With that she walked away.

You’re just leaving him?

Yes.

He would have sold you! Again!

Yes.

You’re insane!

Maybe. Nona shrugged. I do hear voices in my head.

23

ABBESS GLASS

“THE GIRL’S SAFE?” Even in the study of her own house Glass would no longer name her. They called the rank below inquisitor “watchers,” but in truth they were more often listeners, and they were good at it.

“Safe’s too strong a word for it,” Sister Apple said. “But she’s gone. My friend assures me that the girl left the Rock in one piece.” Behind Sister Apple Sister Tallow said nothing but her shoulders relaxed a fraction. To Glass the fraction spoke volumes.

Glass nodded. Kettle would report to Apple from now on, and Apple would bring word to the big house. Nona would have the sense to run, though her instincts would tell her to fight. Kettle would have made sure the girl ran. Of course, she would run back to whatever collection of muddy sticks the child-taker had purchased her from. You didn’t need to see much to see that. Even Pelter would guess as much. It would take the Inquisition a while to find the child-taker though—too long probably—and without him they’d never discover the village.

Sister Tallow coughed, bringing Glass back to the moment. “Abbess, you need to take action. Brother Pelter won’t leave here until he’s brought you down. If he can’t find anything concrete he’ll make his case out of innuendo and gossip. It won’t matter.”

“I am taking action, sister.” Glass stayed at her window. “I’m watching the watchers.” She smiled at the old joke. “I can see two of them from here. One is following Sister Chrysanthemum in the direction of the necessary. I fear he may be disappointed if he hopes for any secrets to be dropped.”

“I mean action! The high priest—”

“The high priest is struggling to hold on to the Church,” Glass said. “The ice is closing, the emperor feels it. In such times trust is squeezed out and we gather power to ourselves. It would take no great leap of imagination for Crucical to take Nevis’s mantle and declare himself high priest as well as emperor. Nevis would rather lose Sweet Mercy than lose it all. He’d lose a dozen convents and monasteries and count himself ahead.”

“Direct action then.” Sister Apple tucked a red coil into her headdress, thoughtful as if choosing the right weapon for the job. “Pelter’s just one man we could—”

Glass shook her head. “We must have faith, Apple.”

“I pray to the Ancestor at the four corners of every day.”

“Faith in me.” A smile. Glass turned from her window and put a hand to Apple’s shoulder, deepening her voice theatrically. “Grey Sister, you may pass unseen and drop poison in a cup, but my intentions are hidden deeper than any shadow goes. I can place my venom in any ear where words may echo.” She reached for Tallow’s shoulder and brought both nuns to her side. “Red Sister, you might punch through a door but when my blows are struck no castle wall will stop them, no miles will keep you safe.” Glass spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel, but she needed them strong. In any game of bets and forfeit the bluff was always of more importance than whatever might be written on the cards held tight against your chest.

“We have faith in you, abbess,” Tallow said. Tallow always had faith.

“Be cautious though.” Apple still looked worried. “Spend too long watching the long game and the short game will kill you.”

* * *

• • •

DAYS PASSED, THE ice-wind broke, the fields shaded from white to green. It had been the best part of a week since Nona had run. Abbess Glass watched from her study window as she did every day. Her gaze settled on Novice Zole standing in the shadows by the base of the Dome of the Ancestor. “Come on, girl, what are you waiting for?” Glass spoke to an empty room. Zole should have made her move by now.

Glass shook her head. She seemed to do more watching than Pelter’s watchers these days. It had been her first post in the Inquisition as a young woman: Shella Yammal, watcher. At first she had been tasked just to bring tales to the tower, whatever snippets of information passed across and around her father’s market stall. But Brother Devis, her handler, had seen the talent she had for the work and had made her a watcher, an official appointment, recorded in the great books.

Zole stepped from the shadow now, intent on something. Glass followed her gaze. “Brother Pelter, Sister Rail, and Novice Joeli, a holy trinity.” The three emerged from Academia Tower, heads bowed in conversation.

Three sharp knocks on the door behind her and Sister Apple came pushing through before the “come” was fully past Glass’s lips.

“Mistress Shade?” Glass raised her eyebrows. Apple looked as if she had run all the way from the undercaves, hectic red blotches across both cheekbones.

“Kettle’s gone!” Apple drew in a breath. “Something happened to Nona. Something bad.”

“She went after Sherzal?”

“What? No! I told you. She’s gone after Nona.”

“I was asking if Nona had gone after Sherzal.” Glass glanced back out of the window. Everything still looked calm. It wouldn’t last.

Apple blinked. “Nona? Why would she? And how could she imagine she could do anything to Sherzal?”

Glass drew a slow breath, willing her impatience away. She couldn’t expect Apple to think clearly where Kettle was concerned. “What kind of trouble was Nona in?”

Apple shook her head. “Kettle left a ciphered note. No details. She knew I wouldn’t let her go alone.”

“Kettle is a Grey: she doesn’t require your permission, sister.” Glass smiled. “Besides, that girl is death on two legs. Worry for whoever gets in her way.”

Apple looked down, frowning.

“Additionally,” Glass said, “it’s probably safer for her out there. Sister Rock reports Inquisition guards and seekers approaching the Vinery Stair.”

“Guards?” Apple met Glass’s gaze, her frown deepening. The seekers would be to hunt out Kettle—rumour had it she still haunted the convent, and rumour was bread and butter to the Inquisition. But the guards, that one clearly puzzled Apple. Why did the Inquisition need its shock troops for Sweet Mercy?

“Think it through, dear.” Glass pulled out her chair and sat at her desk. There were papers that would need signing. She paused, arm extended for her quill. Apple’s intelligence had never been in doubt but the woman applied it too narrowly. “Imagine Pelter is making one of those poisons of yours. He selects his ingredients. He assembles them. He adds them, in the required order and in the required amounts. Not all at once. Some watchers first. Let things simmer. Some more. Stir. Wait. Then the next.”

“But what’s he brewing?” Apple’s fingers moved as if imagining mixing ingredients of her own.

“I told you,” Glass said. “Poison.”

24