She sighed at the sound of her mother’s voice and placed the mirror carefully on the dresser. No doubt Joyhinia had returned to the apartment for lunch. That she might have come home to check on her daughter, to assure herself she was well, did not occur to R’shiel, anymore that it would have occurred to Joyhinia.
Now that she was home for every meal and her mother was no longer compelled to set aside time for her daughter, dinnertime in Joyhinia’s apartment became an informal meeting of her cronies. Hella was given the evenings off, and R’shiel served her mother’s guests, as befitted her status as a Probate, albeit a temporarily inactive one. The most frequent guest was Jacomina, who would sit in silence and listen to Joyhinia list her endless complaints regarding Mahina’s mismanagement of the Sisterhood and Joyhinia’s plans to correct things, once she was First Sister. Much of Joyhinia’s rhetoric sounded as if she were rehearsing for a public forum.
One evening, soon after R’shiel arrived, Harith joined the small gathering. She appeared uncomfortable to begin with, gulping down her first glass of wine with indecent haste. Joyhinia wisely kept the conversation on mundane, everyday things all through the main course and dessert. Not until the women took their wine and moved to the armchairs around the fire, did Harith finally seem sufficiently at ease to discuss the reason for her visit.
“As you know, I’ve little patience with your schemes normally, Joyhinia,” she began, staring into the flames to avoid meeting the other woman’s eyes. Joyhinia and Jacomina remained silent. R’shiel cleared the table as quietly as possible, afraid that the clattering of dishes would draw attention to her presence. For once, this looked like being interesting, and she did not want to be banished to her room. “But this time, I fear you may be right.”
Joyhinia nodded solemnly. “My first care has always been for Medalon, Harith.”
“Perhaps,” Harith remarked, rather more skeptically than Joyhinia would have liked. “But as you know, Sister Suelen, the First Sister’s Secretary, is my niece. She brought something to my attention that I find disturbing.”
“Much of Mahina’s administration is disturbing,” Joyhinia agreed. “Exactly what has she done that causes you concern?”
Harith took another gulp of her wine. “I think Mahina is planning to declare war on Karien.”
Joyhinia looked astonished, although R’shiel suspected she was acting for Harith’s sake. “I believe Mahina capable of many things, but I doubt she would deliberately provoke an armed conflict with an enemy so much stronger than us.”
“Jenga has had several meetings with Mahina in the past few weeks,” Harith told them. “One of which included that sly little bastard Garet Warner and your son, who, I might add, has not been seen in the Citadel for weeks. Rumor has it he is in the north already.”
Joyhinia leaned back in her chair and rested her chin on steepled fingers.
“R’shiel!”
“Mother?” she replied, startled to be included in the conversation.
“Did Tarja say where he was going when he visited you in the Infirmary?”
The question surprised her. Was Joyhinia keeping tabs on her? “He said he was doing a survey of the northern border villages for Commandant Warner.”
Harith nodded with satisfaction. “There! What did I tell you!”
“That hardly proves she’s planning to start a war, Harith.” Joyhinia was enjoying this rare chance to be the voice of moderation.
“No? Then why has she got detailed plans, costs, even troop numbers and plans for a civilian militia, sitting on her desk?”
From where R’shiel stood, gently stacking the dishes on the small cart, ready for their return to the kitchen, her mother looked to her like a hawk about to swoop down on an unsuspecting rabbit. “Are you certain of this, Harith?”
“I’ve seen them myself. She plans to create a civil militia to bolster the Defenders and move a good half of the troops to the northern border.”
“King Jasnoff will take that as an act of war,” Jacomina pointed out with alarm.
“Perhaps Mahina already knows that.” Joyhinia looked at the two women closely, gauging their mood. “I have just learned that Lord Pieter is on his way back to the Citadel. King Jasnoff of Karien is unhappy with the upsurge of heathen cults, and these demon-child rumors refuse to go away. Mahina’s lenient attitude toward the heathens is just as dangerous as her plans for war.”
“Who would have thought a mouse like Mahina would turn out to be a warmonger?” Jacomina smirked. Both Joyhinia and Harith looked at the Mistress of Enlightenment in annoyance.
“She has to be stopped. If she continues on this course, she will destroy Medalon.”
“I wholeheartedly agree, Harith, but such a course of action could be considered treason, if not handled correctly.”
Harith’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Mahina must be impeached. Legally, openly, and without any doubt that the Quorum is in full agreement. If not, the Defenders will refuse to swear allegiance to the new First Sister. Mahina would be quite within her rights to have us hanged as traitors.” Joyhinia seemed to be deliberately trying to frighten her cohorts. Maybe she wanted to be sure now, before this moved from discussion to action, that her coconspirators would see this through to the bitter end.
“Then we need Francil,” Harith said.
“Francil will never agree,” Jacomina scoffed.
“She will if you give her what she wants. Everyone has their price, even Francil.”
“So what is her price?” Harith asked.
Joyhinia shrugged, smiling coldly. “I have no idea, Harith, but believe me, I intend to find out.”
As Founders’ Day drew nearer and with it the start of winter, the frequency of tense and furtive meetings in the apartment increased. Blue-robed sisters came and went, often looking up and down the hall nervously before they entered to ensure they were not observed. Joyhinia displayed a disturbing lack of trust in her daughter, so R’shiel was excluded from the discussions. But she overheard enough to know that her mother was planning to denounce Mahina at the annual Gathering following the Founders’ Day Parade, with the aide of the Karien Envoy.
R’shiel wanted no part in the plot. As Mistress of Enlightenment, the First Sister had educated hundreds of Novices, Probates, and Cadets – R’shiel and Tarja included. Mahina was a popular figure, particularly among the Defenders. She had championed the cause for Cadets to receive an education equivalent to that of Probates.
Torn between loyalty to her mother and her affection for Mahina, R’shiel didn’t know what to do. Short of going to Mahina and warning her personally, she could think of no way to foil her mother’s plans – and even that notion proved a futile hope. Joyhinia was well aware of R’shiel’s sympathy for Mahina’s policies and had obviously taken precautions. Hella seemed to be under orders to ensure that she remained cut off from the outside world and watched her like a fox sitting outside a chicken coop. Junee and Kilene were turned away when they came to visit. There was no way of getting to the First Sister, no way of warning her. Even a note would be subject to Suelen’s scrutiny. R’shiel fretted over her helplessness. It burned in her gut like a bad meal.
In spite of Joyhinia’s schemes, R’shiel recovered her strength quickly, gained a little weight, although not nearly as much as Sister Gwenell would have liked, and began to feel almost like her old self again.
Almost. Some things were not quite the same. For one thing, she had grown even taller, as if her menses had triggered one final growth spurt. She had always been tall for her age, but now she could look many of the Defenders in the eye. Joyhinia did not seem to notice, although she only came up to her daughter’s chin. R’shiel wondered if her height came from her father. Jenga was a big man, and she guessed she was as tall as he was now. She had not had another bleeding, but Gwenell did not seem concerned about it. These things took time to settle into a cycle, the physic had assured her when she came to visit under Hella’s watchful eye. R’shiel fervently hoped her next cycle would not be as spectacular as the first.
Strangely, her skin had retained the golden cast it had acquired during her illness, despite the herbal infusions. Gwenell was far more worried about it than R’shiel was. She felt fine and did not think, as Gwenell grimly forecast, that her liver was in imminent danger of collapse. However, she drank the bitter herbal tea each day to
