10 Maerryl
MAERRYL
The creaking door flapped shut after the old man’s departure, finally slowing to a stop.
Several long moments of silence stretched out, and I turned to Dove.
Her mouth hung open slightly as she stared after him, confusion and shock warring over her expression.
And something else. Something that looked suspiciously like guilt.
“You knew?” I said.
Her wide eyes hardened as they darted to me. “I didn’t.”
I stayed silent, crossing my arms. She had seemed so taken aback when the old man told his tale—but you couldn’t trust rich folk. That was as obvious as the nose on my face. I couldn’t afford to believe anything she said.
“I didn’t, I swear,” she repeated, almost sounding offended. “Mother and Father never mentioned it, never said anything about people asking for donations, or the—the children…” Her gaze grew distant, trailing back up the road to where we’d seen the man with the baby.
“I think Choia mentioned something once, about a raiding. She was upset. Burned the dinner rolls that night. I—goddess, I think I teased her.” Dove’s hand drifted to her brow, rubbing with an absent feverishness. “Why didn’t she tell me?? No one told me.”
“Would you really have done something even if they had?” I bit out.
Her pink cheeks reddened, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
“No, enlighten me. Explain how you think I’m a waste-of-space rich girl without a shred of empathy.”
I sneered. “Your words, not mine.”
An exasperated, furious sound burst out of Dove’s chest. She spun on one heel and stormed over to her horse, gracefully mounting. I darted to her side, trying to grab the reins, but Lightning sidestepped away.
“Where are you going?” I yelled.
She refused to look at me, mouth set in a tight line as she adjusted her seat and hair. “The priory. These villagers clearly don’t want me here, but followers of the goddess accept help from everyone.”
With that, she clicked to Lightning, and they bolted off down the road. My stomach dropped.
I threw myself into my own saddle and raced after them. How many more times would I have to chase down this absurd woman?! I’d rather be back polishing spoons than this.
Even as I thought it, my pulse leapt when I gained on Dove, narrowly avoiding the cranky old woman from earlier as our horses barreled back to the main road.
She shook her tiny fist at me, but I didn’t stop.
Dove slowed to turn right onto the road, not even glancing back, then brought Lightning to a full gallop again. They flew.
I kept up as well as I could, only slowing when the priory’s arch appeared at a curve and Dove shifted to a trot.
Two gnarled oak trees, trunks fused together some fifteen feet above, were marked at the very center of their arch with the goddess’s signature pearlescent oval.
It was said that whenever a new priory was founded, the goddess herself blessed its entrance arch with this marking.
A protection, a promise, a decorative move-in gift—who knew?
But in the entirety of history, in Kurriel and beyond, a priory of the dual goddess had never been attacked, raided, or beset by any natural devastation. They were places of peace and healing.
Well, healing for some. A place of peaceful dying for others.
I followed Dove through the arch of living wood, feeling the slight pressure and release on my skin as the magic let us through.
It was said that no one of ill intention was allowed through the priory’s arch.
An acolyte I recognized from past visits to see my brother lounged inside the entrance, perched atop a low tree branch while he munched a crisp apple.
Less a guard than a greeter. Spotting me, he opened his mouth, but I widened my eyes and gave a sharp shake of my head.
He glanced at Dove and back, then gave the subtlest of nods.
In a place such as this, privacy was understood and respected.
I didn’t want Dove to know about Balfie—no one outside the priory, actually.
My brother’s condition, including the magical tether we were bound by with our runic tattoos, was the most painful, most secret part of my life.
And secrets, as I’d learned from Zephyra and my fellows in the Takers Guild, were often as precious—and as dangerous—as gold.
It was safer to keep them tucked away, carefully hidden.
Luckily, Dove, ahead a few paces, seemed not to notice this quick exchange.
She trotted up to the acolyte and proclaimed, far too loudly for the meditative quiet of the priory’s wooded glen, “Good day! I am Lady Dovenesdrea of House Wistrallo. I wish to speak with the prioress and offer my services.”
The stocky acolyte peered down at her from his branch. “Goddess bless, Dovenesdrea, and welcome. What services do you offer?”
Dove stiffened, likely from her dropped title, and said, “I—well, I have funds that I might give. To help the orphans of the raid. But really, I should speak to whoever’s in charge about this.”
The youth swung nimbly to the ground and put a gentle hand over Lightning’s nose. The horse snorted, then leaned into the touch. He slipped him the remaining half of apple.
To Dove, he said, “We gladly accept any donations freely given with kind intent. I’ll see if a prioress is available to discuss these funds that you, ah, might give.
” With that, he headed down the flat, winding path toward the priory without a backward glance.
Dove sat on her saddle, looking frozen with indecision.
“You should follow him,” I said. “If you’re serious about helping, that is.”
She bristled, then sniffed at me. “Of course I am.”
Guiding Lightning back on the path, she headed in the acolyte’s direction. I rolled my eyes and nudged my horse to follow.
We passed under the swooping branches of trees lining and overarching our path as we trailed after our guide’s loping figure.
When he eventually stopped, we were by a wide, open doorway set into a pale stone wall.
A few of the priory’s birdlike creatures sat atop it, slender tea-green bodies perched as if we were their afternoon’s entertainment.
Long feathered tails flicked up occasionally, and I always liked to pretend it was in greeting.
Once we’d caught up, the acolyte led us through the entrance into an expansive courtyard. I swung down from my saddle, and Dove followed my lead.
“We’ll water the horses in the stables,” he said as a sleepy-looking elf appeared and gathered our reins, drooping off in the direction of the stables.
“Let’s head this way. Prioress the Younger normally handles matters like this, but she’s on a reflection journey.
I’ll see if Prioress the Elder is available.
They’re usually sitting down for their midday rest now. ”
We continued along one covered edge of the courtyard.
Despite her annoyance with me, Dove’s eyes had slid over to mine at mention of the “reflection journey,” a slight smirk to her lips.
I couldn’t return it. My face felt stiff, the mask of calm I’d thrown on as we’d entered the priory cracking in slow, hairline fractures.
Heart pounding, I followed Dove and the acolyte down a wide hallway of light brown stone and up a familiar winding staircase.
Please, I sent a rare prayer to the goddess, don’t let her find out about Balfie.
The idea of her using this secret against me—or worse, pitying me—dropped a pit in my stomach.
It wasn’t long before we came to an arched doorway, empty but for a thick black curtain woven through with white flowers.
“Wait here, please.” The acolyte ducked inside, returning a few moments later. He held back the curtain and gestured us through. As I passed the doorway, a hand darted out for a quick, reassuring pat on my shoulder before he left. I let out a careful, deep breath.
A warm voice and the scent of eucalyptus and peppermint drew my attention. “Greetings, young ones! Care for a splash of tea?”
Prioress the Elder, a slender elf with silver spectacles perched on the tip of their round nose, stood waiting by a fireside table. Gaze resting on me for a moment, they didn’t react or say anything further. I relaxed a smidge more. The acolyte must have tipped them off.
Dove stepped farther into the room. Inclining her head in thanks, she said, “That would be lovely, yes. I’m Lady Dovenesdrea, your—um—your holiness. And this is my temporary bodyguard, Maerryl.” She swept a hand back toward me. I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, I know who you are, Dovenesdrea,” the elder chuckled as they poured steaming tea into three mugs and passed them around. I gripped mine tightly. “And it’s a pleasure to finally meet. What can I help you with today?”
They settled into a low armchair by the fireplace, gesturing for us to join. Dove swept the voluminous fabric of her riding habit to the side and sat next to the prioress. I hovered behind her for a moment, before sinking into a soft chair in the nearby corner, out of sight.
“Prioress,” she started uncertainly, “I suppose I’m hoping to help you. Or, well, help you to help the children. Of the raid. If I can.” She paused, sniffing her tea and then taking a small sip.
The elder’s smile warmed somehow more. “Dear, please call me Lumelle. It’s not our way to stand on formality much here.”
“Ah, alright—Lumelle.” Dove sipped again, then continued, “Well, you see. It’s come to my attention that there are some, um, recently orphaned children here in the priory, as well as in the village. I want to—that is, I’m hoping you’ll allow me to—ah, make a donation of coin toward their care.”
Strange. She actually seemed to be serious about this. Had to give her a tiny bit of credit for that. It was more than her parents had done, at least.
Lumelle hummed, stirring a sugar cube into their tea. “It’s a kind thought, Dovenesdrea. Why?”
“Why?”
“Why do you wish to make a donation?”
Baffled, Dove set her mug down. “I—well, I assume they need help. From what I heard, it sounded like they’ve lost… lost everything.”
The elder nodded, tufted white hair swaying above their head. “Most everything, yes. They have been in the priory’s care for some months now. And so, you wish to help? Why?”
“Do I need to provide a reason?” Dove’s voice sharpened.
“Not necessarily.” Lumelle shrugged and took a long gulp of tea. “I am simply curious. And I feel that the goddess is as well. Humor an old person and their immortal deity.”
A long silence followed before Dove spoke again. Quietly, she said, “I don’t know. I just want to do something. And this is all I can do for them.”
“Ahh. I see, I see.” The prioress shifted to the edge of their seat to rest a knobby hand on Dove’s arm for a moment before settling back with a sigh.
After a pause, they said, “Well, my dear, it is a kind gesture, and anything you give will be used for the care and well-being of the orphans. We accept on one condition.”
“A… condition?”
“I invite you to come and spend three mornings a week here, in the priory, with the children.”
“With the—but, Prioress. I mean, Lumelle—what am I to do with them?” Dove threw a panicked glance at me, and I shrugged back.
Here it was. Giving coin was one thing—nobles loved to give an easy donation occasionally to ease their guilt—but committing her time was another. Dove would never follow through on this.
The elder shifted comfortably in their seat and plucked a cookie from a nearby plate. “Oh, I’m confident you’ll figure something out. What skills could you teach them?”
“Nothing!” Dove cried. “I don’t know how to do anything that would be useful to a group of village youths!”
Lumelle gave her a stern look over the tops of their spectacles. “I doubt that very much.”
“She paints,” I said from my corner, ignoring the bewildered look Dove threw my way.
Petra had told me proudly that the big colorful canvases I’d admired in Dove’s rooms were all done by the lady herself.
And as annoying as I found my charge, I had to admit that she clearly had talent.
Though I’d shave my whole head before ever admitting that to her. Eyebrows included.
“Perfect! Art feeds one’s soul. The children will love that.
Painting class it is then. Maerryl, can you please duck out and make arrangements with Orinno?
He should be just down the hall, in the infirmary.
Dovenesdrea and I will discuss details here a bit longer.
” I rose quickly as Lumelle held out a plate toward Dove.
“Pecan shortbread, dear? They’re fresh from the kitchens.
Huge bumper crop of nuts on the grounds this year!
Tell me—how are the manor’s trees faring lately?
I met a few of them some years ago, when I wandered off my hiking trail one summer.
Fine, sturdy trunks. You are lucky to be blessed with such neighbors… ”
I didn’t give Dove a chance to protest my leaving. Slipping through the curtain, I left her baffled murmurs behind. The prioress knew what they were doing. They’d given me a window, and I wasn’t going to squander it.
Without a backward glance, I rushed down the hall.