Theyre coming. Kettle kept her back to the pillar.
Nona leaned out again. Dont see them. She spat an ice-flake. Zole?
Zole stood silent, leaning into the wind. Then, just as Nona was about to repeat herself, I see something.
A few minutes later the twelve guards swaddled in black furs that now hung with ice gathered around the nun and three novices. Sister Kettle cast an eye over each of them in turn then nodded and allowed them to lead the way, back towards the Vinery Stair.
Your cousin wont be pleased to see me and Zole with you. Nona knew that any Sis would spot her peasant roots no matter how many years of convent education she might be carrying on top of them. Well, she might be pleased to see Zole. The Argatha was a novelty. The rich could overlook low breeding in a novelty.
The Chosen One can hardly travel without her Shield. Ara grinned, face red from the wind. And besides, Terra will like what I tell her to like. The Mensis have been scions to the Jotsis for generations. At Nonas frown she elaborated. We get to boss them about.
The Vinery Stair led down from the Rock of Faith along a gradient gentle enough for cart and horse, though Nona would not want to be that horse. Below them the vineyards huddled against the base of the Rock, sheltered from the worst of the wind. The vines had their leaves folded tight. They wouldnt open until the ice-wind relented, although Sister Hoe who had charge of the wine-making had told Nona that a heavy dose of fertilizer would coax most plants to open their leaves whatever the weather.
They cant abide to lose the chance, the old woman had said. Worried some other plant will thieve it first. Theyre not so different from people really. Theres not much most wouldnt risk to stop a rival having the benefit of something they want.
At the bottom of the Vinery Stair a turnpike gate offered token resistance to any without proper business up at the convent and it was here that a crowd of perhaps two dozen pilgrims waited.
That must be her! A shout from the crowd.
Zole lowered her head, pulling the hood of her range-coat down across her face. The opposite of what Sister Apple had been teaching them all week. And rather than inconspicuous she just looked guilty.
It must be!
All those guards!
Shes here!
Be watchful. Sister Kettle stepped to the front, tapping the lead guardsmans shoulder. Clear a path. Dont hurt anyone.
As the guardsmen approached to pull the pike aside the crowd parted letting a man emerge with his burden. Hulking in his sheepskins he must have had a touch or more of gerant, and in his arms he carried a child, limp and pale.
Hes sick. The Argatha can heal him. The boy he offered up showed no signs of life. He looked to have no more than six years, seven at most. Please. Somehow the plea from so big a man in so deep a voice tore at Nona, making her eyes prickle.
A few of the guardsmen turned to stare at Zole. Nobody had named her to them but perhaps the red of her ice-tribe skin was enough.
Its her! Figures around the man with the child pointed Zole out, following the guardsmens looks.
Bless me, Argatha!
I just need to touch her.
The mass of people began to surge forward. With an oath Zole turned and ran back along the Vinery Stair.
Zole! You dont have to Kettle turned, hand raised, but Zole had quick feet and was gone. The pilgrims sighed with a single voice, disappointment rising.
It wasnt her.
The Argatha wouldnt run.
Ara caught Nonas gaze, biting her lip, a small shake of her head. Youre lucky to have her. Im lucky to have you. Neither of us would want this.
Kettle went to examine the child in the mans arms. He stepped back at her approach, as if sensing the shadow in her, but the crowd held him.
Im sorry. Kettle lifted her fingers from the boys neck. The Ancestor has your son. He is a link in a chain without end, still joined to you, still joined to everyone who has ever cared for him. We will all be one in the Ancestor. Nothing passes from this world that is not remembered.
They left then, walking towards the distant city.
Ara moved to walk beside Kettle. Well spoken, sister.
Kettle shook her head. A parents grief runs deeper than words can reach, novice. We speak them to help ourselves.
The Mensis escort forged a passage through the tight-packed streets of Verity with practised ease. They seemed more confident within the city walls, and in their midst Nona thought she had a taste of what it must be like to be born of money and name.
She watched the colour and variety of the crowd, the density and energy of it. With no shadow, wholly black eyes, and no apparent talent for disguise, Nona had begun to despair of passing the Shade Trial. But, reminded of the citys chaos, the prospect of crossing Thaybur Square unchallenged seemed to inch from totally impossible towards merely very unlikely.
The Shade wardrobe doesnt match this Nona watched a woman pass by in a cloak of dark green velvet trimmed with fox fur. To stand a chance in the Shade Trial and cross the square unchallenged by her classmates her disguise would have to be perfect.
No? Ara hadnt yet been introduced to the wardrobe. I should think the older novices can recognize most of what the Poisoner has in there anyway. A lot of the girls get clothes from outside for the trial Ara trailed off, presumably remembering Nonas poverty and complete lack of family in Verity.
Nona had thought the variety and quality packed into the Shade wardrobe was astounding, but seeing Veritys streets again she reassessed her opinion.
Ill work something out. She kept on walking.
The house the guardsmen led them to was set back among trees behind a high wall on a street lined with grand homes. Nona had seen buildings to dwarf it: the Dome of the Ancestor, the Academy, and the palace itself, but never a private home. Windows marched for a hundred yards to either side of a great portal of polished redwood. Enormous sandstone blocks had been fitted together to build the walls, each block meeting the next with such precision that even without mortar the smallest insect would find no space to crawl between them.
A doorman opened the doors as Ara climbed the stairs.
Ill explore the gardens, Kettle said.
You dont have to, sister. Ara gestured to the doorway. Join us. Please.
Kettle shook her head, faint shadows flowing like the memory of past bruises. Ill be close when youre ready to leave.
A footman led Ara and Nona through the Mensis foyer. Having spent so much time in the Dome of the Ancestor meant that Nona was able not to gape at the mosaicked floor and towering marble columns. The corridor that led from the foyer was punctuated by niches though and the statuettes and vases within held Nonas gaze, filling her hands with a longing to touch. She found it hard to imagine that anyone lived here, day by day, striding through these corridors and knowing that they owned it all.
Nona suddenly felt very drab and dull in her habit and wondered what this high lady would make of her. It felt like little more than a sack compared to the finery shed seen in Veritys streets. At the same time she had to admit that Ara somehow managed to look beautiful in hers, the simplicity of it contrasting with the gold of her hair, the hard lines of her body evident as she moved.
The footman knocked on an imposing set of double doors, then entered. The Lady Arabella Jotsis to see you, maam, and her companion.
Ara strode into the room, a sumptuously appointed chamber strewn with stuffed couches and deep chairs that looked so comfortable they might swallow a person whole. High above them the ceiling had been painted sky-blue and clouds scattered the plaster heavens.
Terra! Youre looking wonderful! This is my friend Nona. Shes Shield to the Argatha and shell make the best Red Sister the empires seen! Ara spoke with an animation Nona had never witnessed in her before and in the accent shed brought with her to the convent more than five years earlier, each word clipped short and stressed in strange places.
Theres something wrong with your friend. Keot ran up her neck, spreading across her scalp beneath the black thicket of her hair.
Shes fitting in. Shut up and stay hidden.
Arabella! Terra stood from her chair, a tall girl in a sparkling green dress, her hair long and sandy, confined by a gold band, her face pleasant enough, though dominated by an unfortunate nose. Nona, do sit down. She glanced around. I thought we were expecting she raised her hands palms forward and shook them in mock adulation, the Chosen One! No?
Ara fell dramatically onto the nearest couch. No. We discovered her hidden weakness. Shes allergic to being adored.
No matter. In any case, I have a guest of my own to share! Terras pout gave way to a mischievous smile, any disappointment forgotten. Nona found herself liking the young woman. You brought your warrior behold mine! She leaned across to ring a silver bell on a small stand beside her chair and looked towards the main doors.
Do they have to do battle? Ara grinned, following Terras gaze.
Nona shifted in the comfort of her chair, wondering that Terra considered her a warrior. She didnt seem to realize that Ara could probably defeat any man in her house guard without breaking a sweat.
Its hard to see old friends with new eyes.
What would you know? You dont have any friends. Nona tried to force Keot down onto her back but abandoned the effort as the doors began to open.
A tall, darkly handsome man walked in. The black sweep of his hair reached past a starched white collar. His jacket, deepest purple and embroidered with silver wire in the bold designs favoured by Veritys gentry, must have cost a years salary for the average city worker.
I know him! Ara sat up, suddenly interested.
You should, hes one of the empires finest ring-fighters! Terra clapped her hands, excited.
Nona stared at Ara and her friend. They were discussing the man as if he wasnt there. She looked back, apologetic, seeing his face properly for the first time. Regol?
Indeed. Regol sketched a bow. At your service, Nona the Nun. She recognized the sardonic smile and the dark humour in his eyes even if she didnt recognize the finery he wore now.
Youve met? Terra clapped again. Where? You must tell me!
The last time I saw little Nona she was on her back, surrendering to me, Regol said.
Terra frowned. Surely novices arent allowed to do that sort of thing? She grinned again, all curiosity. What have you been up to, Nona?
Hed kicked me in the chest then elbowed me in the head. Nona remembered that it had hurt, a lot. I reckoned I should let him win and save my strength for someone I really didnt like.
A big ginger gerant. Regol nodded. And technically you did win that fight against Denam.
Denam? Terra looked shocked. That mans a monster. Nona couldnt have
You were what? Twelve at the time? Regol shook his head. Denam never quite lived that down
I dont believe Terra started towards her feet.
Ara set a hand to her cousins leg. Its true. But Denam lost by disqualification. He tried to attack Nona outside the ring.
Regol came and took the chair beside Nona, uninvited. From what I hear you could have killed both of us that day if youd wanted to.
Terra stared at him. Regol nodded. Magic. He mouthed the word silently and nodded again.
Terra began to tell Ara about Regols victories in the Caltess. Nona leaned back, letting it wash over her. She found herself watching Regol, who in turn kept his gaze on Terra, smiling that smile of his. Nona shook her head, it seemed she and Ara werent the only ones with magic at their disposal; Regol appeared able to fascinate the other two just by sitting there, and shed found herself being drawn into it too, letting her gaze wander the length of him. Perhaps he had a touch of the marjal empathy that Markus had once spoken of.
In time lunch was served and the four of them went through to a dining room that was even longer, wider, and taller than the Sweet Mercy refectory where fifty novices ate their meals. In the centre stood a long, polished table down which Nona had a sudden urge to slide, sending a dozen candlesticks flying. She suppressed the urge and took a seat opposite Regol at one end. Terra and Ara sat to either side of him. Watching them, Nona realized that Terra must be a good few years older than Ara and herself, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, of an age with Regol. A spike of jealousy drove its way into her: Terra, living her grand life beneath her fathers golden roof, producing Regol as a novelty for the entertainment of her friend.
If you killed her you could take her house and claim the male.
Shut up, Keot.
Nona turned her attention to the bowl of soup that had been set before her. A delicious aroma rose from the orangey liquid. She had no idea what the ingredients might be. Several silver spoons were arranged around the place setting. She took the nearest, a fluted affair, and applied it gingerly to the liquid. The bowl itself was finest porcelain, eggshell-thin and delicately painted with lilacs. Nona took each spoonful in mortal fear that she might somehow damage the bowl.
Nona? What do you think?
What? Nona looked up, suddenly worried she had been slurping. Yes?
Regol, who had asked the question, gave her a puzzled look.
If you want to breed with him you should just tell him so.
I dont I dont want to breed with him and if you dont shut up I will force you into my little finger and CUT IT OFF! Sorry
Is the soup disagreeing with you? Terra looked concerned.
Something was, Nona said. Then, seeing Terras distress, No, not the soup, its lovely. Whats in it?
Terra brightened. Do you know, Ive never thought to ask. I can summon the cook. Its persimmon and something, I expect. Everyone is eating persimmons these days. I had one with codfish at Dora Reesiss the other day! Ill have Edris get the cook
No need! Its lovely. Nona bent her head and took another spoon, consuming it as silently as a Sister of Discretion.
Whats a persimmon?
I have no idea. And shut up.
Keot slid down the back of her neck, curling towards her stomach, presumably to investigate in person.