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Of all the surprises of convent life, the strangest and most wonderful was that Penny Ostensen genuinely wanted to be Molly’s friend. A year earlier, when they had shared a few days of comradery washing bandages, Molly had cried on Penny’s shoulder, and Penny had assured her that she didn’t hate her. But it was still hard to believe that Lukas’s daughter carried no resentment at all over the affair.
It gradually dawned on Molly that Penny had grown up watching her father chase women. Molly’s affair with Lukas might be a central and defining event of her own life, but for Penny, it was one of a long series of affairs she had learned to ignore.
It helped, too, when Molly realized that Penny was quite serious about her republican ideals and genuinely didn’t think she was better than anyone else. She went out of her way to prove it, too—willingly volunteering for all the most revolting tasks, like cleaning the privies or scrubbing chamber pots in the infirmary. Molly didn’t care much for that sort of work, but soon she volunteered for whatever Penny wanted to do, because everything was more fun with Penny.
It wasn’t all cooking and cleaning and scrubbing, though. Penny’s first guess about their duties as postulates hadn’t been entirely wrong. Sister Ingrid Holmes, the Novice-mistress, gave them each a copy of the Leofine Rule and the Epistles of Ovida, and started quizzing them about the most obscure passages. It made Molly’s head hurt, but Penny seemed to soak up everything like a sponge.
“I wasn’t kidding,” said Molly. “I really was terrible at school. When I was 12, my tutors told my father that he was wasting his money, and that was the last time I ever had to learn anything.”
“Well, your father certainly was wasting his money if your tutors gave up so easily,” said Penny. “I promise that you can learn. It’s just that first you need to learn how to learn.”
After that, Penny and Molly studied together every evening and every morning. On their first Sunday as postulates, when they were supposed to be listening to Brother Anthony’s homily in the abbey church, Molly sat with the little set of scrap paper cards that Penny had made for her, drilling herself over and over on the intricacies of the Leofine Rule and Leafa Ivich doctrine.
When church was over, Molly lingered behind, then slipped down the side aisle toward the chapel where Quincy lay under that big block of stone. She hadn’t been there since joining the convent, but he was in her thoughts constantly. No matter where she was in the convent or the abbey church, she had the sense of him being nearby. She didn’t mention this to anyone, because she worried people would think she was morbid. But she wanted to visit him and let him know that she would be around.
At the crossing of the church, she was intercepted by Sister Dervila Norton. She was the circuitor, charged with maintaining discipline in the convent. “Postulates are not to wander around alone,” she said. “You must have some sort of work you should be doing.”
“I’m sorry,” said Molly, bowing her head. “I was going to see my brother’s grave.”
“Ah, yes. Your brother.” The abbess appeared out of the shadows and came over. “I think we might make an exception for Miss Coburn and her brother. Don’t you, Sister Dervila?”
Sister Dervila paused, then said, in a much gentler tone, “In that case, I suppose you may proceed. But be back at work in five minutes.”
Molly made a point to stop by every day after that. She tried to bring a flower or some sort of greenery to brighten the place up a bit. Sometimes Penny came with her, which was nice, because then she could tell stories about Quincy, and Penny would hold her hand and tell her that he sounded like a very good brother. The first time Penny did this, Molly broke down completely and sobbed that it was all her fault that Quincy was dead.
“Oh, don’t cry,” said Penny, putting an arm around her.
“But he’d still be alive if I hadn’t gotten him that position with your father.”
“Quincy had a choice, too. And he died serving his king. I think Earstien will look favorably on that.”
“Says the republican.” Molly wiped her eyes.
Penny gave her a handkerchief. “I have begun to suspect that Earstien is a monarchist at heart.”
They looked at each other, then started giggling until Sister Dervila came over, yelled at them, and told them to go clean the privies.
On the last day of May, there was a huge storm that rattled all the windows. Molly and Penny were glad to be inside, even if they were washing hundreds of dishes. In the midst of all the thunder and lightning, though, Sister Morwen appeared in the scullery and said that the abbess needed to speak to Molly.
“Did I do something wrong?” Molly asked, as they hurried around the cloister. The rain was coming down almost sideways, so that their legs and feet were splattered with cold droplets.
“Not that I know of,” said Morwen.
In the fancy lower reception room—the one used for outsiders—Molly found that they had a guest. The abbess was seated, sharing tea with Vittoria, of all people. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation about a long-dead brother of Sister Alberta’s.
“Ah, Miss Coburn,” said the abbess, sniffling a bit. “I was having a chat with our young visitor, but it seems she is here to speak with you, particularly.” She stood and nodded to Morwen. “We will leave you two alone.”
They shuffled out, and Molly was left uncomfortably alone with Vittoria. All she could think of was that she had slept with this woman. The two of them—and Halvor—had done all manner of utterly depraved things that made her cringe now with shame.
“You seem to be settling in,” said the Immani spy, smiling as her eyes scanned Molly’s gray robes. “Enjoying yourself here?”
“I am, actually. I’m making friends.” She paused, then lowered her voice. “Are Edwin and Elwyn safe?”
“Very. I’m on my way to see them, as it happens, and I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”
“Come along...with you?”
“Yes. I work for a rather special department of the Immani government, Miss Coburn. We could use someone of your talents.”
Molly shuddered. “My...my talents?”
“Yes. You seem like a bright girl. And that thing you did with your tongue, and the way you got your leg all the way back behind your head that one time—that’s definitely gods-given talent. Or Earstien-given, if you will.”
“You shouldn’t blaspheme here,” said Molly.
“It’s not blasphemy. It’s very, very high praise. If your deity makes girls like that, then we’re going to have to do a lot more recruiting in Myrcia.”
Molly made herself take a deep breath. “Look, I understand you think you’re being clever, but this is my life now, and these,” she waved toward the window and the nearby cloister, “are my sisters.”
Vittoria stood and smiled. “I see that. But I’m here to offer you a spot in a very different kind of...well, for lack of a better term, I suppose we could call it a ‘sisterhood.’ Think of the fun we could have together.”
“No, thank you,” snapped Molly.
She took another long breath and forced herself to be charitable. According to all those scripture lessons with Penny, charity was a very important virtue. So, Molly tried to see the good in Vittoria. The Immani girl had loose morals, but then the same could have been said of Molly until quite recently. Vittoria was a cold-blooded killer, but she was also phenomenally brave, and she thought nothing of riding back and forth over thousands of miles of countryside in order to help her friends.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said, in a quieter voice. “I’m very sorry. I realize that you’re trying to do me a great honor in making this offer. But I really don’t want to travel anymore. And I don’t want to use those...talents you mentioned ever again. I want to live here with my friends, and work, and study, and go see my brother’s grave. That’s all I want. The first time we met, you read my palm, and you said I’d find love and a family. Now I think I have. So, thank you, but I’ll have to decline your offer.”
Vittoria took her hand. “I can accept that. Good luck, and if it’s not too much for a heathen like me to ask, say a prayer for me every once in a while.”
Molly hugged her and said that she would, and then the Immani spy left.
A few seconds later, the abbess came back in. “Well done,” she said.
“You heard that?” said Molly.
“There’s a funny thing about the walls in this house,” Sister Alberta said, looking around. “They do a very poor job of blocking sound. Especially when you put your ear to them.” She smiled. “Don’t look so shocked. You’re a postulate, and it’s my responsibility to look after your moral education.”
“But...you let me meet with her anyway.”
“That’s the most important part of your education—confronting temptation and resisting it.” Sister Alberta sat down and started pouring more tea. “Now tell me about this brother of yours, and I’ll tell you about mine.”
Molly hesitated. “Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
“Well, it’s either that, or you can tell me about that trick where you put your leg behind your head.” The abbess chuckled. “It’s up to you, really.”
So Molly sat down, took her teacup, and said, “I suppose the first thing you have to know is that all Quincy ever wanted was to become a knight.”