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The lord high treasurer adjusted his spectacles and looked down the column of figures Morwen had indicated. “These are considerable sums of money. Very considerable.” He looked at one of his clerks and made a motion with his hand. The boy scribbled something in a record book.
“By way of comparison,” Morwen continued, handing him another sheet of parchment, “here are the figures given by the late Earl of Montgomery forty years ago, when his mother retired to our convent.”
The treasurer’s eyebrows went up. “Smaller, but decidedly comparable.”
“If I may be permitted,” said Sister Catherine, “I’ve taken the liberty of writing up a little history of the donations to the abbey by the nobility.” She dropped a sheaf of paper on the treasurer’s desk. “You’ll find that it’s quite traditional to give money when the abbey agrees to, ah...take a girl off the hands of the family.”
Morwen and Catherine had made these same arguments three times already, to various minor officials of the treasury and chancellery. This was the first time they’d even been permitted to set foot in the office of the lord high treasurer.
“H’m, yes....” His lordship skimmed over Catherine’s historical report. “Yes, this all seems perfectly in order. To be honest, I’m not quite sure why this case was referred to my office at all.”
They had to wait only a few more minutes while his clerks wrote out a formal letter absolving the abbey of any financial improprieties, and then they left his office and went out into the bright spring sunshine. Gardeners were hard at work around the castle, and the air smelled of manure and freshly-cut grass. Morwen took a deep breath and sighed. Catherine sneezed.
“In the end, that wasn’t so difficult,” said Morwen.
“Oh, you think that’s the end, do you?” asked Catherine. “How trusting you are. In your family, you’re probably used to treasury officials doing whatever you tell them to. I’m afraid things are a bit more complicated for the rest of us.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means there’s someone at the castle who wanted the abbey investigated, probably as a pretext to confiscate our lands. I doubt that person is going to give up. We might have thwarted him—or her—today, but he—or she—will likely try again.”
Much as she hated to admit it, Morwen had a feeling Sister Catherine was right. “Should we stay here and see if we can figure out who this person is?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Catherine. “Making a nuisance of ourselves won’t help anything. And it’s probably best if you aren’t around when the fighting starts up again between the king and your family. Your presence here might be seen as...provocative.”
That, unfortunately, was also true. Morwen had heard how her sister Lauren had made an ass of herself by sneaking into Wealdan Castle dressed as a nun. Apparently, the silly girl had been trying to negotiate an end to the war with the help of her friend, Princess Donella. Knowing her sister as she did, Morwen was entirely willing to believe that Lauren had been completely sincere, but a lot of other people thought it had been some sort of spy mission, or maybe even an assassination attempt on the queen’s life. And now, of course, here was another Byrne girl in a nun’s habit. People couldn’t help finding that a bit suspicious. So it would be best to get out of town as quickly as possible.
They couldn’t leave quite yet, however. The lord chancellor’s office wanted to review the treasurer’s report, which they assured Morwen was “merely a formality.” But the formality would take at least a day, possibly two. And that meant Morwen and Catherine were left with nothing to do but search for ways to pass the time. Naturally they kept up with their daily prayers and the services of the hours. Morwen would have done that without being reminded, but Catherine kept nagging her about it, anyway. They toured some of the older churches in the city, too, along with the half-finished Terrwyn Cathedral.
In the evening, there was yet another feast in honor of the new Immani ambassador. The Gramirens were going out of their way to ingratiate themselves with the man. Morwen wondered how well it was working. She hadn’t been introduced to Legate Talius, so she couldn’t say what he was like as a person, but he seemed very dignified and stately, and he never seemed overly thrilled with anything or anyone that he saw. Maybe that was his diplomatic training. Or perhaps that was just his personality.
The daughter, Dorea Talia, was quite different from her father. She smiled and giggled and batted her eyelashes at any young knight who came within ten yards of her. Morwen had a strong aversion to girls like that, going back even before her schooldays, but she tried to remind herself that the Immani had different customs and manners than Myrcians.
At the feast, Prince Broderick made the rounds of the tables again, as he always did. Only this time, he did it in the company of Dorea, introducing her to everyone. By the time they got all the way down to the table where Morwen and Catherine were seated with Duke Lukas’s mistress, the girl’s interest seemed to have flagged a bit. But she perked up immediately when she saw Morwen’s habit.
“Are you really a nun?” she asked brightly.
“Yes. Sister Morwen Byrne, Leofine Order.”
“I’ve read all about the monastic system,” the girl said. “It’s such a fascinating way of providing women with their own intellectual space, don’t you think? We don’t really have anything like that in the Empire.”
“You have priestesses,” Prince Broderick said.
Dorea made a face. “It’s not the same thing. They don’t do much for the academic life of the community. Their contributions are usually...er, more physical.” Her cheeks reddened. “Especially the priestesses of Amora.”
“That sounds very vulgar,” said Catherine with a sniff, casting a disapproving glance in the direction of Molly Coburn.
“Oh, it’s entirely vulgar,” agreed Dorea. “I’ve always felt as if the Trahernian lands were much better at promoting virtue than the Empire is. People here are all so courteous and kind.” She smiled at Prince Broderick. “It’s like the romance stories I read as a girl. Myrcia is exactly the way I imagined it would be.”
Morwen’s first thought was that Lauren should have been there. She and Dorea would have been instant best friends. Her second thought was that, much like Lauren, Dorea was living in a fantasy world, and would be disabused of her illusions sooner or later. “It’s not my place to correct her misapprehensions,” thought Morwen. So she nodded and smiled as the Immani girl talked about all the brave knights and beautiful ladies she had met, and how they were like characters out of a storybook.
Eventually, the prince and Miss Talia left to go speak with some other people. As Morwen watched them go—the girl giggling and hanging on the prince’s arm—Molly Coburn spoke aloud exactly what Morwen was thinking: “I wonder if that’s the real reason the legate is here—to finalize the betrothal.”
Sister Catherine looked away, as if she hadn’t heard Molly. She generally refused to speak to Duke Lukas’s mistress, or even to acknowledge her presence at the table. So Morwen had to reply. “I agree she looks rather taken with the prince. Although to be fair, she looks rather taken with everything here.”
For a few minutes, as conversation flagged again, Morwen wondered what the marriage would mean for her family. Very little immediately, of course. The summer campaign season would go on just as before. But over time, Immani support would tip the scales in favor of the Gramirens. “If my mother were here,” she thought, “she would do everything she could to stop the wedding.”
How exactly could Morwen do that, though? Flirt with Broderick and win his heart? No. Never. Find a man to flirt with Dorea and win hers? That was more promising. Start a rumor that impugned the girl’s virtue? No, probably not that last one. The girl was Immani, and no one thought they had much virtue to begin with. Not to mention the fact that it would be a wickedly dishonest thing to do.
Then Morwen reminded herself that her family’s interests weren’t necessarily the same as hers anymore. She was here to settle the treasury’s claims against the abbey. There was no need to complicate things and make herself obnoxious to the Gramirens by foiling their wedding plans for their son. And anyway, she had always liked Broderick the Younger, and if he loved Dorea, then she wished them both well.
“If we have quite finished socializing for the evening,” said Sister Catherine, “then I believe it is time for us to go. Shall I see you at the stable, Sister Morwen, or will you be staying longer to enjoy the dubious delights of worldly temptations?”
“I’ll be along in a few minutes,” said Morwen. She wanted to make sure to say goodnight to Molly, and also to find the lord high treasurer and thank him again for his decision in their favor. It only seemed polite.
Saying goodbye to Molly took only a minute or two, but thanking the treasurer seemed to take forever, because she had to wade through the crowds in the festival pavilion, and then wait for a chance to speak with him while he was busy with other people. It took so long, in fact, that she wondered if she should even bother going to the stable. Sister Catherine had probably left with the cart already, and Morwen might as well walk back to the inn. But what if Catherine were waiting for her? It would be like her to do that, so she could give Morwen a lecture about enjoying earthly pleasures too much.
The castle grounds were full of people, walking, laughing, seeking dark corners where they could be alone together. Morwen ignored them all, thinking of what she would say to Catherine, and so it was only at the door of the stable that she realized someone was following her. She turned to see Sir Halvor Ingridsson looming a few yards away.
“Sister Morwen,” he said. “I hope you weren’t going without saying goodbye to me. I’ve heard that you’ll be leaving Formacaster soon.”
“Yes, Sir Halvor. Our business with the treasurer is almost finished. It is time to return to the abbey.”
“Ah, the abbey,” he sighed, as if she were speaking of a place he knew fondly from childhood. “What if I were to tell you that I might visit there again soon?”
“I would say that all visitors are welcome in our lay dormitory, provided they obey the rules.”
“I hope you’ll think of me until we meet again.”
Oh, dear. What was it with this man? She had studiously tried to avoid him since their encounter at the inn, but every once in a while, she would see him—across the festival pavilion or the Palm Court—watching her and grinning. She found it quite disconcerting.
“I must admit, Sir Halvor, that I very rarely think of the outside world at all when I am in the convent. I would be happy to pray for you, though, at least when I remember to.”
“Perhaps I should give you something to remind you,” he said, stepping closer.
“I’m not permitted to accept gifts from men,” she said firmly.
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of a ring or a necklace.” He placed a hand on the stable door to her right and leaned in, towering over her. Then he brought his other arm up and seized her around the waist, pulling her close and practically crushing her against his body. She let out a little gasp—air forced from her lungs—but he took this as surprised pleasure, and laughed. “You see? You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He kissed her, and she struggled to get free, but everything she did seemed to excite him more. She could feel something stiff against her leg, and she prayed it was a hilt of a dagger or something, and not what she feared it was.
“Stop it,” she snapped, when he took his mouth away from hers for a second. “Stop it and let me go.”
He kissed her again, and now his hand wandered lower, grabbing at her backside and tugging at her belt.
“Well, Sister Morwen. I was wondering where you’d gotten to.” Sister Catherine stepped out from the shadows of their horse’s stall.
Sir Halvor let Morwen go. “You are everything I had hoped you’d be,” he whispered. Then he bowed to her and to Catherine and left.
“Thank Earstien you showed up when you did,” said Morwen, readjusting her skirt as she walked over to join the other nun. Gratitude for Catherine’s presence was not a sentiment she had ever expected to feel.
“Yes, yes. How fortunate. Or perhaps unfortunate. I suppose it depends on one’s intentions.”
Morwen stopped and stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘intentions’? Sir Halvor grabbed me and started kissing me.”
“With no encouragement at all from you, I’m sure.”
“Of course not! Couldn’t you see that he had me trapped?”
Catherine shrugged. “All I know is what I saw: a man and a woman kissing.”
“You can’t possibly think I wanted to kiss that man. I despise him.”
“There, there, don’t upset yourself,” said Catherine, with a sly grin. “I promise I won’t say a word about this. It’ll be our little secret.”