That realization—that I was damaged and broken when I first met her and deserving of her sympathy, rather than her harsh judgment—fills me with a righteous anger that is completely strange to me. I raise my hand and knock on the door.
“Come in,” the abbess calls out.
I lift my chin, plant a mocking smile on my lips, then enter the room.
The abbess is retrieving a note from a crow that has just arrived. She does not look up as I enter or acknowledge my presence in any way. It is a tactic I remember well from the convent, one calculated to increase the visitor’s unease. However, her small torments are nothing compared to all I have been through in the last several months, and my mocking smile turns into one of genuine amusement.
Instead of waiting patiently—or nervously—I cross to the lone window that overlooks the inner courtyard. I do not particularly care what is out there; I know only that I do not want her to think her games have intimidated me. I glance over my shoulder in time to see her eyebrow twitch in annoyance—just once—as she continues to read the note. My objective achieved, I go back to looking out the window.
Seconds later there is an impatient rustle of paper, then the abbess speaks. “Sybella.”
Slowly I turn around and face her, the bright light coming in from the window behind me forcing her to blink. “Yes, Reverend Mother?”
“Come over here so I do not have to put a crick in my neck to speak to you.”
“But of course.” I cross the room and stand before her as she settles the crow on one of the two empty perches behind the desk.
“It is good that your thoughts have turned toward protecting the duchess. That speaks well of your training.”
Not of me. Never of me. Only of the training that she and the convent are responsible for.
“Which is why I have called you here. I wish to discuss your next assignment.”
My heart skips a beat. “I had not realized I was finished with this one yet.”
She turns from the crow she’s been tending and looks me square in the eye. “You must return to Nantes. To d’Albret’s household.”
For a moment, I am not certain I have heard her correctly. Then, foolishly, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Surely you jest.”
Her face tightens in anger. “I do not jest. We must learn more details of d’Albret’s plans, and you are best suited to the task.”
“You realize that my ability to pose as his docile prodigal daughter disappeared the same time his prisoner did?”
“Something you did not receive orders to do,” she points out.
“Something I was unable to avoid,” I remind her, barely able to hold on to my temper. “In any case, d’Albret will never allow me back into his household. And certainly not in a position of trust where I might overhear important information. He will most likely kill me on sight.” It would not be a quick or pleasant death, of that I am certain.
“Of course you will not go back as yourself. You have proven to be a master of disguises. We will dress you as a servant, which will give you an excuse for lingering at doors.”
I long to shake her by her slender shoulders and then slap her cold, calm face. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? D’Albret watches everyone and has others watch them as well. He has already killed over half the servants at the palace simply because he suspected they were loyal to the duchess. He would never let an unknown servant into his household.”
The abbess inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring. That she is so visibly annoyed gives me hope that she is taking my words to heart.
She shoves her hands into her sleeves and crosses to look out the window. I stay where I am and try to mask the fact that I am seething inside.
“Very well, then,” she says. “I will send you back with but one purpose: to get close enough to kill d’Albret.”
Sweet Mortain. Does she truly think I will fall for that twice? “While I have longed to do that very thing, Reverend Mother, does it not go against every precept you have ever taught me? For he is not marqued. Unless”—I pause as a thought occurs to me—“has Annith seen it?”
The abbess’s lips thin, and she removes her hands from her sleeves. For a moment, I think she will strike me. “What do you know of Annith? Have you been corresponding with her while in Nantes? That was strictly forbidden.”
I am so surprised by this outburst that I do not even think to say anything but the truth. “No, Reverend Mother! I have not spoken with her—even by note—since I left the convent.”
Slowly, with visible difficulty, the abbess reins in her temper and turns back to the window.
“How can d’Albret not be marqued after all that he has done?” she asks, as if Annith’s name was never mentioned. “Perhaps you simply cannot see it. Or perhaps you have not looked hard enough. Perhaps your fear has made you weak and overcautious.”
Anger spurts through me and I fight hard to tamp it back down. It will not do to lose my temper in front of her. “He is not marqued. Believe me, I checked often. I saw him in all his na**d glory just two days before I left Nantes.”
“It seems to me there is a good chance it has appeared since then,” she says stubbornly.
That is when I realize she will not take no for an answer. She is doing everything in her power to force me back into the little box of her making. The moment has come in which I must choose between the convent’s little box, or stepping fully away from everything I have ever known. I try one last approach. “If I do as you ask, I might be able to get into the palace, and I might even get to d’Albret himself, but I will never get out alive. Those loyal to him will see to that.”
Even as I speak the words, I can see in her eyes that she already knows this. That is when it hits me: all I have ever been to her is a tool, a tool so damaged that she does not mind if it gets utterly destroyed.
“We are all asked to make sacrifices in our service to Mortain. And you in particular have wished for death ever since you first arrived at the convent. Perhaps this is Mortain’s way of answering your prayers.”
Her words pierce my heart like sharp black thorns, and the familiar darkness and despair threatens to overwhelm me. Has she ever been so willing to sacrifice any other novitiate for Mortain’s cause? No, for her cause, for this is about bringing glory and recognition to the convent—to her.