In Her Shadow (2 page)

"Abbess?" Britta shut the door behind her. Nothing stirred in the darkness of the Abbess of Night's cell. Britta didn't mind the darkness, having grown up surrounded by it, but there was something different about the Abbess of Night's personal quarters – a stillness that bespoke a chilly dignity and authority that unnerved Britta. "Abbess?" she asked again, her voice lower as if a part of her didn't want a response.

Something rustled in the corner of the room. Black against black, the ruffle of clothing. A shadow of shiny ink grew from the ground upward. "Britta," said the shape. It glided forward until it the Abbess of Night's rocky crag of a face materialized around her cold eyes.

"Yes, Abbess."

The Abbess smiled, lips quivering. Britta had never seen the Abbess smile before. It sent a little shudder up her spine. More, the Abbess's smile seemed weak and her flesh an unusual gray.

"You don't look well," Britta said.

The Abbess opened her mouth to speak, but before any words came out, she collapsed forward into Britta's arms.

"Abbess!"

The old woman pulled away from her, but kept one hand on Britta's shoulder to steady herself. "It's okay, child. I'm just old and tired. I've been communing with the Goddess. It takes a lot out of me."

"Let me help you sit, Abbess."

The Abbess didn't complain as Britta lent her an arm to lean on and led her to a nearby chair. "Thank you," said the Abbess. "You're a good girl. It's a shame we have to do this to you." The Abbess motioned to the chair across from her. "Please sit."

"Yes, ma'am," Britta said. Funny how, after a few moments in the presence of the Abbess, Britta could navigate the room without stubbing her toe against something.

"The Governor's son has arrived."

"When?"

"Tonight. We'll go to the Governor's manse in a little while so the two of you can be introduced."

Britta slumped back in her chair. The realization her marriage was really going to happen settled on her chest like a weight. Something inside her shifted, a little flutter of the heart. Is this what she really wanted? Locked up in a tower of darkness like a princess in one of the fairy tales Weboshi read her as a child, she'd always known her fate. But it was an intellectual knowledge, one that had never penetrated too deep, too strongly. Her marriage had always seemed like a distant dream, a thing everyone told her would happen but on some level she never really believed. She'd never faced it, and therefor hadn't seriously considered what she was being used for. Is this what Weboshi had tried to warn her about?

"Tonight?" Britta asked.

"Of course tonight."

"Abbess, I'm not sure–"

"Not sure what?"

The Abbess of Night's shape grew formless again, fuzzy in the darkness. Only her little wrinkled face remained distinct. Even that had a haziness to it that made it hard for Britta to focus on her.

"I'm – I'm not sure I want do this, Abbess of Night."

The old woman didn't move, or speak. The room grew quiet except for the sound of Britta's own breathing.

"You don't have a choice, New Moon."

"Abbess, I–"

"None of us have a choice. Do you understand that? No sister cloaked in this abbey has a choice. Do you think I had a choice, when my parents, too poor to feed a sixth child, brought me here? Do you think Weboshi, the bastard child of a shipping magnate's teenage daughter and a foreign slave, had a choice when they brought her here? Do you think any of us had a choice when the last Abbess turned us out in the streets to spread our legs or slit purses?"

"Weboshi said–"

"Weboshi's a fool."

The old woman's face rose in the darkness, up from her chair and twice her usual stooped height. It's only an illusion, Britta told herself, a trick of shadows, but that didn't matter to her racing heart.

"You're lucky, New Moon," said the old woman, her voice tinged with barely restrained anger. "How many men have we, your sisters, sacrificed ourselves to for our Goddess? You only have to do it for one. Do you understand? And where we did it to fill the coffers of our abbey, you do it to protect your city, your people, your sisters who nurtured and protected you! How dare you!"

Britta cringed in her seat, wishing she could curl up into a ball and hide from the Abbess of Night's wrath. It wasn't just the anger or the spooky tricks either. The Abbess was as dangerous as the city streets at night – more dangerous because she controlled the thieves and the muggers. No one crossed her; no one dare because they were all in her employ. As far as Britta knew, the Abbess had never hurt a sister. She wasn't allowed to, but the tone of the old woman's voice made Britta question that assumption.

"We've pampered you your entire life," said the Abbess. "We've given you a life free of the squalor of the city. We've selected you to lead this abbey one day, this city. We've raised you to marry into one of the richest and most powerful families in the Regnal Empire. You will live forever in luxury. You will never want. You should get down on your knees and kiss the feet of every priestess in this abbey for taking you in and caring for you."

Britta clenched her jaw, pressed her lips together to keep what she wanted to say deep inside. Perhaps she should kiss the feet of every priestess, but shouldn't every citizen of Ankshara get down and kiss hers for sacrificing herself for them? She couldn't say that of course, not in the Abbess of Night's earshot. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

The old woman's hovering face floated back down into her seat. "That's better. You'll find humility will serve you well in this matter, as it will in so many others."

"What happens now?"

"You'll leave my chamber and return to yours. Weboshi and the others will come and prepare you. Then, you'll be off to meet with the Governor and your betrothed."

"No wedding?"

"As much as I'd like it to be done and over with, there are certain matters that must be seen to first."

"'Matters?'" Britta asked. If the Abbess was in such a hurry to introduce the two, why not go ahead and have them married? It was within the Abbess's power to perform the ceremony. It's not as if she needed anyone but the Goddess's permission.

"Yes, 'matters.' This arrangement is one of symbolism. The Regnals insisted, of course. It's their tradition to commemorate peace treaties after fifteen years with a ritual wedding between one of their aristocracy and one of the conquered's. It wouldn't do to have a function of such importance performed without the proper pomp and circumstance. Preparations have to be made."

"I understand," Britta said as she bowed her head.

"Good. You're dismissed."

Britta stood up and started for the door.

"Oh," said the Abbess as Britta cracked the door to leave. "One bit of advice for tonight: don't mention the war. May She hide you in Her shadow."

"May She hide you in Her shadow," Britta said, and slipped out.

***

Ankshara was not a city fond of horses. Everyone walked everywhere, even the small group of priestesses making their way through the darkened streets to the Governor's manse. Before The Siege, Britta had heard it said, the priestesses would go through the streets unarmed. Back then, what blasphemer would dare attack them? The sort that wanted to wake up with a slit throat. With Ankshara's conquest, however, came more foreigners than even this old sea port had ever seen. They infested the city with strange tongues, and foods, and ways. That was fine with the people of Ankshara, because it brought trade and wealth. Those same foreigners, though, ignorant of the city's traditions, came with attendant risks. There hadn't been any incidents yet. The abbey made sure visiting captains knew what would happen to their ships if one of their sailors got violent with a cloaked sister, but the Abbess of Night insisted such an attack was an inevitability.

So now the priestesses traveled armed. There was nothing formal about it. None of the women were trained combatants, but a life on the streets had made them practical, unflashy scrappers who sought to end a fight as quickly as possible. Even Britta carried a knife, though she wasn't from the streets. Weboshi had insisted. Hidden in the small of her back, the hilt dug into her flesh and made her wince with every step.

"Do I have to carry this thing?" she whispered to Weboshi as they stepped through the darkness.

"Thing? What thing?"

"The knife."

"Yes. Now hush up."

Of course "hush up." The night was sacred, and to move through it was to move through the body of the Goddess, to be surrounded by Her love. But Britta found it hard to meditate on the mysteries when she was so irritable. It wasn't just the knife, either. The whole damn situation worked her head into a powerful ache. She wanted to tell Weboshi, wanted to explain. She wanted to cry on Weboshi's shoulder, get it out of her system so that she could face her future drained of all emotion. But she couldn't. There wasn't time.

No, she thought, there had been plenty of time.

"What's the matter?" Weboshi asked from beside her, her voice a low in the wind. "You look pale."

"I'm scared."

"Scared?" Weboshi chuckled and shook her head. "Everyone gets scared before they get married."

Did they? How would Weboshi know? Where was the defiance she'd offered earlier? Was it that the Abbess of Night traveled several yards ahead of them? That made sense. No one knew what the old lady could and could not hear, so it was incumbent on Weboshi not to voice her concerns. It wasn't safe.

A thought struck Britta. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and wild as she glanced around the darkened streets. People moved about them, shadows set against shadows, shades parting for the bridal party as it passed.

Weboshi grabbed her upper arm and jerked her forward. "Come along. What is wrong with you?"

"Weboshi, what will happen to you after I'm married?"

"What?"

"Where will you go?"

"Go?" She pulled Britta close to her so that her chest pressed against the meat of Britta's arm. "Now isn't the time for talking."

Weboshi's refusal to answer set off a cavalcade of emotions inside Britta. She'd always assumed Weboshi would be there for her, looking over her shoulder, patting her on the back, telling her things were going to be okay. Was Weboshi's silence now reverence for the Goddess, or her way of punishing Britta for their argument earlier? Worse, what if Weboshi thought of her as a collaborator? Britta had mourned the loss of her real mother long ago, moved past it. It had never occurred to her the Regnals could steal her mother a second time. She wanted to reach out to Weboshi, touch her, apologize, but she couldn't. Despite standing next to her, Britta felt Weboshi's absence in her heart. As the priestesses shuffled along, Britta did her best to hide the sounds of her sobbing. Could the others hear her? Could the Abbess of Night? Could Weboshi? If they did, they didn't react. Let her get it out of her system, they probably thought. And they were right too, because, as they approached the gates of the Governor's manse, Britta knew the time for crying was at an end.

She wiped her tears with the edge of her black cloak while they waited for a guard to appear. When one did, he looked surprised at their presence. "No one told me you lot were coming," he said in a thick Regnal accent. "Here to entertain the new Dux? Wouldn't bother. He's the stuffy sort."

The Abbess of Night narrowed her eyes. "You dare speak to the Abbess of Night and her New Moon that way? Let us in this instant."

The guard's mouth bobbed like a fish. "Yes, ma'am. Of course, ma'am." He fiddled around with a pouch on his belt until he pulled out the key. Squinting as he fumbled in the darkness, he unlatched the gate. It swung open. The guard gave a bow. "Follow me, please. I – I don't think the Governor and Dux Lucius are expecting you."

Dux Lucius? Britta wanted to ask who that was. It took a few steps up the path towards the manse for her to realize that was the Governor's son's name. Why hadn't anyone told her before? The answer was obvious: because Governors in the imperial regime came and went, especially in a city as unruly as Ankshara. Therefor, the name of his son was irrelevant until the marriage was close.

And here it was, right in her face like the door to the manse. The guard opened it, motioning them inside. They went into the brightly lit ballroom that served as the manse's entrance hall.

"I'll go find the Governor," said the guard before vanishing up the stairs.

"Surely he expected us to come as soon we heard his son had arrived. Why wasn't anyone here to greet us?" asked Weboshi. "Very rude. Are they trying to blow this treaty by insulting us?"

The Abbess of Night's face creased like a wooden puppet painted with crows' feet. She looked more annoyed than angry, though, as her beady old eyes swept the ballroom. "No," she said. "I mean, they are trying to insult us. It's a power play for sure, to remind us that the Governor is in charge and that I – we – are beneath him, not important enough to be greeted formally. But he's no fool. He wouldn't want to–"

The Abbess's gaze locked on a door opening on the stairway above them. The Governor stepped out. Dressed in the light linen tunic of his people, his legs bare, cinched with a piece of leather, he looked like he was ready to go out farming, not prepared to meet dignitaries or his future daughter-in-law.