Nervous and impatient, the crow squawks. I tuck him safely in one of the three empty cages behind the abbess’s desk and trade him another treat from the nearby jar for my message. I march over to the chair and plop myself into it, then stretch my feet up and rest them on the desk. If any remnant of the abbess remains, let us see how she likes that.
The door opens, and Ismae pokes her head in. Her eyes widen as she takes in the location of my boots, but she says nothing. Wise girl.
“The duchess said I may come see what Annith had to say.”
I wave her over, unroll the message, and begin reading.
Dearest Sybella (and Ismae, who I imagine is reading over your shoulder),
I cannot help it, I laugh. Ismae nudges me with her elbow. “As if you wouldn’t be reading over my shoulder if it were addressed to me.”
We arrived at the convent three days ago. As you can imagine, Balthazaar’s appearance has thrown everything into chaos. Truly, it is as if a cat has landed among a flock of pigeons. Sister Beatriz fainted when he was introduced! The older sisters, while less flamboyant, were equally dramatic. Both Sister Vereda and Sister Claude cried openly when they came face-to-face with him.
The younger girls (and nuns) seem to take his presence more in stride. Aveline and Sarra appear bored by the whole development. Yet when they think no one is watching, I find them staring at him with hungry, resentful eyes. I do not know what it means for their relationship with him, but we will have our hands full while this is all sorted out.
However, you are leaving for France soon, and I wanted to get this information to you as quickly as I could. The two novitiates I told you about left the convent almost a year before either of you arrived. They were near my age, although I’m afraid I wasn’t close with them—I was too focused on my training at the time.
I have spent hours poring through the convent registry, and there is only the smallest reference made to the girls’ departure. I include it below:
September 1484. Margot and Genevieve left for France today. They are to pose as nieces to one of Duke Francis’s allies, and as such will be tutored at the French court. They will be in position to feed us critical information in a timely manner, and will be available to us should we need to move against the crown. Although we shall do nothing for at least a year or two until they are well and truly established and beyond suspicion.
There is no mention made of who the ally was or where he lived. Further, I have found no evidence of any communications of theirs ever being received by the convent, nor any correspondence from us, either directing them to act or giving them instructions.
There was so little written about them I broke down and asked Sisters Claude and Vereda how the girls were to be contacted, should their services be needed. The answer was most unsatisfactory. When hidden initiates of Mortain are to be called into duty, they are given a crow feather, either by a messenger from the convent or by letter.
How we are to do that, when we do not know where they are, is unclear to me. I asked Sister Vereda if she has Seen either one of them, but she gave me such a garbled answer that I am certain Balthazaar’s arrival has temporarily deprived her of her wits. The entire strategy is so weak and flawed that we may as well have set the girls adrift on a raft in the open ocean. I fear that they have burrowed deep into the court awaiting instructions that never came. Yet one more thing to lay on the reverend mother’s long list of crimes.
I do not know how helpful my memories of them will be. Margot had red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. She promised to grow into a woman of great beauty. What I remember most about her was that her gifts from Mortain had not yet appeared—even at twelve. Since it was the same with me, I took great comfort in that. However, that is not helpful to you.
Genevieve stands out even less vividly in my mind. Her hair was too light to be brown, but too dark to be blond. She was of average height and well muscled, for she threw herself into her training here. Her face was thin and somewhat fox-shaped, her eyes brown. But that was five years ago. Appearances change so much in those five years between twelve and adulthood! They could now be fat or thin, their hair darker, their faces rounder. There is a good chance they may even have grown taller, since many girls have not reached their full height by that age.
Dearest Sybella, I am sorry I have so little to give you. In truth, I feel as if I am sending you into a haystack to hunt for a needle. But if anyone can ferret out fellow daughters of Mortain, it is you.
Please give dear Ismae a hug for me and know that all is (mostly) well here. I will pray for you and the duchess each and every day.
Annith
And just like that, my small nugget of hope for the future and my promises to the council vanish like ashes in the wind.
?Chapter 22
Genevieve
always knew the crow feather that would call me into service would not appear in the first year, or even the second, but I was certain it would come. I spent hours wondering whether the messenger would be a man or a woman and what guise they would wear. I had nothing to go by or signs to look for. I knew only that someday, someone would arrive bearing a crow feather, the signal that the convent was calling me into service.
Today, the first day of Margot’s labor, I wish more than ever that messenger would arrive. There are a thousand other places I would rather be than here in this castle as Margot crosses the threshold into her new life, a threshold she can never uncross.
The men are lucky. By custom, they are not allowed anywhere near the birthing room. Indeed, the farther away they are, the better. So they have embarked on an extended debauch of hunting and drinking and eating, then hunting some more.
I, too, make myself scarce. In part because of Margot’s own command for me to stay away, but also to avoid the silent questions in the other attendants’ eyes. I have no wish to explain to them why I am not at my best friend’s side as she begins her grueling ordeal.
* * *
On the second day of Margot’s labor, I disappear to the castle dungeon bearing two sacks. When I reach the oubliette, I lower one of the sacks down into the prisoner’s waiting arms. Instead of lingering, I turn to leave.
“You are not staying?”
I clench the sack in my hand and keep my voice steady. “I have something else I must do today.”
“Very well. Thank you for the food.” And that is the end of it. He does not poke or prod or pepper me with more questions.