Page 7

ALWEN

T he cloisters were dim this time of day, lit by flickering oil lamps, and Alwen was hurrying toward the gardens.

The new sprouts from the root vegetables were already an inch tall, but Alwen was still worrying over them.

One frost or surge of beetles or too much water…

there were a dozen ways to lose her new crop.

And Alwen was terrible at failing. She abhorred it.

Mother Superior thought it was a kind of pride, a sin that she’d rather not see in any of her charges, but it wasn’t that.

Alwen simply didn’t like to let anyone down.

She’d been tasked with gardening, so she would excel at it.

If she were tasked with maintaining the linens, she’d be just as thorough.

However, the sisters had summarily removed Alwen from cleaning, from cooking, from laundering.

Her desire to be… thorough made most of the sisters dislike sharing tasks with her.

So, Alwen tended to the plants outside, away from the others.

She had dreams of doing something more exciting.

Every sister at the convent trained in combat and seduction, make-up and manners.

In the years since she had come of age, though, Alwen had not been sent on a single mission – even reconnaissance.

Hers was a quiet life, but she had accepted it.

Some days, she even liked it. So what if her temper wasn’t well suited for subterfuge?

She was where she was, and it would be foolish to wish for a different life.

Alwen thought about the small measures of her past that she recalled. A mother who was afraid of sunlight; a home in a cave where Alwen felt cold and damp every day. Her memories were scant. Since she’d been a child, she’d lived here.

Vows will come, and this will be my future. My past. My present. My future.

Occasionally, the thought bothered her, but what other life was there?

Today, turnips. Tomorrow, checking the chicken wire.

“Alwen.”

Her name echoed in the silence of the cloisters.

To speak here was verboten, but there was one woman who could change the convent rules at will.

Alwen pivoted. Mother Superior headed toward her.

She had the shape of an old oak, wide and tall and square.

No one could pass her in a hallway, and she had the sort of glower that meant no one attempted it, either.

Alwen dipped in a curtsey of sorts, bit her lip to try and stay silent. That was one of the many rules she struggled to follow.

Too loud. Too thorough. Too inquisitive. Too hungry. Too much. I am always too much of everything.

After a long, still moment, Mother Superior said, “You will go to Helgren.”

“Me?” Alwen stared at the head of the order, hoping that her question wasn’t terribly impudent. “On a mission? Alone? Outside the convent?”

Mother Superior gave a solitary nod. “I prayed on it. We all did. You are the right choice.”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you doubt me?” Mother Superior’s glower grew deeper and her voice louder.

“Of course not!”

For a moment they were at a standstill, before Mother Superior said, “Mirador is swayed by a pretty face. I was certain the time would come, Alwen. Your path simply took longer to become clear. Your beauty will lull Mirador to peace. You are the weapon we need to contain her.”

Alwen swallowed against the praise. She’d seen her reflection a few times, and although no one had commented on the matter, she’d seen the looks from delivery folk.

They were interested, hungry, curious. That mattered little, though.

Alwen had never been assigned any duties that required disrobing.

Some novitiates had, of course. The convent served the greater good, and many of the novitiates had seduced enemies of the crown or enchanted a wayward noble to attain compliance.

Alwen, however, had never left the convent grounds. In the two decades she’d lived with the sisterhood, she’d stayed within the walls. Anxious now, she asked, “Are there rules?”

“The more experienced sisters will dress and instruct you.” Mother Superior caught her gaze and held Alwen fast. “You will contain Mirador however you must, Alwen. She’s become a menace, and the crown would rather word of her kind not reach alarming levels.”

“I vow to serve the good of the kingdom and the peace the Divine has decreed,” Alwen said clearly. She’d made the promise often in the two decades since she’d been gifted to the convent, but not for this sort of mission. To take a life, even one such as this, was a heavy burden.

Perhaps there is a non-fatal answer…

“I’ve sheltered you as long as I could, Alwen, longer than perhaps I ought to have, but…” Mother Superior sighed. “Can you do whatever it takes to contain her?”

“I will. My vow.” Alwen bowed her head briefly, but her temper flickered. She looked up and caught Mother Superior’s gaze. “I am thorough in every task I am assigned.”

“That you are.” Mother Superior chuckled. “Too much so at times. Sister Bernadette still mentions the reorganization of the larder.”

Alwen flushed. “It was haphazard.”

“True.” Mother Superior patted Alwen’s cheek fondly. “You are the right choice for this mission. I trust you.”

A trickle of some unfamiliar feeling came over Alwen. “Will I be welcome here after?”

“If you choose to return, yes. If you can, yes.” Mother Superior pulled Alwen into an uncharacteristic embrace.

“Your service to the kingdom and the Divine do not make this easier to accept. I feel honored to have guided you.” Mother Superior sniffled suddenly.

“Be careful. See yourself to the armory and then to the wardrobe.”

“I was planning to weed the west garden and—”

“Another sister will mind the turnips. Go.” Mother Superior turned in a half-circle as they embraced, so that when she withdrew her hold, Alwen was facing the depths of the convent instead of the door. Then she gently pushed her forward.

And Alwen went to prepare for a battle with a creature that was no longer human, no longer able to accept the Divine’s grace.

What sort of depraved wretch will Mirador be? Will that make it easier to kill her?

MIRADOR

I woke to find an eagle perched on the dresser.

The creature had shredded the fine wooden top with its great talons, carving patterns as it studied me.

The bird and I had an uneasy truce so far.

Admittedly, I was unsure whether the animal was aware of the truce.

Being cursed as I am does not grant me the gift of conversing with creatures, or much of any true benefit.

I do not die. I do not stay injured. Those are certainly assets – heightened senses and strength – but my familial longevity comes with neither magic nor money.

Nonetheless, I like to feel the fresh air when I wake, and the eagle liked to rest indoors. We had an accord of sorts. The beast had fashioned an eyrie atop my wardrobe, a tangle of woven twigs creating a frame lined with the stuffing from a settee I used to like.

“A bit late today, aren’t you?” I could see the last swaths of red and purple in the sky. The sun was set, and I was awake. My feathered guest had returned to the room she thought of as her own. All was as right as possible in my routine.

And yet I am overcome with sorrow…

The bird made a harsh, guttural noise, then sharp and high. For all I knew, she was answering me – or mocking my maudlin mood. The creature stalked toward her nest and settled in; her gaze was fixed on the cliffside view from my window.

Eagles could rip flesh from bone with their knife-edged beaks and talons.

I’d watched this one shred a few fish and a small rodentlike carcass efficiently.

Still, when she hopped closer to the edge and tilted her head toward me, I dutifully stroked the ridge between her eyes.

There were few things that could kill me, and unless the eagle severed my head from my body, anything else was an injury that would heal.

The bird made a low noise that was not a purr, but surely seemed like one.

“I need to go to Helgren, eat, talk to humans.” I stared into the distance, where the lights were tiny beacons. “Soon. Not tonight, but soon.”

The anticipation of talking to someone human was almost as keen as the desire to have a companion for the night. No one had warned me that loneliness and longevity were hand-in-hand companions, but I could see no other option.

What depraved soul would want to hide away in seclusion with a creature like me?

I considered my features. I was under no illusion that I was hideous to behold. I was not ghastly, nor was I beautiful. An average woman, slightly too tall and muscular to be found ladylike. Far too adept with swords and fists to be mistaken for a damsel.

Inside, however, I am something Other. Not merely mortal. Who could love me with my madness and peculiar diet?

Somehow, my parents and the rest of my family had found love, but I was seemingly unlovable.

Decades had passed with nothing more than fleeting touches – or purchased ones.

I learned languages, dances, painting, writing, and still I was unlovable.

The women who sought my embrace were often doing so as a last adventure before marrying.

I was their proverbial summit to scale, their sea to tame, before they settled into mundane lives.

Where is the one who will want me to be their companion in a mundane life?

“She’s out there somewhere,” my mother had assured me time and again.

“Waiting to torment you for eternity,” my father often added when they were at odds. “Why rush? Go to the pub, Chrissy. Enjoy your freedom while you have it.”

Despite their quarrels, my parents were often blissfully happy. I wanted that. In fairness, I also wanted my one true love to be a fair maiden with coffers that overflowed. My mother had found that when she married my father. That money lasted for almost two centuries.