Prince of Dogs

“The Dragons are destroyed.”



“Destroyed?” The news shook him out of his singleminded fury.



“They were overwhelmed by a force of Eika, at Gent.”



Destroyed. Trying to make sense of this, he looked up at her. He had never actually seen Mother Scholastica from this close before; only the rare novice, like Sigfrid, came into contact with the abbess. She had a handsome face, her hair tucked away inside a plain linen scarf draped and folded over her head and twisting in neat lines down over her shoulders. She wore dark blue robes to distinguish her from the other nuns, a gold Circle of Unity studded with gems on a gold chain that hung halfway down her chest, and the golden torque that signified her royal kinship around her neck. Her gaze remained cool; she was not one bit flustered by this meeting or by the circumstances which had brought him here. He had a sudden, awful notion that she had judged many a boy or girl whose complaint was similar to his.



He would not let himself be overawed by her consequence! He was also the son of noble parents, if not of a king. “Then—then they’ll need more Dragons,” he blurted out. “Let me go, please. Let me serve the king.”



“It is not my decision to make.”



“How can you stop me if I refuse to take vows as a monk when my novitiate is ended?” he demanded.



She raised an eyebrow. “You have already pledged yourself to enter the church, an oath spoken outside these gates.”



“I had no choice!”



“You spoke the words. I did not speak them for you.”



“Is a vow sworn under compulsion valid?”



“Did I or any other hold a sword to your throat? You swore the vow.”



“But—”



“And,” she said, lifting a hand for silence—a hand that bore two handsome rings, one plain burnished gold braid, the other a fine opal in a gold setting, “your father has pledged a handsome dowry to accompany you. We do not betroth ourselves lightly, neither to a partner in marriage—” He winced as she paused. Her gaze was keen and unrelenting. “—nor to the church. If a vow can be as easily broken as a feather can be snapped in two—” She lifted a quill made from an owl feather from her table, displaying it to him. “—then how can we any of us trust the other?” She set down the feather. “Our oaths are what make us honorable people. What man or woman who has forsworn his noble lord or lady can ever be trusted again? You swore your promise to Our Lady and Lord. Do you mean to forswear that oath and live outside the church for the rest of your days?”



Said thus, it all sounded so much more serious. No man or woman who made a vow and then broke it was worthy of honor. His knees ached; his back hurt. His hood had slipped back, and the hem of his robe had doubled up under his left calf to press annoyingly into the flesh.



“No. I—” He faltered. Had he actually imagined scant hours ago that he could get the better in a debate with Mother Scholastica?



“Why now, Ivar?” She, too, shifted in her chair, as if her back hurt her, and for one uncharitable moment he hoped it did. “You are a good boy and never rebellious, never like this. Was it the king’s arrival?”



He flushed. Of course she must already know.



“You are tempted by the presence of so many women who are not bound by vows,” she went on, as if toying with him, though her voice remained level and her expression clear and calm. “Do not be ashamed to admit such to me, Ivar. I understand that we who pledge ourselves to the church have to battle the temptations of the flesh in order to make ourselves worthy. Those who remain in the world do their part as well, but theirs is a different path. We in the church strive to set the darkness behind us, to make of ourselves an immaculate chamber, to set aside the taint of darkness that lies within each of us, that is part of each of us. For did the blessed Daisan not preach that although we are bound by our nature, God’s goodness to humankind was in giving us liberty?”



“‘Keep clear of all that is evil,’” responded Ivar dutifully, for these sayings had been drilled into the novices, “‘which we would not wish to befall ourselves.’”



“Good is natural to us, Ivar. We are glad when we act rightly. As the blessed Daisan said, ‘Evil is the work of the Enemy, and therefore we do those evil things when we are not masters of ourselves.’”



“But—but I don’t want this path. Not this one. I want—”



“Can you be sure?”



“It isn’t women—it isn’t just any—”