Mortal Heart (21 page)

“Thank you. I have had years of practice.”

“You beat Aeva to her second shot,” she points out.

An apology begins to form on my lips, but instead I say, “I thought the element of surprise was important.”

Floris nods solemnly. “It was, but Aeva does not like being bested.”

I turn and meet Floris’s gaze head-on. “Neither do I.”

She smiles widely, then changes the subject. “It could be hours before they return, so you and I are going to do a little scouting to see if the French have hunkered down in the city or spread themselves throughout the countryside.”

We spend the better part of the afternoon riding through copses and crawling on our bellies through shrubs and brambles to get close enough to assess the enemy’s position. More than once I find myself wishing for leather leggings and thick hide to armor myself against the sharp twigs, thorns, and brambles we encounter.

It is a most productive afternoon, even if it is a disheartening one. The French man the city gates as well as its walls. Additional guards have been set out along all three roads leading into the city. The largest of the farms and manor houses nearby have been seized, and I can only hope the soldiers were merciful to those whose homes they have stolen.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, we make our way back to the assigned meeting spot to see if Tola and Aeva have returned. They have, although they’ve been waiting for only minutes.

As Floris tells the others of what we found, I try to decide how best to get around Vannes and continue on to Guérande. Will the roads outside the city be blocked as well? And if so, how far north will I have to travel to avoid the French troops?

That night, we steer our horses well north of the city, toward a heavily wooded area. As we draw near, I hear the sounds of voices and movement and horses. I look questioningly at Floris. “It is our main encampment,” she says. “For we are not here by accident, but by design. We are tasked with protecting the innocent, just as the hellequin are tasked with escorting souls from this world.”

The road brings us upward in a series of switchbacks until we are at the top of a small rise. It is a good defensive spot, for we can see in all directions. As we clear the final switchback, the Arduinnites’ camp comes into full view.

There are maybe a hundred Arduinnites in the camp, all of them dressed in tight leather leggings and rough-looking tunics. There are a scattering of tents set up, a handful of large ones and a number of smaller ones. To the south of the camp they have erected a fence around a large pastured area where they keep a herd of some of the most beautiful horses I have ever seen. I turn to Floris. “Aren’t you afraid the French scouts will find you?”

Aeva smiles, fierce and chilling. “Let them. Not one of them will leave here alive.”

Floris gives a small nod of agreement. “Tola, you will share your tent with Annith. Go fetch it from the supply wagons, and once you get it set up, find me.” With that, she rides off to one of the larger tents. I watch as she dismounts, hands the reins to a waiting young Arduinnite who cannot be more than twelve years old, then enters the tent.

Before we do as Floris ordered, Tola and I take our horses to the paddock area and see them settled. I hoist my saddlebag over one shoulder, snag my bedroll, then grab my bow with my other hand before following Tola to where three large supply wagons have been parked. She rifles through one of them and then pulls out a rolled-up tent and a couple of blankets.

She picks out a spot that is halfway between the perimeter of the camp and the center. The tent is simple in its design and made of ox hide. It is not fancy and barely large enough for two, but it will keep out the wind and the moisture.

Even so, I do not intend to be in it for long.

When Floris and Aeva rejoin us, I tell them precisely that. “Thank you for allowing me to travel with you this far, but you have duties that keep you here, so I will leave in the morning and journey the rest of the way to Guérande on my own.”

“How? You yourself saw that every road was watched by the French troops.”

“I will travel due north far enough to avoid them, then give them wide berth before heading south again toward Guérande.”

Floris tilts her head and studies me. “But the northern road is blocked.”

“Then I will not use the road.”

“But what of the hellequin?”

“I will not let them stop me. I shall look for walled cities and churches in which to pass the nights.”

“Can you be so very certain there will be one on every leg of your journey?” Her voice is gentle as she points out how much I am leaving to chance.

“Of course not, but I will manage.” I consider asking them to teach me how to draw those wards—Tola would, with a little persuasion.

Aeva folds her arms and looks at me in disgust. “You would abandon all these innocents and leave them to the French to avenge one who is already dead?”

“Aeva!” Floris’s voice is sharp. “That is her choice to make, not yours.”

I meet Aeva’s gaze steadily. “All those innocents have the followers of Arduinna to see to their safety. Matelaine has only me to avenge her death and see that such a thing never happens to one of Mortain’s daughters again.”

Aeva barks out a laugh. “You would protect Mortain’s daughters against death?”

“No. I would protect them against the betrayal that led to her death.”

They all fall silent then, but Aeva’s words have planted a small seed of guilt in me, and it begins growing, for there is truth in what she says. Confronting the abbess sooner rather than later will not bring Matelaine back from the dead. More importantly, I must think carefully about letting my own headstrong stubbornness propel me straight into the arms of the hellequin. Who will avenge Matelaine if they capture me?

“At least stay another night,” Floris suggests, “so our scouts can report back on the French positions. That way, you’ll be able to avoid them, if not the hellequin.”

Impatiently, Tola tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Could we not show her the wards, so she could protect herself?”

Aeva’s answer is fast and unequivocal. “No! She is not one of us and has no right to our secrets.”

“Thank you,” I tell her coolly, “but I do not wish anyone to betray their secrets. However, getting captured or killed in the attempt to avenge Matelaine will only ensure that the truth dies with me, so I will stay another day or two and think on other possible plans.” I turn to Floris. “If you will have me.”

“But of course. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.” She flashes a quick smile. “You are also more than welcome to fight with us. It may help some of that pain you are feeling.”

The suggestion startles me. “Is that allowed?”

Aeva snorts. “She will not sully herself by riding out with us. She will stay and cower in our camp while we do the hard work.”

“I am getting tired of your constant slurs and insults,” I tell her.

“Then do something about it. Something besides sitting secluded behind your thick stone walls, venturing out only when Death deigns to pay a visit, not understanding that dying is the easy part.”

“The easy part?”

“Enough, Aeva! All of us who serve our gods have our own roles to play. And there are men who would argue with your belief that their deaths were easy.” Floris’s eyes grow dark with some remembered pain, and I look away to give her privacy.

I am being offered a chance. I do not know if it comes from Mortain or Arduinna—although why she would offer me such a thing, I cannot fathom. But no more can I reason out why Mortain would send hellequin to ride after me, then allow me to use my skills to evade them. But just because I cannot understand the reasoning of the gods does not mean I will pass up this opportunity. I wanted a life outside those stone walls that Aeva scorns; I scorned them myself in much the same way when I feared I would be imprisoned behind them all the rest of my days. This may be my only chance. I do not know how things will go with the abbess when I find her in Guérande, but I feel like a starving child who must eat all the sweets now, before they are taken away for good. “Yes.” The word falls into the silence, causing everyone to look at me. “Yes, I will ride with you and aid your cause.”

“Well.” Aeva’s eyes rake over my traveling gown. “You cannot fight with us in that.”

“Of course not.” Tola takes my hand and all but drags me away from the other women. “I will see to getting her properly equipped.”

If fighting my way through the French soldiers is the only road to the abbess, then so be it. I will fight my way through them, soldier by bedamned soldier.

After pulling me back to the supply wagons, Tola rummages through their contents, then hands me a pair of leather leggings, a soft leather tunic, and a belt. I disappear into our small tent, slip out of my gown, and shimmy into my new clothes. The leggings fit like a second skin, and the leather tunic is both thicker and more supple than my gown. I cannot help but wish for a mirror to see what I look like in these strange new clothes, but of course there is none. Feeling self-conscious, I step out of the tent. Tola nods in approval. “See? You will move much more freely in those.”

And so I do. Next, Tola offers to braid my hair. I sit on a nearby log and toss my hair over my shoulders so she can more easily reach it. As her fingers busy themselves making rows and rows of small braids, she chatters about which horse is her favorite and of her excitement about our mission. Suddenly, she stops and is quiet for a long moment. “What?” I finally ask. “What is it?”

She traces her finger down along the nape of my neck, just below the hairline. “Where did you get this mark?”

“What mark?”

“You did not know that you had it?”

“No. What does it look like?”

“It is nothing, never mind. It must just be a birthmark of some sort.” And then she resumes braiding my hair.

E
VEN WHEN THEY ARE
in such a large encampment, the Arduinnites stick to small groups, or clans, as they call them, of anywhere from three women to a dozen. Campfires decorate the ground like the fireflies of summer, their flames twinkling yellow and orange in the encroaching night.

As I draw near our campfire, Tola and Floris stop their conversation and turn to me. Tola beams as proudly as a new mother, and I feel suddenly shy in my new attire. Floris smiles warmly, and even Aeva gives a begrudging grunt of—could it be?—approval. Four quail are on a spit over the fire, and my mouth waters at the scent of roasting meat.

Floris and Tola, while always friendly enough, seem especially relaxed in my presence tonight. Perhaps that is simply because they are surrounded by such a large number of their sisters. Whatever the reason, I welcome it, for I have questions I wish to ask, and it will be much easier if I do not have to wade through suspicion or hostility.

Once we are eating and all their attention is turned to their food, I begin. “Floris, you said that you are a priestess of Arduinna. How are her priestesses chosen?” I cut a quick glance at Aeva, bracing myself for a protest, but none comes.

“Followers of Arduinna can choose to be priestesses if they are willing to submit to the required nine years of training. Once they have mastered that, they take turns serving the goddess at different times of the year, then resume their normal duties when they are not.” She tilts her head curiously. “Is that not how your convent does it?”

“No, we are fashioned more in accordance with the offices of the new church. We have an abbess who oversees all, and then a seeress who helps us interpret Mortain’s will.” Before she can think to wonder how our seeresses are chosen, I hurry to ask my next question. “Who rules over all of you? With so very many groups, surely you must need some way to settle disagreements.”

Floris tosses the last of the quail bones into the fire and leans back, making herself comfortable. “Of course. If it cannot be settled by the clan leader, it is taken up with the high priestess and her council of priestesses on duty.”

“And if that does not solve it? Say, if the priestesses could not all agree, or if they were overruled by the high priestess? What recourse would be available to the others?”

Floris studies me closely. “Then we would put it to a vote and all of us would have a voice in the matter.” I ignore the dozen of questions shining in her eyes and turn my attention to my dinner. While I regret having to hint that there might be disagreement at our convent, it is most helpful to learn how others who follow the Nine solve such disputes.

Over fifty of us ride out to engage the French, but in small groups of four or five each. Arduinna’s work is not about full-scale battle, but rather about protecting the innocents and the lowly that others are all too quick to destroy in the process of war.

My heart is heavy that I am not doing my own god’s work, even as my spirits lift at the thought of finally putting my skills to use in the service of a god.

I am also pleased that I fit right in with the Arduinnites who ride at my side. An observer would never know I was not one of them, or even the newest among them. Floris is leading our group, and besides me it contains Aeva, Tola, and another Arduinnite, Odila, who is nearly as old as Floris. Fortuna too fits right in with these mounts, the only difference being in the style of saddles used.

We are not venturing into the city proper today. Instead, we are going to approach the outlying farms and homes in the hopes of protecting them from further scavenging and raids.

The farmer whose cart Tola and Aeva returned said that the French had arrived four days ago and that yesterday was the first time they had come in search of food. It is our hope that other farms have not yet been ransacked.

The first farm we pass is abandoned. Closest to the town, the family who lived here did not waste any time packing up all their belongings and livestock and moving on.

The second farm is inhabited by a more stubborn fellow; he greets us with a pitchfork in one hand and a club of wood in the other. “Peace,” Floris says, holding up her hand. “We come only to be certain you are safe from the French.”