Chapter 15 #2
“Ye must stop this, Freya,” Kyla begged, trying to take her hand. “Ye are upset, and tired, and probably hungry. Let’s just take a breath, calm down, and then…”
Freya yanked her hand free. “Don’t tell me what to do! Oh, don’t think I don’t have yer measure, Kyla.”
Kyla flinched back, looking genuinely afraid.
Stop, pleaded a small, clear voice at the back of Freya’s head. Please, stop this.
She couldn’t stop. Venom spilled out from her, full of anger and bitterness and jealousy. The words just kept coming.
“Ye bury yerself in books because the real world scares ye. Who are ye, who are any of ye, to judge me? I know why ye love secrets and stories. It’s because yer own life is an empty book, and ye are too afraid to fill it, afraid that ye will die a blank page, with nothing more interesting in yer head than the words ye have put in it.
And ye should be afraid because that is exactly what is happening to ye! ”
Astrid took one smooth step forward, and Freya turned to face her.
She never saw the slap coming.
Crack.
The noise echoed around the silent room. Freya jerked backwards, pain blooming over her face. She lifted her hand automatically to her cheek, the skin already reddening.
The others seemed frozen in time. Kyla’s eyes were like saucers behind her spectacles, mouth a silent “o” of surprise. Senga had her hand clapped over her mouth. Freya was sure that she looked almost comically surprised, and more than a little horrified.
Only Astrid’s expression had not changed. She shook out her hand carelessly, holding Freya’s gaze.
“Ye won’t talk to my friends that way, not around me,” she said, her voice light and almost calm. “I can’t help but think, though, Freya, that ye are glad I stopped ye.”
Freya said nothing, clenching her jaw. She’d never been slapped. Never.
I deserved it, though.
“Ye shouldn’t have done that, Astrid,” Senga whispered. “We’re not permitted to hit each other. It’s one of the Abbess’ golden rules.”
“Freya can go and tell tales if she wishes,” Astrid responded, still holding Freya’s gaze. “Or she can leave. She’s welcome to leave, and she’s not pleasant to have around at the moment. Are ye, Freya?”
“Ye had no right to hit me,” Freya mumbled, still reeling.
“And ye had no right to say any of those things about us. How dare ye, Freya? How dare ye?” Astrid never raised her voice, never added any real inflection to her words, but the anger behind them sizzled near the surface, full of outrage.
“Ye have no idea what we’ve been through.
And what’s more, I don’t think ye care, do ye?
Well, listen to this. We’ve worked hard to have peace in this convent, to keep ourselves safe.
There’s always outside dangers, always greedy lairds who want our money or want to stop the work that we do.
That will never change, I think. But one thing we don’t need is spoiled, selfish princesses coming in and acting as though none of us are clever enough to understand their problems. Let me tell ye now, Freya, Senga has led a harder life than ye ever will.
Kyla’s been through things ye cannot imagine.
And me? Sure, I’ve lived my life here. I’m abandoned, unwanted, and I have to live with that every day. ”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Stop talking!” Astrid said, and this time she did raise her voice, which echoed around the cold cell. “Ye have said more than enough, Freya. It’s time to stop. If ye choose to leave, I think that would be best, don’t ye? Ye’ve done plenty.”
She turned slowly away, draping an arm over Kyla’s shoulders. With her free arm, she took Senga’s hand, and led the two of them out of the room. They didn’t look back.
Freya stayed where she was for a moment, knees trembling, cheek throbbing. She stumbled to the door, looking after them.
The three girls were making their slow way down the hallway, leaning against each other like a three-headed creature, voices low and inaudible.
“Fine!” Freya called after them. “Go! I don’t care. And I’m going, too, out there to lead a proper life. Do you hear me?”
They didn’t turn around, or give any indication that they had heard. At the bottom of the hallway, the corridor curved, and soon the three girls were out of sight.
Freya was left alone. Always alone.
She gave a hiccoughing sob, and turned to dive back inside her room. She slammed the door, hoping it would make her feel better.
It didn’t.
Dropping to her knees, she pulled out the worn leather bag from underneath her bed, and began stuffing her few belongings into it. Tears fell freely, streaking hot and itchy down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wipe them away.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care, she told herself, again and again. Why should I? They didn’t even let me apologize.
I was going to apologize, wasn’t I?
A blue shawl appeared beneath her folded nightgown, and Freya’s breath hitched in her throat. Kyla had given it to her, after Freya complained of being cold at night. She sat back on her heels, clutching the shawl to her chest.
What have I done?
Her own words came back, biting like poisonous snakes, going round and round in her head and refusing to be ignored. She gave a miserable little moan, burying her face in the shawl.
What have I done?
I can’t stay here. Not after this.
The decision was made, then.
Freya was going to leave the convent.