Mortal Heart (20 page)

But at the sight of the bright red hair spread out against the black sheeting, my stomach curls into a tight ball of dread. “Stop!” The word springs out of my mouth before I even realize I have spoken. Surprised by the command of my voice, the hedge priests reluctantly halt, then scowl at me while the Arduinnites shoot me curious glances. I dismount from Fortuna and toss the reins at Tola, who catches them easily.

As I draw near the bone cart, time seems to slow as if it is trapped in a thick slog of mud.
Please not Matelaine. Please, please, please.
The prayer hammers through my body with every heartbeat.

At last, I reach the side of the cart and look down. The girl’s face is covered by a shroud. Slowly, I reach for the edge of the black linen.

“Don’t touch her!” one of the hedge priests says in outrage, but I do not even pause. I grip the fine linen and pull it away from her face.

Matelaine’s face.

At the sight of her, I feel as if a shard of glass has wedged itself into my heart. She is still and whiter than bone, her face stark against the black shroud and red hair. Her hands have been laid upon her chest, and in the right one she clutches an ivory chess piece. “Where are you taking her?” My voice sounds dull and hollow, even to my own ears.

“Back to the convent of Saint Mortain. Do you know her?” the second hedge priest asks more gently.

I nod, my eyes never leaving her face. “She is my sister.” As I stare down at her, the pain from that shard of glass spreads out, filling my lungs, my chest, my arms with such a sense of wrongness that it is all I can do not to throw back my head and howl with rage and fury. She should never have been sent out.

And the abbess knew it. The abbess has betrayed the very tenets of the convent. The nuns are meant to foster and care for His daughters as they would their own, sending them out only when they are truly ready.

It is also, I realize with a sour sickness in my belly, my fault as well, for whatever the reason the abbess has held me back, it is at the root of her decision to send Matelaine. If I had been stronger, faster, more determined, argued my case better, I could have prevented this. I turn on the priest. “What happened?”

The kinder one answers. “We do not know. We were only given the body to transport back to the island.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin around in surprise. It is the oldest of the Arduinnites—Floris. “Is she your sister?” Her brown eyes are full of compassion.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“What do you wish to do?”

Her question reminds me that I have choices. Part of me wishes to crawl into the cart and hold Matelaine close for the entire journey back to the convent. To whisper all the words of friendship in her ear that I was too busy to utter in real life. To present her body to the nuns who are still there and scream at them,
See what you have done? By your silence, your compliance?
The unspoken words in my throat are as hot and painful as red coals from a fire.

My own plans and ambitions crumble like winter’s first frost under a heavy boot. A choking anger continues to build inside me, and rage spreads so quickly through my body that it is a wonder I do not erupt into flames.

Slowly, I turn to face Floris. “I wish to travel on and avenge her death by confronting those who have done this to her.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I see a measure of approval in them. “Are you also a daughter of Mortain?”

I look away. “Yes. I am sorry I did not tell you. I know there is a history of animosity between us. I will no longer travel with you if you’d prefer.”

“If you are avenging this girl, then you are on Arduinna’s business now, so you are welcome to travel with us. Plus, a lone woman is too easy to harass; a group of four women who are warriors and assassins, less so.”

We make camp just before nightfall. I suggest we spend the night near a church so we can be assured of the protection of consecrated ground, but they refuse, and Aeva outright laughs. “We have no love of or use for the Church.”

“But the hellequin claimed they would hunt me forever,” I explain. “I do not wish to bring their vengeance down upon you as well.” Not to mention incite some sort of civil war among the gods and their minions.

“They could not know you would find shelter with us,” Floris says. “And even if they did, the hellequin will not dare approach the followers of Arduinna.”

“But just to be certain, we will ward our camp,” Tola adds cheerfully.

Aeva turns on her, eyes sparking with annoyance. “You talk too much of things that are for our ears only.” When Tola simply shrugs, Aeva reaches for a handful of kindling and flings it onto the fire. “If you have so little care for the secrets that lie between her god and ours, why not simply get down at her feet and rub yourself against her ankles like an overfriendly cat?”

“Enough!” It is the first time I have heard Floris raise her voice. “It is Tola’s choice who she makes friends with, not yours.”

Unable to help myself, I glance over at the older woman. “You do not forbid it?”

She shakes her head at my question. “It is not ours to forbid. Every one of us must decide for herself.”

After another long moment of silence, I speak again. “Why is there so much animosity between Mortain and Arduinna?” I ask. “As the old stories tell it, Arduinna gave her blessing to Mortain and Amourna’s pairing.”

Aeva shoots me a scornful glance, and my hand itches to slap the look off her face. “We who serve Arduinna are made, not chosen and showered with otherworldly gifts like the daughters of Mortain. Every skill we possess, every feat we master, we acquire through our own sweat and determination. Not because we were sired by a god.”

I lean forward, wishing we were standing so I could back her up against a tree to shake her arrogance. “First, you will be comforted to learn that not all daughters of Mortain are blessed with His unique gifts and talents. I am one of those who have been given none, and have had to work hard for every skill I’ve acquired—often at great personal cost.” Our gazes hold for a long moment, then she looks away. I take a deep breath to calm myself, then turn to Floris. “How do followers come to serve Arduinna if they are not her children?” Although as soon as I utter the words, I realize how foolish that sounds, for no woman, not even a goddess, can give birth to hundreds of daughters. Not to mention she is reported to be a virgin goddess at that.

Floris stands up to add another branch to the fire. “When a woman feels love’s painful bite, that is when she prays to Arduinna. Every heart that has been broken, every lover who has been jilted, every soul that has been twisted by jealousy belongs to her. All girl children born of such a union—whether the jealous vindictive side of love or the heart-wrenching unrequited side—are Arduinna’s own daughters. They may never know it, but
she
does, and she watches over them. If they choose to dedicate themselves to her service, they are welcomed with open arms.

“And to answer your original question on the animosity between our gods, it is because your god played our goddess false,” she says softly.

The silence that follows grows thick, and they all exchange glances while I stare stupidly at her. Aeva looks smug. “Ah, you’ve not heard that story, have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“Well, you will not hear it from us.” Aeva sends the others such a searing gaze that even Floris does not contradict her. Then she rises to her feet in disgust. “I am going to do something useful, like hunt for our dinner, instead of huddling around and gossiping with our enemies.”

I raise my eyebrows and turn to Floris. “I apologize. I did not realize I was an enemy. I have no desire to put any of you in an uncomfortable—”

Floris holds up her hands to halt my words. “You are not an enemy. Aeva simply sees things more rigidly than most. Now, here, if you would kindly clear a place for our bedrolls.”

It is a simple task, even a mindless one, but I do not care, for my head is already overfull. As I pick up rocks and twigs from the ground, both Tola and Floris cut marks and sigils into the earth with their bone-handled knives. I am consumed with curiosity—we at the convent have no such magic, or at least none that I have heard of—but I do not wish to intrude on a private ritual that they are using in order to protect me, so I allow myself only occasional glances.

I finish my task before they finish theirs and look around for something else to do. Dusk is falling fast now, and a few squirrels and rabbits venture forth for a last forage before the night. The rabbits are thin, but thin is still better than nothing. Moving slowly so as not to startle them, I pick up my bow and two arrows. When they lift their heads, sniffing the air, I hold perfectly still so they will not sense me. As soon as they go back to their grazing, I fit an arrow to the bow and aim. There is an explosion of movement as the creatures take flight, but I am pleased to see that the largest of the rabbits lies still on the ground. I will much prefer eating a dinner that I have caught myself than relying on Aeva’s bitter hospitality.

That night, as we eat, Tola keeps looking at me, and I know she wishes to ask me questions. I am grateful when she does not. Aeva, however, shows no such restraint. “So, you are a daughter of Mortain, and yet the hellequin pursued you?”

I keep my attention firmly on the rabbit haunch I am gnawing. “I did not tell them who I was.”

“Why not?”

I should lie and turn her questions from me, but seeing Matelaine today reminded me that my reasons for leaving were justified. “Out of fear that it was me they were after.”

The frankness of that answer silences even the belligerent Aeva. At least for a moment. She opens her mouth to ask something else, but Floris puts her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Surely that is a convent matter and none of our concern.”

Aeva swallows back whatever question she was considering. It might just be my imagination, but I think I discern a new measure of respect in her manner.

That night, I find it nearly impossible to sleep in spite of my exhaustion. Every time I close my eyes, I see Matelaine’s cold, dead face, and I want to rail at myself for being so long detained by the hellequin. If I had gotten to Guérande earlier, could I have prevented her death?

Just as I finally start to fall asleep, the ground begins to rumble and I come fully awake.

The hunt.

I freeze, as if holding still will keep them from finding me. The rumble grows louder, and the ground trembles against my cheek as they draw closer. I turn to look at the others and find Tola’s eyes open. “Do not worry,” she whispers. “The wards will hold.”

And they do. But I can see the dark ghostly figures riding just on the other side of them. One rider draws to a halt and stares at our camp. Even though I cannot see who it is from this distance, my skin recognizes the dark, brooding caress of his gaze, and I shiver.

The following day, we draw close enough to Vannes to see the spires of its churches. We also run into the first of the French soldiers. They have commandeered a local farmer’s ox cart as well as what looks like the very last of his slim winter food stores. Since the new crops will not be in for weeks yet, they may well have just sentenced the family to death by starvation.

There are six of them, two on the driver’s bench and four more flanking the cart to guard it. Luckily, we left the main road over an hour ago and have been traveling alongside it, hidden in the smattering of trees that rise up on either side of the road. The Arduinnites exchange a glance and draw their bows. Anticipation prickles along my skin as I realize what they intend to do. I draw my bow as well, for I will not stand idly by and hand Aeva an opportunity to question my skill or commitment.

Floris gives me a faint nod, then motions in silence to assign each of us a soldier. I am to take one of the men in the rear.

It is no different from the targets at the convent, I tell myself. But that is a lie. It is altogether different, for these men are flesh and blood, their bodies still pulsing with life.

I take a deep breath and sight along the arrow. The French soldier is thin and dirty and is boasting to his fellow Frenchmen about how the farmer nearly pissed himself in terror as he teased him with his sword. In that second, everything shifts, and it
is
precisely like shooting at the targets.

My vision narrows until the entire world is reduced to the French soldier. I squint against the pale winter sun, block out the soft chirping of the birds, and calculate the force of the light breeze.

But when I am ready to take the shot, for a brief moment my fingers refuse to let loose the arrow. I curse inwardly, then wrench my fingers from the bowstring and let the arrow fly. So no one will suspect that I hesitated, I quickly nock a second arrow and fire it as well. The air is filled with a brief series of thuds, and I watch as my arrow strikes the forward guard seconds before Aeva’s does. She whips her head around and glares at me. “He was mine!”

I shrug. “He was going for his knife. I had no idea how accurate he would be at throwing it.”

Aeva looks at me with a mixture of grudging admiration and annoyance.

Floris begins issuing orders. “Tola, turn the cart around and see if you can get it back to its owner. Aeva, go with her. You might suggest they hide their supplies better, unless they wish to eat nothing more than new grass and dirt clods.” I avert my eyes, not wanting to watch as Aeva and Floris toss the bodies around like old sacks of grain, and I must fight to keep the sour churning in my belly from making me ill. It is the excitement, I tell myself. Excitement that I have finally made my first kill.

Even though this is what I have been trained to do, it does not feel nearly as joyous or righteous as I thought it would. I must remind myself that these are French soldiers who have killed any number of ­Bretons—and would do so again, even if only by confiscating all of their food.

Once Tola has the cart turned around, Aeva scrambles up onto the bench beside her. We arrange a place and time to meet later. As they head down the road, Floris sends me a sideways glance. “That was fine shooting.”