need the counsel of her sisters.’ He waved them off. ‘May the Ancestor stand with you all.’
A messenger in Crucical’s green and gold passed their convoy of carts as they pulled away from the cathedral. By the grandeur of his uniform and bearing Nona judged him to be a personal emissary rather than a mere deliverer of scrolls sealed with the emperor’s stamp. He hurried past then retraced his steps, drawing up before Nona at the head of the group. He stood a touch taller than her and met her gaze with a narrow stare.
‘The emperor has commanded me to bring the novice Nona Grey before him. She has cursed black eyes and casts no shadow. Have you seen any such?’
‘Not recently.’ Nona seldom had use for mirrors. ‘I am Sister Cage.’
The messenger gave a curt nod. ‘If you see her tell her that her immediate presence is commanded before the throne.’ He hurried off towards the cathedral.
‘The emperor wants you, Nona!’ Ara managed a smile. ‘You’re in demand!’
‘Why didn’t you go?’ Jula asked.
‘I will,’ Nona said. ‘But not now. We’ve got more important duties first.’ She paused. ‘What confuses me is how he didn’t recognize me by my eyes …’
‘You don’t know yet?’ Ruli blinked. ‘I thought I said something … But, no … Maybe we were too busy.’
‘Know what?’ Nona raised her hands to her eyes, confused.
‘They changed when Zole healed us,’ Ara said. ‘She must have repaired the damage that that novice-made black cure did to you. I thought you knew …’
‘What confuses me,’ Clera said, leaning forward, ‘is how he didn’t notice that you don’t ha— Nona! You have a shadow!’
‘I know.’ Nona allowed herself a faint smile and raised her hand to track her shadow across the street. ‘It was drawn into the Sweet Mercy shipheart when I sent it after Yisht.’ She wiggled her fingers and watched her shadow dance, anchoring her in the world. ‘I took it back.’
By noon they arrived at the convent. Nona had feared to find it in ruins but it seemed that after their master’s death Lano Tacsis’s men had had little interest in earning themselves more trouble with the Church and the Ancestor.
Sister Rose was in the sanatorium treating half a dozen injured junior novices. Three others had died. When they told her she was to be abbess, Rose shook her head and returned to changing dressings, tears rolling over her cheeks. ‘I haven’t time for that nonsense. Not at all. Too much to do here.’ With infinite care she helped a novice who was struggling to turn and indicated to her assistant, a tiny child that Nona couldn’t imagine old enough for the habit, to take water to another girl.
In the end Ara brought one of the spare croziers out to the sanatorium and hung it above the door since Rose wouldn’t move to the big house.
Much later Nona found herself alone by the stairs down to the Shade classroom. Apple would never climb them again. It hurt Nona’s heart to know it, a hurt that would stay with her, part of who she was now, like the wound Abbess Glass’s death left upon her and that she would wear through all her days. Some lessons must be written in scars, Sister Tallow had said. Nona would miss her too.
On the last day that Abbess Glass had spent with them she had told Nona many things. Secrets about the future and about the past. At last she had fallen quiet, half smiling, half sad. All leaves must fall in time, she had said. The lives we lived fall away from us, but something remains, something that is part of the tree.
Glass had been sick when she laid her plans months before her death. She had met in secret with Nona and Zole on their separate returns and even then she had said that she did not expect to see the seeds she was planting come to flower.
‘To sow knowing that you will not reap is an old kind of love, and love has always been the best key for unlocking the future.’ The abbess had set her hands upon theirs. ‘You, my dears, are both the Chosen One, but it’s only me who has chosen you. Each of you is a die cast against the odds. Zole dear, remember to hold on to what makes us love you. If you reach your journey’s end without that you will have gone nowhere. And, Nona, my fierce little Nona,