Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(12)
“Leave the jug,” he orders.
I look down and see that I still carry the wine jug in my hand. Careless! “But of course, monsieur,” I say, then set the jug on the floor next to him. I risk another glance from under my lashes, but he’s turned back to the fire.
At the door, I pause one last time, waiting until he takes another sip of wine, then another. I cross myself and bow my head, commending the traitor’s soul into Mortain’s keeping. As I reach for the door, it bursts open. A large form stands there, outlined by the torchlight from the hallway. His hood is still pulled up close around his face, but I recognize the hulking figure of Hervé.
Merde! Could he not have waited till I went back downstairs?
I step away from the door and throw a look over my shoulder to gauge the distance to the window. Hervé follows my gaze and swears when he sees Runnion, who looks as if he has passed out in a wine-sodden stupor. while Hervé rushes to Runnion’s side, I take the opportunity Mortain has provided me and bolt for the window.
It is a long ride back to the convent, but my sense of triumph keeps me warm. I want to crow to the heavens that I have served my god and my convent well, but Sister Serafina has told me many times that pride is a sin, and so I do not.
Plus, it would frighten my horse. I reach down and pat Nocturne’s neck, just in case my exhilaration is making her uneasy.
The one sour note in my triumph is the oafish peasant who came upstairs. Part of me wishes I’d stayed to fight with him, tested my skills against his, for surely he would be no match for one trained such as I. we are allowed to kill in self-defense, whether the opponent has a marque or not, and I could have avenged myself for his overly familiar groping.
However, since the whole point of this first assignment is to demonstrate my obedience, I think I have made the right choice in walking away.
The thrill of success is still humming through my veins when I reach the ferryman — the same one who rowed me out to the convent when I first arrived. Tonight, he takes Nocturne and has his son — who is nearly as ancient as he is — return the horse to the stables. As I climb into the waiting boat, his eyes slide away from me, afraid that if he stares too long, he might come to know what I’ve been up to.
I cannot wait to lay my success at the reverend mother’s feet. I want to prove to her that she was right to take me in, that she chose wisely in offering me a home. I want her to see that I have passed her test.
That I was picked over Annith brings me joy, even as my heart breaks for her. But perhaps the abbess has seen some special skill or spark in me, one that makes me shine brighter than Annith and the others.
The boat crunches up onto the stony beach and I step out, doing my best to keep my fine gown clear of the surf. “Thank you,” I say; I wave goodbye to the ferryman, but he is already rowing back out to sea.
eager to make my report to the abbess, I hurry toward the convent. As I pass the standing stone, I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them to the cold rough surface in a quick prayer of thanks to Mortain for guiding my hand.
The sun is just beginning to rise, but the chickens are already at their morning scratching. The reverend mother too is an early riser and already sits at her desk. I knock on her open door.
She looks up from her paperwork. “You’re back.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
She puts down the unopened letter she was holding and gives me her full attention. “It went well?”
I try not to preen. “Very well. It was exactly as you and Sister Vereda said. The marque was clear upon the traitor, and the poison was just beginning to work as I left.”
“Good.” She nods her head, satisfied. “You are safely returned to us before any will know he is dead. An easy, clean first kill, as it should be. No one saw you?”
“No one. except for the maid, who thought exactly what Sister Beatriz told us she would think.” I hesitate, filled with regret that Hervé has tainted my first assignment but knowing I cannot risk omitting him from my report, in case he is part of the test. “And a farmer from the fields who tried to delay me. For a dalliance, I think.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up in amusement. “I trust you were able to take care of that?”
“But of course, Reverend Mother.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you kill him?”
“No! He was not assigned to me, nor did he bear a marque.”
“Good.” She seems pleased with my account. “Do you wish to rest for a few hours before joining the others?”
“No, thank you.” I am far too excited to even think of sleep.
She smiles, as if she knows full well why I cannot sleep. “Very well. Once you have changed, report to Sister Thomine in the courtyard. Leave your clothes on the bed, and Sister Beatriz will fetch them shortly.” She gives a nod of dismissal, then cracks open the seal on the letter in front of her. Just before I step into the hall, she calls out, “Ismae?”
“Yes, Reverend Mother?”
“Your second test will come soon,” she says, not looking up from her correspondence. “It will not be this easy.”
I cannot tell if her words are meant as a promise or a warning, so I take them as both. In the dormitory, I change quickly and leave my finery on the bed. As I lace up my plain gray habit, I glance out the window. Sister Thomine is leading the others in evasive techniques. well and good, as I need to discharge some of this pent-up excitement. I hurry out to join them.