When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) (9 page)

Oliver and I step out on to the concrete landing, a shudder wracking my body as the late winter chill caresses my skin with sharp, icy fingers. Oliver seems to notice my shivering, for he peels off the outer coat of his white robes and wraps the wool material around me. I smile at him and cross over to Nathaniel. My heels dig into the concrete in an abrupt stop when I see smoke curling in front of Nathaniel. Eyes widening, I stomp over to him and yank the cigarette out of his small hand, my little brother coughing in the process.

He looks up at me, his eyes widening. “A-Amelia…”

“Nathaniel Gareth!” I stamp out the cigarette, then throw the nasty beast into the field of endless white. Any sympathy I had mustered to confront him disappears. There is a tin of cigarettes sitting beside him. Who would give a child a tin of cigarettes? “What do you think you’re doing up here? I was worried to death about you when Oliver told me, and here you are smoking, of all the things you could be doing! Why?”

Oliver comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders, his voice a cool whisper in my ear. “Calm down, Amelia. Think about why he’s up here in the first place.”

I pull in a deep breath, letting the wintry air settle in my lungs. Oliver is right. He’s always right. He’s the only person in the world who can bring me back to rationality. “All right.” My eyes turn gentle as they settle on Nathaniel’s eyes. His are rimmed with red. I bend down to his level and put my hands on his shoulders. “Nat, what’s wrong? Why are you up here?”

His eyes water. He covers the cigarette tin, his cheeks burning.

“Give that to me,” I say gently.

He nods, handing the tin to me. I take it from him and put it in Oliver’s coat. “I-I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“Is this about our fight earlier?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

I’m about to take his hand like an affectionate sister, when I spy a single diamond dangling from a silver bracelet clutched in his fist. I blink a few times to make certain I’m not imaging this piece of expensive jewelry that clearly does not belong to him. Smoking and stealing--not two things I would have expected from my brother. “Nathaniel…” I grab his hand and pry his fingers off the bracelet. “Where did you get this? Be honest with me.”

He shrinks away from me. “No…”

“You know you can tell me anything, Nat, no matter how silly it sounds.”

Oliver bends down beside me, ruffling Nathaniel’s hair. “Go on, Natty. She’s not going to bite your head off, I promise.” He winks, bringing a small smile from Nathaniel.

“You promise you won’t laugh?” Nathaniel asks.

Oliver smiles. “Now why would we?”

Nathaniel starts picking at his cuticles, and to my horror, there is fresh blood in the corners. I want to scold him to break him of this bad habit, but he seems calmer, so I will deal with this later.

“Her name is Isis…” Nathaniel looks away, a soft blush creeping back into his cheeks. He closes his eyes.

Oliver and I raise eyebrows at each other, then smiles overtake our faces, one I try to suppress knowing I could be condoning his stealing this bracelet. “That’s adorable, Nat. You have a little lady!”

“Now if only you could talk your sister into the same thing,” Oliver says.

My eyes widen, and I elbow him, tempted to kick him too.

Nathaniel’s blush deepens. “She isn’t mine.”

I pull Nathaniel’s hands into mine, then run my hands up his sleeves to steal some of the warmth from his arms. “If she isn’t yours, then why did you steal this bracelet?”

He looks down at the concrete with half-lidded eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it from Ann. I just--Isis is really nice, and her parents are rich, and I didn’t want to give her some stupid ark I made out of sticks for arts and crafts. I wanted to give her something I knew she would like.”

I keep rubbing his arm, exposing his forearm to the cold. “This is Ann’s bracelet? Nat--” A dark bruise on his forearm snips off the rest of my sentence. “What happened here?” I prod the injury, bringing a wince from Nathaniel. “You didn’t do this yourself, did you?”

Oliver scoots in closer and inspects the bruise. Nathaniel shakes his head.

“Then what happened?” I ask.

“This is a nasty bruise,” Oliver says. “It looks like the shape of someone’s fingers.”

I grip Nathaniel’s shoulders, steeling my eyes on his bright blue ones. “Nat, tell me what happened. Who did this to you?” Nathaniel just stands there and chews his bottom lip, his posture indicating he does not plan to give me an answer any time soon. I take a safe guess. “It was Ann, wasn’t it?”

Nathaniel says nothing.

“Oliver, we’re going to find Ann,” I say, clutching her bracelet in my angry fist. If diamond were weak, I’d shatter the rock on her skull for hurting my little brother. Now I can’t blame him for taking the bracelet from her. A little bit of sweet revenge if Ann were to walk around the cathedral seeing this little Isis with it.

I grab Oliver’s wrist and turn toward the stairwell. Nathaniel digs his fingers in the back of the coat, his voice coming out panicked. “No, Amelia, please! She’ll hurt me!” Tears choke his voice. “Just let it be. I’ll give the bracelet back to her, I promise.”

Oliver looks over his shoulder and presents Nathaniel with a devious smile. “Oh, she won’t be bothering you, Nathaniel. I’ll make certain of that.”

I have no idea what Oliver has planned, but I do trust him when he says he’ll make certain Ann never harms my little brother again. Oliver has always been like an older brother for Nathaniel, being just as protective toward him as I am. If something were to ever happen to me, I would trust Nathaniel’s life with Oliver. With Nathaniel in tow, we make our way back down the darkened stairwell chilled with the breath of winter.

#

We find Ann and her cohorts outside the dormitories bearing the appearance of refurbished barns. These dormitories, situated outside the north transept, are reserved for those training to be in the priesthood and those who are new arrivals into the sisterhood training to be professed nuns. After one year, sisters get their own rooms, while the boys will always be stuck in the dormitories until they are accepted as priests into the Professed Order.

Ann is sitting on a stone bench, surrounded by three boys, ranging in various heights, who look around her age—older than Nathaniel. I dig the diamond further in my palm to staunch the rage over knowing this much older girl is bullying someone younger, smaller, and weaker than her.

Standing akimbo, I hold out her bracelet. “Ann?”

She turns her round face toward us, dropping a dirty blonde curl she was twirling around a pudgy finger. The only thing pretty on this child is her bright green eyes. Otherwise she looks like a piglet, with her flabby cheeks, wild mane of curly hair, and chubby body.  I can see why she’s at a convent.

She leaps from the bench, her eyes trailing the sparkle from the diamond in the scant sunlight. “My bracelet!” She storms over to me and rips the trinket from my hand. She looks behind me at my crouched brother. “I knew you took my bracelet, you little demon! You’ve been eying this thing ever since my father sent it to me!”

Nathaniel shrinks further behind me.

“Not so fast, Ann,” I say. “You gave Nathaniel a little present of his own, a rather nasty present I should say.” I straighten myself to appear taller, even though I think I have six inches over her already. “Would you mind telling me what you did to Nathaniel to grace his forearm with such a nasty bruise?”

Nathaniel groans. “Amelia…”

The three boys move in, closing in behind her. Perhaps it’s just my mood, but they look like little piglets as well, though they do not bear the pudgy figure of Ann.

“You’re quite the sight,” one says, scanning my body with dark eyes while licking his lips. “Although the face could use some work.”

Oliver moves in front of me, making me scoot back. Disgust slithers in my stomach. The boys gasp at Oliver’s presence. I assume they couldn’t see him before. Those white priest robes do blend in well with the snow, as well as his equally pale face. They might not have even recognized him.

“M-Mr. Cromwell,” the shortest of the boys says.

He crosses his arms. “Shouldn’t you boys be in your studies right now? If I recall, I’m giving you a test tomorrow, and if you fail that, you’ll have to clean the latrines for the next three weeks. I have the Professed Order’s backing on this one, if you so choose to challenge me.”

“He’s right, Ralphie,” the tallest speaks up.

Ralphie bows at Oliver and backs away. “A-all right, Mr. Cromwell. Ann, we’ll be in the dormitories studying.” The three boys back away, keeping their eyes on Oliver for a few paces, then turn and bolt toward the dormitories.

Ann looks ready to make chase after him. “I-imbeciles.”

“Not you, Miss Corsairs,” Oliver says. “Bullying is a punishable offense, one I feel should be reported to the Professed Order.”

She narrows her eyes. “That brat stole my bracelet! He wouldn’t have that bruise if I didn’t suspect him of theft!”

I put a protective arm around Nathaniel. My brother will not win this fight if it is indeed true that he took the bracelet before Ann even did anything to him. The bruise isn’t justified, but that can be deemed an accident, even excused as a young girl not knowing her own strength, while Nathaniel’s sin of theft could get him expelled from Cathedral Reims. The smirk on Oliver’s face, however, tells me he has more blackmail planned.

“Whether or not this is true, Miss Corsairs, you knew that upon entering the convent that you couldn’t bring in such luxurious items as jewelry. You’ve been here for a year as well, so you must certainly know by now that those desiring to be nuns can’t dabble in the luxuries of the outside world.”

I loosen my hold on Nathaniel, his small body beginning to relax against mine.

Oliver continues. “If you tell the Professed Order what Nathaniel did, I will make certain your bracelet is confiscated--and revoke your mail privileges. You won’t be allowed to receive any mail in a year, in any case, not even letters, so I don’t think it would do you too much damage to start implementing that right now. I know how much you dearly love your father. We do read all mail to make certain there is no slander against Cathedral Reims before sending it out. As I recall, we didn’t send out one of your letters because you insulted Sister Allyn, calling her ‘a fat hippo with the brains of a worm.’”

Ann’s small mouth drops open as mine opens in a laugh. “But-I--” She clenches her fists, then points an accusing finger at Nathaniel. “He’s a witch! That’s what he is! I’ll tell the Professed Order, I will!” Nathaniel shrinks so much against her accusing words to the point where it seems he disappears.

My eyes widen in rage. An accusation is all it takes to bring out an investigation, and they would find Nathaniel to be a witch because they do torture the accused to expose their fire. And those who aren’t witches often die, for the methods chosen become deadlier in a desperate attempt to prove the accusers right. “You can’t--”

“Miss Corsairs!” Oliver narrows his eyes, and he crosses his arms. “Would you like to repeat this lie at the altar, in front of Deus?” Ann’s accusatory demeanor does not waver. Guilt won’t work for this brat. “I see, then. Would you like me to write your father home then, detailing every punishable offense you have been involved in? I can do that. He can also feel free to pull you from Cathedral Reims and send you to a finishing school to train as a governess. Originally, that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? But you didn’t want that.”

Ann grinds her teeth. “You won’t do it if I tell the Professed Order Nathaniel is a witch. You won’t be able to do anything.”

Ann is right, but Oliver doesn’t concede.

“Your word against mine? That’s laughable.” Oliver wags a finger at her. “No, no, Miss Corsairs. We can keep this little incident under wraps if you never bother Nathaniel again, and if you leave for the library right now. You shouldn’t be out here anyway. I can also let the Professed Order know where you were, and further privileges will be revoked, as well as a decided-upon punishment for this little infraction. If I were you, I’d get to the library and study The Vulgate, like you were supposed to have been doing.”

Her face burns red. She opens her mouth to say more, only to be cut off by a simple chin raise from Oliver that implies ‘my word is final, and if you say anything more, I will simply let the Professed Order know of what you did, regardless of whether or not you let them know that Nathaniel stole your bracelet, and regardless of whether or not you accuse him of being a witch.’

“I have enough power to get you expelled, Ann,” Oliver says, his word final. “I know you don’t want to be a governess. Getting petty revenge against Nathaniel isn’t worth it for you, and I know this.”

With a final huff from Ann, she composes herself and storms away from us. When she disappears into the building, I let out a single laugh and look at Oliver with bright eyes and a huge smile.

“Olly, you’re grand!” Ann will not be accusing my little brother of witchcraft any time soon, not if she wants to stay here.

He gives me an embarrassed smile. “No one bullies your little brother, Amelia. And no one certainly bullies you, especially not a hormonally driven boy who should be shackled to the wall until he calms down.” He shrugs. “You’re privileged to have a priest for a friend.”

I think to hug Oliver, but then restrain that thought over knowing what that hug could to do me. I’m already feeling giddy and warm over Oliver’s actions against Ann. With the smile still plastered on my face, I turn this cheeriness toward Nathaniel. The smile drops.

“Nat, what’s wrong?”

Nathaniel is rigid against me, his pupils shrunk to the size of a pin tip. He trembles, releasing breaths that come out in icy wisps. Oliver kneels to his height and cups his face with both hands. He turns Nathaniel’s head from side to side.

“We need to get him to the infirmary, Amelia. I think he’s in shock.”

My hands tighten on Nathaniel’s shoulders. “Shock? Over what?”

Nathaniel’s breathing turns heavy. He starts gasping. Oliver runs behind Nathaniel and pats his back. “Deep breaths,” he tells him. “Deep breaths.”

His breaths don’t deepen. They come out ragged. He opens his mouth to speak; however, any words he wanted to say are cut short when the ragged breaths turn to loud gasps that make me think he’s choking.

I bend down in front of Nathaniel and look into his eyes. “Nat? Nat!” His eyes are not focused on me. They are focused on some point above my head. I want to follow his eyes to see where he is looking, but Nathaniel twitches, and then just collapses in Oliver’s arms, his head lolling to the side. “Nathaniel!”

Chapter Nine

In the infirmary, Sister Lila removes the thermometer from Nathaniel’s mouth and confirms he doesn’t have a fever. “It’s likely shock,” she says, dipping the implement in a cup of boiling water and then gathering her various other doctor tools. “From what, I don’t know, but I’ll keep him in here for the rest of the day and overnight for observation. If his condition improves by tomorrow, he’ll be released with strict orders to not overdo anything.”

Sister Lila bundles her instruments in her apron, and with a warm smile, exits the infirmary, leaving Oliver and I alone.

I touch Nathaniel’s soft cheek. It’s warm, but not fever warm.

“Shock, is that right?” Oliver says with narrowed eyes. “I suppose it shouldn’t be too surprising. Maybe it was Ann’s accusation.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think it could be enough to do this though.”

“Maybe it’s those cigarettes. You said it’s obvious he’s smoked more than one. What did you do with the tin?”

“I still have it,” I say. “I’ll discard it later. Perhaps it was the smoking. He’s too young to be doing that. His body can’t handle it. He was coughing when I pulled that thing out of his hand. He was gasping before he fainted.”

Oliver shrugs. “Then maybe not shock, but an inability to breathe at the time?”

I run the back of my hand along Nathaniel’s cheek, hoping the touch will pull him from this temporary sleep. I don’t want to assume what happened without being able to ask Nathaniel what he thinks happened to him. “He was looking at something before he fainted.”

“I wouldn’t say he was looking at anything,” Oliver says. “He was spacing out.”

“That look didn’t appear spacey to me.”

There is an answer for Nathaniel’s condition, rubbing at the folds of my brain, but to speak the possibility out loud is too harrowing. Sister Marie began to have such fits before her final undoing, where the nuns discovered her one morning, coated in her own blood after she took a pair of scissors and dug into her flesh. No one understood what pushed Sister Marie to the brink of insanity, to the most frightening pits that spoke the terrifying words she etched into her skin: abuse, hurt, pain, fear, blood, suicide. The letters were jagged, almost incomprehensible, but they were there. I think I’m beginning to understand though. There are things that go on at Cathedral Reims that no one wants to talk about because others who have been here before us just accepted things as they were.

The nuns are allowed to beat us. Most don’t, but some do. I have been lucky enough in my time here to avoid the ones who do. Sister Marie wasn’t. Nathaniel doesn’t seem like he is lucky either. I should have listened when he told me about the nu
n who hit his hand. That is just the start. The older one gets, the worse the beatings.

Sometimes Sister Marie would have bruises on her arms that she covered with worn habits she’d steal from the laundry room. Sometimes she would have chafe marks marred into her skin, from the backboards used during deportment lessons--not because this is a common occurrence when one is strapped to a backboard, but because a certain nun may pull it too taut if she is not happy with the way a sister is carrying herself. And then sometimes sisters would blame Sister Marie, that she brought all these beatings upon herself because she did not come into Cathedral Reims with the natural attitude of a nun. She was not born with perfect posture, a soft voice, a pleasant smile, and a mind meant to be molded for convent life. She had to be broken because she never wanted to be here. Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go--or so she thought, before an asylum wrapped her in its sterile clutches.

“What are you thinking about, Amelia?” Oliver tilts my face up at him, making me realize I’ve been staring at some point on Nathaniel for minutes. “This isn’t your fault, so you better not be blaming yourself.”

I shake my head. “I’m so selfish, Olly,” I say, trying to push back the tears that pound against my eyes. “Nathaniel told me he didn’t want to be here. If I make him stay, I’d hate to think what will happen to him.”

Oliver touches my hair, a pleasant shiver spreading along my skull. “Amelia…” He toys with the braid draped over my shoulder. “He doesn’t have to stay.” He undoes the braid and drags his fingers through my hair, heat pulsing up my neck. “You don’t have to stay.”

I look at Nathaniel, then dart my eyes over to Colette’s curtain-shrouded bed. The tears can’t stay dammed forever. They come, and I throw myself at Oliver, shirking all decorum and all that other nonsense Cathedral Reims expects from sisters. I am human, as is my brother. We crave affection, we crave affirmation that what we’re doing is right, and we crave all that Cathedral Reims forbids.