Blood of the Fold

"You've now told two versions of the same event. Since both can't be true, that means that one would have to be untrue. Yes? It would seem you have been caught in a lie, Sister Maren. I would think that you, of all people, would work to keep herself from falling into the habit of lying. The Sisters of the Light hold honesty in high regard, and abhor lying — even more than they abhor irreverence. And what penance has my superior, the headmistress of the novices, prescribed for herself to make amends for lying?"

"My, my," Sister Dulcinia said with a smirk. "Such boldness. Were I you, Sister Verna, and thinking of placing myself in contention for prelate, as you seem to be doing, I would get that presumptuous notion right out of my head. When Sister Leoma was through with you, there wouldn't be enough left for her to pick her teeth with."

Sister Verna returned the smirk. "So, Sister Dulcinia, you intend to back Sister Leoma, yes? Or are you just trying to conjure a task to get her out of your way while you seek the post?"

Sister Philippa spoke up in a quiet, authoritative voice. “Enough. We have more important matters to attend. Let's get this sham over with so we can get on with the selection process."

Sister Verna planted her fists on her hips. "And just what sham would that be?"

Sister Philippa turned gracefully toward the palace, her simple but elegant yellow robe flowing behind. "Follow us, Sister Verna, You have delayed us long enough. You are the last, and then we can be on with our business. We will take up the matter of your insolence at a another time."

The other two Sisters fell in beside her as she glided off over the bridge. Sister Verna and Warren exchanged a questioning look, and then started after them.

Warren slowed his pace, letting the three Sisters lengthen their lead to a dozen paces. With a frown, he leaned close so he could whisper without them hearing.

"Sister Verna, I sometimes think you could make a sunny day angry with you! It's been so peaceful around here for the last twenty years that I had forgotten how much trouble that tongue of yours could cause. Why do you do this? Do you just enjoy making trouble to no good end?"

He rolled his eyes at her withering scowl and changed the subject. "What do you suppose those three are doing together? I thought they would be adversaries."

Sister Verna glanced to the three Sisters, to make sure they couldn't hear. "If you want to put a knife in the back of your opponent, so to speak, you must first get close enough."

In the heart of the palace, before the thick walnut doors to the great hall, the three sisters came to such an abrupt halt that Sister Verna and Warren almost ran up onto their heels. The three turned. Sister Philippa put the fingertips of one hand to Warren's chest and forced him back a step.

She lifted one, long, graceful finger to his face, letting it hover an inch from his nose as she fixed him with a cold glare. "This is Sister business." She glanced to his bare neck. "And after the new prelate, whoever she may be, is installed, you will have to have a Rada'Han put back around your neck if you wish to remain at the Palace of the Prophets. We will not abide boys who cannot be properly controlled."

Sister Verna anchored an unseen hand on the small of Warren's back to keep him from retreating. "I took his collar off under my authority as a Sister of the Light. The commitment has been made on behalf of the palace; it will not be reversed."

Sister Philippa's dark gaze slid to her. "We will discuss this matter later, at an appropriate time."

"Let's be finished with this," Sister Dulcinia said, "we need to be on with more important business."

Sister Philippa nodded. "Come with us, Sister Verna."

Warren stood hunched, looking lost, as one of the Sisters used her Han to cast open the heavy doors, allowing the three to march through. Not wanting to look like a scolded puppy following them in, Sister Verna quickened her pace to walk beside them instead. Sister Dulcinia let out a noisy breath. Sister Maren invoked one of her famous looks, with which unfortunate novices were so familiar, but she didn't voice a protest. Sister Philippa showed the slightest hint of a smile. Anyone watching might have thought that it had been at her direction that Sister Vema walked beside them.

At the inner edge of the low ceiling, between white columns with gold capitals carved to portray curled oak leaves, they came to a halt where Sister Leoma waited with her back to them. She was about Sister Verna's size; her shock of straight white hair, tied loosely with a single golden ribbon, hung halfway down her back. She wore a modest brown dress that cleared the floor by a scant inch.