“I’m sorry?”
“Dear, dear Eira,” the abbot said. His smile reminded her of a coiling snake. “Must we play this game? The night grows long and I would seek my bed.”
Refusing to take the bait, Eira said, “Forgive me, Father Abbot. I don’t understand.”
Abbot Crichton’s smile vanished. “How long did you expect me to go along with this charade? I know about the Guard. Lady Morrow is simply your latest recruit. Hoping to establish your legacy, Eira? Is that the reason you took a nobleman’s daughter and handed her a sword?”
Eira’s jaw worked as her mind grasped for a response, finally settling on the truth.
“She was called to serve where she belongs.”
“Are you so proud that you believe you can flout the natural order that our Lord established?” The abbot’s words weren’t angry, but languid and cruel in the way that a cat toyed with a captured mouse.
“This natural order you claim is foolish,” Eira told him. “Why hinder warrior spirits because they’re contained within a female form?”
“It sounds like you already have an answer for me.” The amusement in his voice infuriated her.
“You know how vital our work is,” she said. “Limiting the roles of those few who belong to Conatus endangers not only us, but those we’ve sworn to protect.”
The abbot pursed his lips, nodding.
“If we had your blessing, we could train young women openly.” Eira heard the fervor in her voice but pressed on. The abbot knew the truth about the Guard, which meant she had nothing to lose and she might even have the chance to sway him. “Nobles could send their unwanted daughters to us instead of hiding them in convents.”
Abbot Crichton laughed. “You think the lords of England and Scotland would prefer their daughters wielding swords instead of rosaries?”
“I believe many of the girls would prefer it,” Eira said, lifting her chin.
“Perhaps that’s true.” The abbot shrugged. “But those girls don’t tithe to the parish. They don’t command their own personal armies. And they don’t have the ear of any king.”
Eira’s shoulders wanted to crumple in defeat, but she forced herself to sit stiffly.
“Lord Morrow has petitioned me to return his daughter to him,” Abbot Crichton said. “The accusations he makes are serious. Not only are you corrupting young women, but you are in league with the devil.”
“Witches,” Eira murmured, remembering the scene Edmund Morrow had made the night after Ember’s calling.
“The Church must investigate such accusations,” the abbot continued. “After all, we know the temptations of Satan can infect even the most stalwart of orders.”
Eira felt blood drain from her cheeks as Abbot Crichton made the sign of the cross, saying, “We need only remember the Templars.”
“You know what we do here.” Eira couldn’t stop her voice from shaking. “You know.”
The abbot sighed. “Alas, I am often away and perhaps things have occurred in my absence that are unsavory. I make allowances for your unique purpose and know you must call upon strange forces to aid you in battle. Though you give me assurances, I know little of the mysteries your magicians employ. It may be these powers have led you astray . . .”
Eira stood up, giving the abbot her back. She didn’t want him to see how frightened she was.
“What do you want?” she asked. “For the lady Morrow to be returned to her father?”
“The lady Morrow seems perfectly content here,” he replied. Eira heard him slurp more wine. “She lies beautifully, which demonstrates her commitment to the Guard.”
A dagger lay hidden within Eira’s bodice. She wanted nothing more than to slide it from its sheath and give it a new home in the abbot’s gut.
“Lord Morrow has only made a complaint,” he went on. “He hasn’t done enough to persuade me his cause is worthy. I believe the Circle might have a stronger position to take in this matter.”
Eira turned to face him. “How much?”
Abbot Crichton dipped his finger into his wine, watched the liquid slide like a drop of blood onto his palm, and then licked it off. “Your tributes will be four times a year instead of two.”
She clenched her fists. Though the Church supplied Conatus’s treasury, the abbot already claimed a percentage of their funds to supplement his personal coffers. Now he wanted more. Her Guard had been brutally attacked by striga. An entire village was missing. But this man—who’d been appointed as the Church’s authority over Tearmunn—cared only for gold.
Eira’s hands were shaking, her lips tight and trembling with rage. She couldn’t risk speaking for fear of what she would say.
“If you don’t want to have this conversation again, I’d recommend that Lady Morrow be your last protégé,” Abbot Crichton said.
“How do I know these new tributes will be enough?” Eira asked sharply. “Lord Morrow could offer you payment to retrieve his daughter.”
“He could, couldn’t he?” The abbot rose. “Only time will tell, I suppose.”
Seething, Eira watched as Abbot Crichton finished his wine and waddled toward the door. He opened it, pausing to look over his shoulder at her. “I’ll expect the first payment ready in the morning to take with me when I depart.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The abbot knew she could make no objection.
“Deus le volt,” he said. Then he smiled and closed the door.
Eira bowed her head. “No, Abbot,” she whispered. “I do not believe God wills this.”
Though her destination was the stockade, meaning another trip through the muddy courtyard, Eira couldn’t bother with taking the time to trade her fine gown for a Guard’s attire. At this point she would have delighted in seeing the gown burn. As a member of the Circle she had full access to any prisoner, and the warden stationed at the stockade simply placed the key ring into her outstretched hand and inclined his head in respect as she brushed past him and descended the stone steps to the cell block. Though it was unusual for a member of the Circle to question a prisoner alone, it wasn’t unheard of. And Eira was desperate to free her mind of the abbot’s arrogance. Interrogating the sorcerer would remind her of how important their mission was, no matter what petty abuses Abbot Crichton heaped upon them.