Our Lady of the Snow Page 3

  Marine, who disliked wine and had not touched her own glass, recognized the tacit dismissal, rose to her feet and bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Grand Mother. Oh…may I ask where the Sisters” chapel is?”

  “Of course; you’ll want to make your devotions, won’t you?” Beck rarely visited the chapel herself, but Marine was tiresomely devout. “Sister Chaia will direct you there and show you all you need. I will see you tomorrow morning. Not too early.”

  “Yes, Grand Mother.” Marine bowed again. A tentative knock at the door announced the chatelaine, and with a benevolent gesture Beck waved both women out of the room.

  When they had gone she poured herself another glass of wine, then moved closer to the fire and frowned at the flames. In almost all respects Marine had lived up to her expectations; as she would have anticipated, seeing that she had trained the younger woman herself. But for all her shrewdness and quick understanding, Marine had neglected to ask one question, and that surprised Beck, for in her opinion it was the most obvious question of all. Was Marine, perhaps, being exceptionally tactful? No; it was more likely that the obvious simply hadn’t yet occurred to her. It would, Beck had no doubt, for Marine was too intelligent to overlook it for long. But until it did…well, in truth Beck was relieved to have been spared the necessity of explaining that part of the Exalted Council’s strategy. Marine could be told in good time. Nothing would happen, anyway, while the Imperator still lived. And even when he was dead, the girl Nanta need never find out the truth; not if the thing were done with proper care.

  For when the Imperator did finally go to the arms of the God, Duke Arec of Sekol wanted more for his daughter than the role of the new Imperator’s sister-in-law. Prince Osiv would sire no children, of course, so Prince Kodor was destined to succeed him eventually. But while Prince Osiv’s physical, as opposed to mental, health continued to be robust, Arec would have to wait for his daughter to become Pola Imperatrix.

  And that, as had been made emphatically clear to Father Urss, was something Duke Arec was not prepared to do.

  Chapter Two

  Sister Iresya found her quarry in a close huddle with another student in one of the Academy quiet-rooms. At this hour the girls should have been studying, not whispering and twittering together like two peasant fishwives, and under normal circumstances Iresya would have sharply admonished them both for their inattention to duty. However, these circumstances were not. normal, so instead she moved, silent in her slippers, across the room towards them.

  As she approached, she heard a snatch of their talk.

  “…tomorrow night, I’ve heard; so if we could reach the temple gallery by the west stairs, we might glimpse the ambassador for ourselves.” The dark girl who was speaking paused, then added with breathless, half-stifled excitement, “And we might even see Prince Kodor!”

  Her blonde companion’s face lit with interest, but before she could reply, Sister Iresya intervened with quiet authority.

  “Nanta.”

  Both girls started, then scrambled guiltily to their feet and bowed to her. Sister Iresya raked the dark one with a look that promised stem words later, then addressed the other girl.

  “You are to go to your room, Nanta, and pack your belongings.”

  Nanta froze. “Sister…?”

  “You heard me.” Iresya’s tone became sharp. She had no time for explanations; besides, there was little she could explain, for she knew only what she had been told a mere few minutes ago. “Do as I say, please, and don’t dawdle.”

  Even now Nanta didn’t move, and the other girl, who had more courage in the face of her superiors, said, “Sister, what has Nanti done?”

  “Nant-a,” Iresya corrected automatically. “We do not use diminutives here, Lulieth, as you know very well. Nanta has done nothing.”

  “Then why—”

  “That’s not your concern. Kindly return to your books—and I will see you in my study after the refectory hour.”

  She turned again to Nanta, expecting her to do as she was told without a further word. But Lulieth’s boldness had given Nanta the confidence to speak up for herself, and she said haltingly, “Sister, please… am I being expelled?”

  Her tone was so bewildered and her face so distressed that Iresya relented a little. “No,” she replied more kindly. “You are not being expelled, Nanta; to the best of my knowledge you’ve done nothing to warrant that. But you are to leave the Academy.”

  “Leave? For good?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Iresya was becoming impatient again, and the feeling was fuelled by growing annoyance that she herself was almost as much in the dark as Nanta. “All I know is that a High Sister—a relative of yours, I understand—is here to take charge of you, and that she has received her instructions from Grand Mother Beck.”

  Nanta’s eyes widened. Though Beck rarely had any direct contact with the Academy students, she was known to and feared by them all. It was then that the wild, dreadful possibility flared into her mind like fire, and with it came a new terror. Had someone discovered her secret; the dreadful, guilt-ridden secret that she had striven so hard to keep from any other living soul? And if, somehow, they had found it out, what would they do to her?

  Her mouth worked, but all the things she desperately wanted to say wouldn’t come. At last, weakly, she managed to stammer, “Yes, Sister.”

  She went, her only farewell to Lulieth a single, helpless glance. Lulieth watched her go, with Sister Iresya gliding in her wake. Then when she was sure they would both be out of sight along the corridor, she too ran from the room, agog to spread the news.

  ****

  Nanta had her first sight of Marine as, clutching her valize, she came slowly down the back staircase from the senior dormitories. Standing in the shadows of the cold, cheerless hall at the stairs” foot, the first impression Marine gave was not reassuring. Tall, very upright, fair hair pulled severely back so that it barely showed beneath head-cap and wimple… She was well built and might once have been handsome in a buxom way, but in middle age there was little spare flesh on her big bones, and that gave her a hard look. Her face was pockmarked, her light blue grey eyes steady, her mouth unsmiling. Nanta shrank inwardly and might have stopped on the stairs, but a nudge from Sister Iresya, who was following on her heels, propelled her on.

  “High Sister.” Iresya made a deferential bow. “This is Nanta EsDorikye.”

  Marine inclined her head, whether in greeting to Nanta or merely in acknowledgement of the introduction Nanta didn’t know. Privately, Marine was a little surprised by what she saw. Certainly the girl was comely; in fact such an ordinary word didn’t do her justice. But she looked more delicate than Marine had expected; almost fragile, in fact, as though she were made of china and could all too easily be broken. Which, perhaps, was part and parcel of Grand Mother Beck’s thinking. Despite her resolve to be detached in this matter, Marine pitied Nanta.

  However, there was no trace of pity in her voice as she said crisply, “Thank you, Sister Iresya. You have been most helpful, and at short notice, which must have been an inconvenience for you.”

  Iresya blinked, a little taken aback by the considerate thought, then smiled. “No trouble at all, High Sister, I assure you. Well, Nanta…” She looked at the girl, then suddenly seemed unable to find anything more to say. Another smile, more forced this time, and Sister Iresya turned and hurried away, leaving Nanta alone with Marine.

  Marine, too, found herself at a loss for words. If the girl had been any ordinary postulant in her charge there would have been no problem; experience had long ago overcome her natural reticence where they were concerned. This, though, was more complicated. Not only was the girl destined to hold the highest rank possible for any woman, she was also Marine’s second cousin, and Marine was not accustomed to dealing with either high nobility or family.

  She pushed down a sudden qualm that felt alarmingly like a return of her travel-sickness, and told herself firmly that in effect Nanta was no differ
ent from any ordinary postulant and so should be treated accordingly. That helped, and she said, trying to sound reassuring, “My name is High Sister Marine. I am of the VerCoris family; your mother and I are first cousins, so I believe that makes you and I second cousins, does it not?”

  “Yes, High Sister,” Nanta replied uneasily.

  Marine searched her mind for something else that might crack the ice a little, but failed to find it. Resorting to practicalities, she said briskly, “Come with me, child. Hurry, now. This way.”

  Nanta had managed to keep her terrors at bay as she packed, but now, suddenly, they assailed her again. With an awful sense of fatalism she wanted to get the thing over with by asking Marine outright if her secret had been discovered. But, cowardly though it was, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was a chance, albeit slender, that she was wrong and no one knew. She had to pin her hopes on that and not assume the worst.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak again at this moment but silently and obediently followed Marine. They left the Academy by a route used mostly by the servants, crossed a bare, grim courtyard that Nanta remembered from punishment walking-penances, then went briskly along a narrow alley. Above and before them the great dome of the temple reared like a shining but oppressive vision; blinking up at it through the falling snow, Nanta felt a renewed tug of dismay. What would become of her place in the choir? She had been promised extra training, the chance of a soloist’s status. Was that, too, to be abandoned?

  Then the thought collapsed as she saw where Marine was taking her.

  They had reached the end of the alley, which opened into another courtyard decorated with tubs of small conifers. Ahead was an ornate door, and over the door was a blue canopy stitched with the white snowflake device of the Lady.

  Nanta stopped dead. Marine was a few paces ahead and didn’t notice at first. She moved under the canopy; Nanta heard her speak the ritual obeisance, then belatedly Marine realized that her charge was not keeping up with her. She looked back. “Nanta? What’s the matter, child?” Nanta stared back at her in consternation. “This is the Sanctum…”

  “Yes, it is. What of it? Come under the canopy, you foolish girl; the snow’s getting heavier every minute.”

  “But why…” Nanta swallowed. “Please; I’m not…”

  Marine jumped to the natural, if wrong, conclusion that Nanta believed she was to be forced to take the veil and become a religious. That simply did not happen once a child was past twelve years old, and she said, “Has no one explained to you? You’re merely to stay here for a while, nothing more.”

  Nanta blinked, and a trace of color returned to her face. “Why?” she asked.

  Marine’s mouth pursed primly. “I’m not at liberty to tell you that, but you may rest assured it’s not a punishment. Quite the contrary, in fact. Now stop faltering and come along.”

  Nanta’s heart was thudding painfully under her ribs as she obeyed. She had heard Marine’s comment about this development being the opposite of a punishment, but it only registered on a vague level; at this moment her sole conscious reaction was one of relief. They did not know. She had not betrayed herself, and her secret was still intact. They did not know about the sleepwalking, and the dreams.

  Marine led Nanta to the Sanctum’s second floor, where the suite assigned to them was located. In a corridor thickly carpeted with deep blue plush, she opened a heavy, paneled door and walked into the room beyond, beckoning Nanta to follow.

  Marine did not approve of their new quarters. She was austere by nature, and the disposition had been hardened by her years in a rural sanctum where creature comforts were few and far between. The opulence of the suite, with its polished, ornate furniture, massive chandeliers and rich fabrics that covered every inch of floor and walls, was like an assault on her senses. The suite comprized a reception room as large as the refectory of her own sanctum, two bedchambers dominated by posted and curtained beds that could comfortably have slept six people apiece, and, leading off each bedchamber, bathing rooms with marble bath and basin. To Marine’s mind this was not the proper way of a religious house. And it was most certainly not suitable accommodation for a young and impressionable girl.

  She glanced at Nanta and was a little reassured to see a look of bemused chagrin on her face. She, too, was used to Spartan surroundings, Marine reminded herself; and the thought abruptly made her feel a little more at ease with the girl.

  “Well,” she said, disapproval rife in her voice. “I believe we shall both feel out of place here, but we must make the best of it.” There was no point, she told herself, in speaking to the chatelaine about it; doubtless the suite had been Grand Mother Beck’s choice, and one did not argue with Grand Mother Beck.

  Nanta flicked her a look in which uncertainty was tempered by a slight hint of curious interest. Then she licked her lips and began: “High Sister…”

  Marine interrupted with a smile that looked more rigid than she intended. “I think, Nanta, that as we are related, you need not address me so formally. Sister, or Sister Marine, will do.” She wondered momentarily if cousin would be better still, then quickly thought better of it. To address Nanta as her cousin was well enough now, but it would be out of the question in the future. Though it was hard to imagine this girl, this child, as the next Imperatrix of Vyskir. And impossible to imagine the life she would lead under the circumstances into which her marriage would force her.

  She added, suddenly and unexpectedly, “Nanta, are you devout?”

  Nanta looked startled—and, Marine thought, almost frightened. She swallowed, then replied, “I hope so, H … Sister.”

  “How often do you pray to the Lady?”

  An odd flush came to Nanta’s cheeks. “As often as I can.”

  “That is not a very precise answer, child.”

  The girl cast her gaze down. “I go—that is, I went—to the Academy’s chapel every day.” And I prayed and prayed, until I felt I would burst with the force of my entreaties, yet the Lady never answered me. But her face showed nothing of that.

  With an insight unusual in her Marine said, “Did you prefer to go alone?”

  “… Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “I understand. I, too, prefer my devotions to be private. But perhaps we will not object to each other’s company in the Sanctum chapel?”

  Nanta gave her such a strange look then that Marine was quite nonplussed. The girl was frightened of something. Could she have got wind, somehow, of what lay in store for her? It seemed unlikely in the extreme that there could be any crack in the Exalted Council’s security, but the unlikely was not the impossible. Yet Marine felt instinctively that she should look elsewhere for the answer to the puzzle. As had happened when they approached this building, Nanta’s fear had something to do with the Sanctum itself.

  Or with the Lady…

  Nanta had not replied to her question about the chapel, and Marine decided that discretion might be her best course, at least for now. “Well, you may make your own choice, of course,” she said aloud. “I will visit the chapel twice each day: if you wish to come with me you are welcome to do so, but in either case I will expect you to attend at least once, as you have done until now.”

  Still Nanta didn’t speak. Then bells began to ring in the distance and Marine recognized the chimes of the Sunset Devotional. The chatelaine had said that their evening meal would be served at about this hour (the timing did not suit, but it appeared there was no option), and Marine was still wearing the crumpled and travel-stained habit in which she had arrived. It would not do to sit down at table in such a state. She must wash, change. She needed to feel more presentable. And she needed time to marshal her thoughts and regain her equilibrium in the wake of this very eventful day.

  Nanta was looking down at her own feet again, her expression a blank mask that might have been genuine or might have been a very well practiced disguise. Marine opened her mouth, half tempted to challenge the façade she presented, then changed her mind. Let
well alone. It was not her business to probe.

  “Go and unpack your belongings,” she said, unaware that her voice sounded unusually gentle. “There’ll be time enough for talking later.”

  Nanta raised her gaze. Her fear had abated but her eyes were not happy as she answered meekly, “Yes, Sister.”

  Marine watched her walk away into the nearer of the two bedrooms, and felt foreboding move like a cold predator in her heart.

  ****

  Late into the night Nanta sat wakeful in her new bed, propped by pillows and with a lamp shining softly beside her. She had heard the temple bells ring the Night Blessing, heard the last call of a distant watchman announcing that all was well and the city could sleep in safety. Now, though, the world outside was silent and still. The fire in her room had gone out long ago, and with winter cold clamping down in earnest she felt chilled to the bone despite the heavy, embroidered shawl she had wrapped around herself. The cold was keeping her awake, but even with warmth she doubted if she could sleep. Her mind was spinning with all the new and confusing impressions of the day, and with the fears they had engendered. Earlier, as she and Marine picked at their meal and tried to make stilted conversation, she had found the courage to ask, directly, if this sudden and unexplained change in her circumstances had something to do with her family. It seemed logical enough, especially as Marine was a relative, but Marine had assured her—if assured was quite the word—that her family were not involved. No one had died, no one was ill, no one was disgraced. But she would say no more, and had discouraged any further questions with a terse suggestion that Nanta should concentrate on her food.