“I . . . it could be minutes. I blacked out after a while.”
Sister Wheel banged her fist to the table and the shadows danced. “Any period of time one novice spends strangling another is too long. What are we even discussing? Take her habit. She’ll never be fit for her vows. Novice Arabella can take the Ordeal of the Shield and serve the Argatha in her place.”
High above them the shutters rattled as the ice-wind picked up strength. It always seemed to be an ice-wind these days.
Abbess Glass stared at the two novices. She knew Joeli to be manipulative and spiteful, unable to forget her family’s privilege. On the other hand she was a quantal prime with rare skill at thread-work and was an accomplished poisoner to boot. Nona of course was too precious to be lost to the Church, a three-blood, fast as a devil and with a temper to match. The abbess would not lose sight of the girl—but Nona might just have made keeping her in the order impossible. If she had deliberately injured another novice Nona had done about the only thing that could get Sister Rose to agree with Sister Wheel on something. Sister Rose spent too much time repairing bodies to forgive deliberate and unwarranted harm caused in anger. She wouldn’t let a training blade be put in any hand that might seek the life of another novice. Together both sister superiors could overrule the abbess.
Sister Spire frowned. “Have you anything to say in your defence, Novice Nona?”
“I didn’t try to kill her. I barely squeezed her neck.”
Joeli straightened, lowering the hand from beneath her chin and pulling down the collar of her habit. Along both sides of her throat livid bruises told the story of fingers pressed deep, the black imprints surrounded by a halo of yellowing flesh. Sister Wheel drew in a sharp breath. Sister Rail thumped the table in outrage. “This! This is the work of someone who has no place within our order.”
Abbess Glass felt the tide turn. She presided over a convent where a score of novices could do the miraculous, some moving faster than thought, some weaving shadows, or fire, and some few walking the Ancestor’s Path, returning from it echoing with the power of the divine. And yet given a choice she would never once consider exchanging for any of that the gift the Ancestor had given to her. People were a magic and a mystery, no matter whether they were low-born or high, no matter whether it was soil or spells they turned their hands to, whether they were geniuses or fools. There were few who saw past faces, past status, past what people said to what they meant. Abbess Glass knew she didn’t see far into the puzzle, but she saw further than most, and it gave her an edge. An edge so sharp that most of those she cut didn’t even know it until it was far too late. Right now though, all her gift told her was that the room had shifted and Nona stood on the brink.
Across the table from Sister Wheel, Sister Rose lowered her head, lips pressed tight, brow furrowed.
“Are there no witnesses?” Sister Kettle asked, looking up from her recording. Surprise registered on several faces. Sister Kettle never spoke up at convent table—it wasn’t her place to—less than ten years into her vows. She came to record, not to speak, but so soon returned from a long and arduous mission she might be forgiven her lapse.
“There are many witnesses!” Sister Rail brightened, showing narrow teeth in a narrow smile. “Let me—”
“Joeli is a very popular novice.” Abbess Glass spoke over Mistress Academic. “Many of the girls may be swayed by personal loyalties, turning suspicion into fact.”
“Would you summon the accused’s friends instead?” Sister Rail demanded.
“We need a witness who would satisfy all of us as impartial and true.” The abbess studied the grain of the table between her spread hands as if such a hope were impossible.
Sister Wheel took the bait. “The Chosen One was there!” She looked up in triumph.
Sisters Tallow and Apple suppressed long-suffering sighs.
“Let it be Novice Zole then.” The abbess nodded to Kettle who hurried to the door. “At least nobody can accuse her of being friends with either party. Or anyone else. Nona and Joeli can wait outside.”
Kettle led the pair to the door and returned to the table having sent for Zole. The shadows clung to the nun as she walked, like cobwebs. They mottled her face as if they were stains running across her skin. When Apple had brought Kettle back, injured and changed, there hadn’t been one person at the table who had thought the convent still held a place for her, not now she walked in darkness as the Noi-Guin do. That had been a long debate. A long night and a longer morning. But at length Glass had steered the sisters to the decision she wanted.
“You know there is no safe place for Nona if she were to leave this convent.” Sister Apple spoke to the table in general, her gaze avoiding Sister Wheel and Sister Spire. “We’ve waited more than a generation for a three-blood novice and now you want to send her out to our enemies because of a fight with a girl who’s never forgotten she was born Sis. Joeli’s two parts spite, one part privilege.”
“She is a member of our sisterhood!” Wheel glared across the table. “And she was nearly killed whilst under the protection of the Ancestor.”
“Attempted murder is punishable by the oven. She would be of no danger to us then.” Sister Rail spoke lightly as if the matter were of little consequence. “She would fall into nobody else’s hands.”
“In Sweet Mercy we drown rather than cook,” said the abbess, without humour. “And we have managed to avoid capital punishment for several decades. I do not intend to start again today.”
Raised voices in the corridor drew their eyes to the doorway. Abbess Glass prayed the novices weren’t fighting again. The argument drew closer and she relaxed, hearing a man’s complaint. A brief knocking and the heated debate outside continued.
“Come!”
Sister Pail burst in. “He won’t listen! I told him to stay!” She still looked like a child to Abbess Glass, just two years in the habit. It took an effort not to call her Novice Suleri. Behind her came Zole, ice-spattered and glowering at the world with impartial dislike. Behind Zole a tall white-haired man encompassed by the thickest of velvet robes.
“Irvone!” Abbess Glass rose to greet the judge. The other nuns followed suit, Sister Rose struggling to rise having sat too long and weighing three times what was healthy.
A young man, burdened under books of law, hastened around the judge to introduce him.
“Judge Irvone Galamsis offers the abbess of Sweet Mercy convent his greetings and felicitations on this the ninety-seventh anniversary of Emperor Royan Anstsis’s victory over the Pelarthi insurrection.”
“Ah, that. How could we forget?” Abbess Glass broadened her smile into the most genuine imitation at her disposal. “Irvone! How nice to have the pleasure of your company again. It’s been what . . . three years?”
“Forgive the intrusion, dear abbess.” Irvone inclined his head towards a bow. “But on seeing the arrival of the young lady about whom I’ve come all this way to petition you I felt I must be heard.”
Abbess Glass considered having the judge escorted from the hall, perhaps even from the convent, but it would be an expensive pleasure. Better to hand over the small victory of a seat at the convent table in order to compensate the loss awaiting him. She gestured to a vacant chair and the judge’s assistant pulled it out for him.
“Stand at the end of the table, Novice Zole.” Abbess Glass indicated the spot before glancing towards Sister Pail. “Bring Nona and Joeli back, sister.”
Accused and accuser re-entered the hall a moment after the junior nun exited. Sister Apple craned her neck to watch Joeli with particular attention, her eyes narrow. Further along the table Sister Pan coughed and muttered about the cold.
“Novice Zole, what can you tell us about this morning’s incident at blade-path?” Abbess Glass favoured the girl with a warm smile, knowing that it would not be returned.
“Novice Joeli accused Novice Hessa of helping Yisht to steal the shipheart,” Zole said. “Nona knocked her down.”
“I
would have wanted to knock her down myself,” Abbess Glass said.
“I would have.” Sister Tallow kept a flinty gaze on Joeli. “No ‘wanted’ about it.”
“And then Nona strangled her!” Sister Rail said.
Zole shook her head. “She held Joeli’s neck. There was no strangling.”
Sister Wheel harrumphed in irritation but couldn’t bring herself to contradict the Chosen One. Beside her Sister Rail looked daggers at Nona then raised a hand towards Joeli. “Of course she was strangled! You can see it!”
“No.” Zole shook her head again. “It did not happen.”
“But the bruises!” Sister Rail banged the table. “You think we’re blind?”
“The evidence does seem compelling.” Irvone nodded, candlelight glinting on the gold circlet around his hair.
Zole shrugged.
“This is nonsense.” Rail looked around the table. “We should vote and then the abbess will decide.”
Abbess Glass puffed out her cheeks. There were only two votes that mattered, the rest she could overrule, but if the convent’s two sister superiors united against her the matter would have to go to the archons or the high priest. Such public dissent would weaken her position and Nona would likely be found guilty in any case. “Let us vote then.”
“Guilty.” Sister Rail folded her arms.
“Innocent.” Sister Apple frowned, still watching the novices.
“I abstain.” Sister Pan huddled within the range-coat she never removed these days.
“Innocent,” Sister Tallow said. “If Nona wanted the girl dead she would have cut her head off.”
As Mistress Spirit, Sister Wheel could vote first with the other mistresses, but as a sister superior she could also vote last. She waved for the class nuns to vote.
“Guilty.” Sister Oak, Red Class mistress, looked down.
“Guilty.” Sister Hearth had replaced Sister Flint as Grey Class mistress and had witnessed the worst of Nona’s rages while she struggled to control Keot.
Sister Spire seemed unwilling to speak but at last spoke in a small voice. “Guilty.”
“Innocent.” Sister Fork of Holy Class smiled encouragingly at Nona.
“Sister Wheel?” Abbess Glass inquired.
“I . . .” The older nun goggled at her, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I am sure the Chosen One had told us what she saw . . . but . . .” The words seemed to hurt her. “She may not have seen everything. And this novice is guilty of many crimes. So I say, guilty.”
“Sister Rose?”
Sister Rose shifted her bulk unhappily in her chair. “I wish you had come to me, Joeli. I have salves that would have helped your poor throat.” She looked at the abbess, brown eyes glistening. “I’m sorry . . . but I can’t sanction this level of violence against fellow novices, especially in one so talented in battle. What will come next? I—”
“Joeli didn’t come to you?” Abbess Glass asked. That didn’t sound like Joeli Namsis at all. The girl would go to the sanatorium with a splinter and try to stay for a week. Especially if she could lay the blame for the splinter at someone else’s feet.
“No.” Sister Rose shot the novice a sympathetic look. “That was unreasonable of me. She couldn’t be expected to brave an ice-wind in her condition. But if she had sent word I would have come. Sister Rail really should have told me.”
“Why would you not seek Sister Rose’s attention?” Sister Apple stood from her chair and advanced on Joeli.
“I didn’t want to bother—”
“You’re bothering all of us now, Joeli. You bothered Mistress Academia before lunch. And yet you didn’t present yourself to our own sweet Rosie to ease your suffering?” She stalked around the novice, peering at her neck. “Show me your hands.”
Joeli instinctively hid them in the pockets of her habit. Apple reached out and took the closest one, pulling it towards her face, palm up. “Come.” She led the novice to the table, holding the hand towards the candles. “See?”
“I see four fingers and a thumb.” Judge Irvone covered a yawn.
Sister Apple ignored him. “This yellow staining here. Do you see it?”
Abbess Glass leaned forward. The girl’s fingers were faintly yellow here and there, the colour of an old bruise almost faded from sight.
“Wodewort and burn-cotton. Careful preparation with an alkali base gives you Ulhen’s ointment.” Sister Apple released Joeli’s hand.
Sister Rose scraped her chair back and came to see. “It has a role in the treatment of some chronic skin conditions but you have to be pretty desperate to use it. The main side-effect is severe bruising.” She stepped back and looked Joeli in the face. The novice bowed her head. “Oh, Joeli! You didn’t?”
“She choked me.” Joeli spoke softly and without conviction, staring down at her hands.
“I’ve a pill that will get the truth out of you soon enough!” Sister Apple turned to make for the door.
“Stay.” The abbess raised her hand. “Potions and pills have no role at convent table. We have no evidence of their accuracy nor Church sanction to rely on such.” She ignored Apple’s raised eyebrows. Sometimes the nun’s enthusiasm for her own works overrode common sense. Such cards were not to be revealed or played over novices and before an audience like Irvone Galamsis. “I will say, however, that it seems impossible that we condemn Novice Nona to any harsh punishment on the basis of what we have seen and heard. Both of you girls are confined to convent this seven-day and neither of you will eat lunch until the seven-day after that. If there is any more fighting between you I shall be asking Sister Tallow to break out the wire-willow. Now go. And count yourselves lucky! Run!”
The novices hastened to the door. “Not you, Zole.”
Zole turned as the other two vanished through the doorway. For a moment she seemed to be considering whether to obey. Then with a shrug she closed the door and returned to the table.
“So, to your business, Irvone,” Abbess Glass said. “You came with a petition concerning Novice Zole.”
“Indeed. Once more I come seeking the return of a novice.” He inclined his head, full of gravitas, consulting the notes his assistant had set before him. It had always amused Glass quite how closely the judge resembled the statues and images the heretic Scithrowl made of the Ancestor, the mane of his white hair and blade of his nose making him seem wisdom incarnate rather than the most corruptible of Verity’s three high court judges. Irvone cleared his throat. “Fortunately on this occasion the novice is to be returned to the bosom of her loving family rather than to her appointment with the gallows.”
“And the loving family in question would be . . .”
“Our own esteemed royal family!” Irvone smiled. “Young Zole is to be returned to House Lansis itself, and the arms of her mother, the honourable Sherzal.”
A low mutter ran the length of the table. Sister Wheel struggled to contain her outrage, and failed. “The Argatha belongs to the Church! She’s not some royal toy!”
The judge kept his eyes on Abbess Glass, ignoring Wheel’s outburst.
“The emperor’s sisters have standing invitations to visit the convent any time they like,” Abbess Glass said. “I would be delighted to discuss this matter in person with Sherzal.”
Irvone forced a smile and spread his hands. “I fear the honourable Sherzal is uncertain about the nature of her welcome after the wild slanders spread at court at the time of the convent’s . . . unfortunate loss.”
“Certainly she would be still more welcome if she came visiting with the shipheart that was stolen from us. But we’re hardly likely to take the emperor’s sister prisoner or raise our hands against her are we, Irvone? We are brides of the Ancestor, pledged to peace.” She gestured at the stern faces around the table. Sister Tallow in particular looked no more than a blink from killing someone.
Irvone glanced around the seated nuns with a nervous frown. “That’s as may be, abbess. However, Sherzal is within her rights to demand the return of
her child.”
“Her ward,” Abbess Glass corrected.
“Adopted child.”
“Adopted in absentia? She was her ward when she arrived.”
“A recent development,” the judge acknowledged. “But entirely legal. Zole is Sherzal’s heir. Trained in her palace for some years before being entrusted into your care until such time—”
“Until such time as I see fit to discharge her from her pledge of service.”
“Until such time as Sherzal, Zole’s parent and guardian, calls for her return.” Irvone turned to his assistant who already had the uppermost of his books open at a ribbon-marked page.
“Yes. Yes.” Abbess Glass waved the matter aside. “Again, Irvone, you come to us with a matter properly covered by Church law. Sherzal should take any concerns she may have to High Priest Nevis and they will be dealt with through the correct ecclesiastical channels.”
“It’s a bad time to be imposing Church law over secular law, abbess.” The judge shrugged within his robe.
“One is not imposed over the other, judge.” Abbess Glass reached for her water again, mouth dry. Irvone Galamsis might be greedy and lacking morals, but he wasn’t stupid. After three years of narrowing, the Corridor ran with rumours of fresh wars. When the ice advanced something else had to give. Such times were poor ones to remind an emperor that some of the empire’s most deadly resources were not his to control but must be lent to his purpose through the goodwill of the Church. “Each law has its own domain where it applies without challenge from the other.”
“Reaching for Church law can get your fingers burned . . .” The judge let his eyes linger on Abbess Glass’s right hand. “In any event, I had the idea that under Church law the issue of family rights versus convent authority over novices was somewhat vexed. Is that territory you really wish to wander into?”
“Was there anything else, judge?”
Judge Irvone sat back in his chair, impassive save for a hard gleam in his eyes. “The honourable Sherzal was most insistent that Zole not go on the ice in any of the exercises your novices may undertake. I’m sure we can all agree on that. After all, none of us wish to lose the child.”
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