Chapter Twenty-Five
I ACCOST THE FIRST SENTRY I find and ask if the palace has a chapel.
“The new chapel is in the north wing. If you follow this hallway—”
“You said new chapel. Does that mean there is an old one as well?” An older chapel is far more likely to honor the Nine.
The guard squints at me as if puzzled by my question. “Well, yes, my lady, but hardly anyone uses it anymore. And the new chapel is every bit as fine as the cathedral in town.”
I bow my head. “That may be true, but I am convent-raised and prefer to do my praying in more humble surroundings.”
He looks almost put out, as if I have somehow insulted him by declining to view his fine new chapel. However, in the end, he gives me the directions I seek, if a bit reluctantly.
The moment I step through the chapel doors, I can feel how very old it is. Close upon the sense of the chapel’s age comes the peace I have been hoping for. It descends upon me like gently falling snow, soft and cool, and I wish to roll in it in sheer gratitude. I know that when I look, I will find the nine niches just below the altar, because it is ever thus—when I am in Mortain’s presence, I find a peace and contentment I can find nowhere else.
The chapel is dimly lit by a handful of candles and much of the room is in shadow, but I appear to be the only one here. Moving forward, I sink gratefully onto one of the kneeling benches. My gaze goes immediately to the first niche, and I am pleased to find the small carving of Death residing there. But I am distracted by a small lump in the third recess, -Arduinna’s niche. It is a small loaf or cake of some sort. The Arduinnites were correct—someone has made an offering, calling upon Arduinna’s protection here in Rennes. The duchess? Or perhaps it is some poor beleaguered maid who is beset by unwanted suitors.
I will puzzle that out later. For now, I allow myself to close my eyes. Before even a whisper of prayer can pass my lips, a vision of poor -Matelaine’s face fills my mind. The sorrow and outrage I feel anew is like a kick to my chest.
It may have been my selfish desire to lead my own life that propelled me from the convent, but Matelaine’s fate has taken this far beyond my own differences and disagreements with the abbess and turned it into something far more serious.
I do not have a specific prayer I wish to recite to Mortain. I never do. It has always been my custom to simply open my heart to Him so He may see and know all that I am feeling—the good along with the bad, my grand thoughts as well as my small ones. I do that now, and peace washes through me, clearing me of my doubts and renewing my sense of purpose.
For all that I am physically strong and skilled, I have always doubted my own heart. How could I not? It is what the nuns trained us to do, part of the way they broke down our will so they could sort through the pieces like a broken jug and reshape it to their own needs. All of us have let them—but me more than most. Indeed, once I realized what they were attempting to do, I wrenched the task from their hands and set about it myself—all in my desire to be the best novitiate who had ever walked those halls.
That desire now seems a shallow one, something that I have been taught to want rather than something that sprang from my own heart.
I now realize I do not even know what it is that my own heart yearns for. Once that would have terrified me—to be so formless and shapeless—but now I find it freeing. I have removed the convent’s chosen desire from my heart, like plucking a long-embedded splinter from my flesh. I have rejected the path they told me Mortain wants of me. Instead of fear, I feel . . . hunger. Hunger to fill my heart once again, but this time with what I want. I now recognize that my wants are not selfish simply because they are mine. Indeed, many of my wants are worthy ones, even noble: justice for Matelaine, safety for the other girls, honesty from the abbess, and to restore the integrity of the convent.
Ismae has managed to forge her own path between the convent and her duty to Mortain. No, not duty, but devotion, for she serves Him now with much more than simple duty. It gives me great hope that I may be able to find such a path for myself.
Thus encouraged, I murmur my gratitude to Mortain and rise to my feet. As I straighten my skirt, I hear a faint rustling off to my right. Startled, I whirl around and peer into the flickering shadows. A man stirs. Was he there all along? Or did he come in while I was deep in prayer?
He crosses himself and rises creakily to his feet. He wears a humble brown robe and a hempen rope at his waist with the nine wooden beads that mark him as a follower of the old saints. He is shorter than I. His hair is fluffy and white and dances about his head like a halo in the warm candlelight. He brings his hands together in front of his chest and bows his head in my direction. “Greetings, daughter. I did not mean to startle you.”
“I was not startled.”
The glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes gives me to believe he recognizes my small lie for what it is.
“You were completely lost in prayer,” he murmurs. “I could not bring myself to interrupt.”
For some reason I feel awkward and tongue-tied in his presence, although I cannot name why and it seems a most ridiculous reaction. It is not as if he could discern my thoughts and prayers. “It matters not, Father—”
“Effram. I am Father Effram.” He takes a step toward me. “Have you a heavy heart, child?”
I sense curiosity rather than concern in his question. “No, Father. I pray so that I may better understand my own thoughts.”
His face breaks into a smile, as if my answer has pleased him greatly. I wonder if that means he will try to tell me what he thinks my thoughts should be, and I think better of him when he does not. He continues to smile, letting the silence grow, and I cannot tell if it is meant to be a comfortable silence or an awkward one he thinks I will try to fill. If it’s the latter, he will lose at that game, for I have had far too much practice at it.
In the end, he is the first to speak. “I’ve never seen one of Arduinna’s followers dressed so . . . elegantly,” he says.
I stare blankly at him for a moment before understanding dawns. “Oh, but I’m not one of Arduinna’s followers!”
His white eyebrows draw together in puzzlement. “You aren’t? My mistake, then.”
But my curiosity it piqued. “Why did you think that I was?”
His eyes flicker to the small offering in the niche.
“I did not leave that,” I hasten to assure him.
“I know. I thought perhaps you’d come in answer to it. You have the look of one of Arduinna’s. A certain ferocity of expression.”
Well, I am feeling fierce enough, I suppose. “I do not serve Arduinna. I serve Mortain.”
He grows very still, his head tilted to the side, studying me even more intently, if that is possible. “Do you, now?” he mutters. “Well, that is truly interesting.” He smiles once more, puts his hands together, bows again, then takes his leave.
Once he has left, I sneak a furtive sniff at my arm, just to be certain the scents of wood smoke and poorly tanned leather do not cling to me still.