaves. Their slanted writing desks faced one another against a narrow shelf that held several unlit candles.
“Your lion looks like he could use a good meal,” she said good-naturedly.
“Like a fat squirrel, maybe?” Alyce retorted, not looking up as she scraped at a vexing smudge on one of her lion’s ears.
“Don’t sulk. Your calligraphy is better than mine will ever be,” Zoë replied. “D’you think it’s about time for some extra light?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the window behind her. “And I don’t know about you, but I could use another log on the fire.”
“I’ll do it,” Alyce said, happy enough to set aside her stylus.
Taking one of the candles over to the fireplace, she lit it from what was left of the fire, then set it on the hearth while she encouraged a renewed blaze with several new sticks of firewood, watching until they had caught. Both she and Zoë wore close-fitting cuffs to keep their sleeves clean, and had put aside their veils while they worked. As Alyce returned to the desk with her lit candle, she gave the other girl’s blonde braid a playful bat.
“Hey!” Zoë said, though she was smiling as she said it.
“That’s the paw of my lion, chastising you for saying that he looks ill-fed,” Alyce said with a grin, as she sat again and leaned forward to light several of the candles between her and Zoë.
“Well, he does,” Zoë replied.
“So he’ll eat your squirrel, and that will solve the problem,” Alyce said. As she set down the candle she had used to light the others, Zoë leaned closer and blew one of the candles out.
“What are you doing?” Alyce murmured, startled.
“Changing the subject,” Zoë replied “and making a point.”
“What point?”
Zoë made a pointed sweep of the room with her gaze, even leaning far enough to one side for a good look at the closed door, then returned her gaze to Alyce.
“The point is that I know that you didn’t need the fire to light a candle,” she said very softly. “Alyce, there’s no one else here—and you wouldn’t have frightened me.”
Alyce felt her mouth go dry, and a cold chill clenched at her stomach. She had been extremely circumspect about using her powers since coming to Arc-en-Ciel, other than when working privately with Father Paschal and Marie and Sister Jessilde—and Zoë could know nothing of that. Could it be that she wanted a demonstration?
“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” she whispered.
Zoë nodded—and deliberately blew out another candle, her sea-gray eyes not leaving Alyce’s.
“You want to see me do it.”
Zoë nodded again.
Rolling her eyes briefly heavenward, Alyce glanced behind her at the closed door, extended her senses to scan the corridor outside—utterly deserted—then turned back to Zoë and passed a hand over the two candles Zoë had blown out. As she did so, both flared back alight.
Zoë flinched back involuntarily and her jaw dropped, but there was only delight writ across her face as her gaze shifted from the candles back to Alyce.
“You really can do it!” she whispered.
Rolling her eyes again, Alyce gave a sigh. “Well, of course I can do it. It’s one of the first things we learn—that, and this.” She lifted one closed hand between them, wrist upward, and conjured handfire in her palm as she opened her fingers, revealed as a faintly glowing sphere of green fire.
“Oh!” Zoë breathed, enchanted anew, and apparently still not frightened.
Shaking her head in amazed disbelief, Alyce quenched the handfire and glanced at the door again, leaning closer to her friend.
“Why did you ask me to do that?” she asked.
Zoë colored slightly and glanced down at her lap. “I—Alyce, I know what you are—and I obviously don’t think that what you are is evil, or I wouldn’t be saying this to you. I also know that you’re very careful not to do anything here that might . . . frighten people.
“I didn’t think that what you did was frightening,” she went on less certainly, as she dared to look up, “but I think you must find it frightening to be so alone, knowing that most people are afraid of . . . what you are. I just wanted to say that, if you ever want to talk about it. . . .”
Abruptly she stopped talking and glanced at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, lips also clamped together, clearly afraid she had said too much. Alyce merely stared at her in astonishment for several se
conds, uncertainty warring with the impulse to reach across and take her hand in reassurance.
She had been Truth-Reading Zoë Morgan as the words came tumbling out, and had no doubt that they had come straight from the heart. She had come to trust Zoë more than any other human she had known. But was it enough, merely to trust in the goodwill of another, no matter how well-intentioned, when one’s very life could hang in the balance?
“Zoë, what is it you want me to do?” she asked softly.
“I—suppose that I want you to feel that you can talk to me about—about whatever is most important to you, the things that frighten you, the part of your life that you can’t discuss safely with anyone else. I want you to tell me about what it’s like to be—what you are.” Zoë glanced nervously at the door.
“I want to know if it’s true that our two peoples once worked together openly, and if it is, I—think I want to learn to do that, too,” she finally blurted. “I know that will probably mean—letting you touch my mind, but I—I’m willing to do that, because I love you and trust you like a sister!”
Tears were welling in her eyes by the time she had finished, but when Alyce would have spoken, Zoë held up one hand and shook her head.
“No, don’t say anything yet. There’s more I need to say. I know that you must talk about these things with your sister and with Sister Jessilde, because she’s—what you are. And I think that Father Paschal must be one, too, though I don’t know how that’s possible, with him being a priest and all.
“But I think that the real reason he comes here so often is not just to bring you letters and presents from home, or to tell you what’s happening there, but so that he can continue your training. And Jessilde either helps him, or he’s training her, too. If I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll be quiet, but that’s what I think.”
Alyce had listened to this unfolding of logic in disbelief, though she was quite certain that Zoë was absolutely earnest in what she was saying. She was also wondering whether, if Zoë had reached such conclusions, others also might have done so. Caution urged her to simply seize control of the other girl’s mind and erase all memory of this exchange, also blurring the logic by which Zoë had arrived at her all-too-perceptive conclusions—and that was what Father Paschal would have advised, she felt certain.
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