Stone of Tears

“Doubt me at your peril. I am a prisoner; I have nothing to live for. I am the flesh of prophecy. I am the bringer of death.”

No answer came in the silence. He slammed his sword home into its scabbard.

Richard held his arms out as he gave a gracious bow. He came up smiling. “Now that we all understand each other, understand the truce, you ladies may go back to your celebration of my capture.”

He turned his back on the stunned crowd. Sister Verna’s head was lowered, her hand covering her face. Pasha’s lips were pressed so tightly together they were turning blue.

A stout, stern-faced woman crossed in front of him, stopping before Sister Verna. The woman held her nose in the air until Sister Verna lifted her head and straightened her back.

“Sister Verna. It is obvious you have neither the talent nor skill to be a Sister of the Light. Your failure is quite beyond the pale. As of this moment, you are broken to novice, first rank. You will serve as a novice until such time as, and if the Creator wills, you earn the title of Sister of the Light.”

Sister Verna lifted her chin. “Yes, Sister Maren.”

“Novices do not speak to a Sister unless asked to! I did not ask you to speak!” She held out a hand. “surrender your dacra.”

Sister Verna flicked her hand, the silver knife appearing from her sleeve. She twirled it, presented the handle to the other woman, and then stood silent, her eyes straight ahead.

“At dawn tomorrow, you will report to the kitchens. You will scrub pots until you are judged worthy to attempt something more demanding of your intelligence. Do you understand!”

“Yes, Sister Maren. I understand.”

“And if you even look like you are going to give me any back talk, it will be the stables instead of the kitchens, cleaning stalls and hauling manure!”

“In that case, Sister Maren, I will report directly to the stables, instead of the kitchens, and save your ears what it is I would say to you.”

Sister Maren’s face reddened. “Very well, novice. The stables it is.”

Sister Maren paused before Richard, giving him a tight smile. “I trust that does not break your truce.” She lifted her chin and stormed off.

The room was silent. Richard looked to Sister Verna, but the Sister stared straight ahead. Pasha, her face set in a scowl, suddenly put herself between them.

“Verna is no longer your concern. Your arm is bleeding. Since you are my charge, I will tend to it.”

She took a calming breath as she twined her fingers together before her waist. “There is a big banquet, to welcome you, beginning in the dining room. Maybe you will feel better about all of us after the banquet. Everyone is looking forward to it. Everyone wants a chance to personally welcome you.” She shook a finger at him. “And you will be on your best behavior, young man!”

Having put the sword away, he had put most of the anger away. Most, but not all. “I’m not hungry. Show me to my dungeon, child.”

Her fists tightened on her blue skirts. With a dark look, she considered him a moment. “Very well. Have it your way. You can just go to bed without your supper, like a spoiled child.” She turned on her heel. “Follow me.”

Chapter 50

Sister Verna put her hand to the brass lever. The room was shielded. She took a controlled breath and then knocked.

A muffled voice behind the heavy door answered. “Come.”

The shield dissolved. She opened the right side of the double doors and stepped in. Two women sat, each at her own desk, to each side of the door beyond. Both were writing in ledgers. Neither looked up.

“Yes,” the one to the left said as she continued writing, “what is it?”

“I have come to return the journey book, Sister Ulicia.”

Sister Ulicia wet her ringer and flipped a page. “Yes, just put it on the desk. Shouldn’t you be at the banquet in honor of your return? I would think you would want to get reac-quainted with old friends.”

Sister Verna clasped her hands. “I have more important matters to attend than banquets. I wish to give the journey book to the Prelate, personally. And I wish to speak with her, Sister Ulicia.”

They both looked up. “Well,” Sister Ulicia said, “the Prelate does not wish to speak with you, Sister Verna. She is a busy woman. She can’t be bothered with unimportant matters.”

“Unimportant! It is not unimportant!”

“Do not raise your voice in this office, Sister Verna,” the other warned. She dipped her pen in an ink bottle and bent back over her writing.

Sister Verna took a step forward. The air between the desks, before the door beyond, shimmered suddenly with a powerful shield that hissed and crackled in warning.

“The Prelate is busy,” Sister Ulicia said. “If she deems your return of consequence, she will send for you.” She pulled a candle closer and bent back to her book. “Just put the journey book on my desk. I will see that it’s returned to her.”