Medalon

own house before we start looking at others.”

Joyhinia bowed to the First Sister. “By your words you demonstrate the wisdom worthy of a true First Sister, Mahina.”

The older woman nodded in acknowledgment of Joyhinia’s eloquent compliment. R’shiel glanced at her mother and shuddered. She knew that look, knew that venomous, bitter gleam better than anyone. Joyhinia despised Mahina. R’shiel sipped her wine as she watched the elder Sisters and wondered how long it would be before there was another funeral, another public Burning, and another First Sister. She caught Tarja’s eye and thought he was wondering the same thing.

chapter 4

R’shiel straightened her tunic, checked that her fingernails were clean, and smoothed down her braid before she knocked on the door to her mother’s rooms. The spacious apartment on the third floor of the Sisters’ main residential wing had ceased being her home from the day she put on the Green. Not since she had been sent to the Novices at twelve had she returned without requesting entry. There was still a room referred to as her bedroom in the apartment, but it was bare of any personal touches. Visiting home was as warm and welcoming as visiting one of Brodenvale’s well-kept inns. But she didn’t really mind – one of the advantages of being a Novice was that it meant she didn’t need to live at home. It was perhaps the only reason that she had never done anything serious enough to get herself expelled.

The door was opened by old Hella, Joyhinia’s long-suffering maid, who stood back to let her enter with a barely polite curtsy. Joyhinia was sitting by the fire, an open book on her lap. The room was uncomfortably hot. Although the bitter winds of autumn had begun to swirl through the streets of the Citadel, today had been unseasonably warm. Joyhinia preferred the heat. She looked up, closing the book carefully.

“You may go now, Hella.”

The maid curtsied and let herself out. Joyhinia studied R’shiel’s new gray Probate’s tunic for a moment before looking her in the eye.

“Well?”

R’shiel shook her head. This ritual had been going on for years now. Every Restday, when R’shiel arrived for their weekly dinner, Joyhinia met her with the same question. At first, when R’shiel was younger, Joyhinia had asked the whole question: “Well, have you had your menses yet?” As the years dragged on and nothing happened, the question had become abbreviated to a short, impatient “Well?” She had seen every physic in the Citadel, and none could give her a reason why she had not begun her cycle. All her friends had reached their time before they were fifteen. R’shiel had just turned eighteen, and although she had every other physical sign of womanhood, she remained amenorrheic. She wished Joyhinia would stop asking her.

Joyhinia shook her head impatiently at her reply. “Gray is not your color,” she remarked, placing the book carefully on the side table. “You looked much better in the Green, with that red hair.”

“I shall try to become a Sister as fast as I can, Mother. Perhaps the Blue will suit me better.”

Joyhinia either did not notice the edge in her voice or chose to ignore it. “If you applied yourself, there is no reason you couldn’t get through the two years as a Probate in one,” she said thoughtfully.

“I was joking, Mother.”

Joyhinia looked at her sharply. “I wasn’t.”

“Shall I pour the wine?” R’shiel walked to the long, polished table, which was already set with dinner, and picked up the decanter. It was time to get off the topic of her academic progress. That route could lead to awkward questions R’shiel did not want to answer.

“So, have you moved into the Probates’ Dormitories yet?”

“Last Fourthday. I’m sharing with Junee Riverson.”

Joyhinia frowned. “Riverson? I don’t know the name. Where is she from?”

“Her family come from Brodenvale. They started out as fisherfolk on the Glass River. Her father’s quite a wealthy merchant now. She’s the first in her family to be accepted into the Sisterhood.”

Joyhinia sipped her wine and shook her head. “I’ll have you assigned to a room with someone more appropriate. The daughter of another Sister, at the very least.”

“I don’t want to be moved. I like Junee.”

“I really don’t care what you like, young lady. I’ll not have you rooming with some river peasant from Brodenvale.”

“We are all equal in the Sisterhood.” At least that was what the Sisters of the Blade espoused.

“There is equal, and there is equal,” Joyhinia replied.

“If you interfere with my rooming assignment, everyone will know,” she pointed out, handing Joyhinia her wine. “There is already a suspicion that I’ve only succeeded so far due to your influence. If you change my room for a better one, that suspicion will become fact.” To be more accurate, the suspicion was that were she not the daughter of a Quorum member she would have been thrown out of the Novices long ago, but Joyhinia did not need to be reminded of that.

Joyhinia glared at her for a moment, before relenting. “Very well, you may stay with your pet peasant. But don’t come crying to me when you can no longer stand her screeching accent or her infrequent bathing habits.”

R’shiel was not fool enough to gloat over this minor triumph. “I promise I shall suffer the consequences of my foolishness in silence, Mother.”

“Good,” Joyhinia agreed. It was odd how her mother only ever seemed truly pleased with her when she was able to outwit her. “Now let’s eat before the roast cools.”

R’shiel took her place at the table as Joyhinia lit the candles from a taper. The walls had dimmed to about a quarter of their daytime luminosity, and the candles did little to light the room. R’shiel waited until her mother was seated before she lifted the domed silver cover off her plate. It was roast pork, accompanied by a variety of autumn vegetables. The pork was tender and pale, and smothered in rich gravy. The sight of it made R’shiel’s stomach turn.

“What’s the matter?”

R’shiel glanced at her mother, wondering if she should say something about the meat. It smelled off, but then most meat did these days. Then again, she was probably wrong. She had warned her friends about eating meat that she could have sworn was rancid, only to find they considered it perfectly sound.

“Nothing,” R’shiel replied, picking up her fork. “It looks wonderful.”

“It should,” Joyhinia grumbled. “It took enough effort to arrange. You would think I’d asked for some exotic Fardohnyan seafood dish, the way the cooks carried on when I ordered pork. You’d better eat every bite, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

With a grimace R’shiel cut into her meat. They ate in silence, R’shiel forcing down every swallow. Joyhinia appeared to be enjoying the meal. If there had been even a hint of taint on the meat, she would have sent it back to the kitchens with a blistering reprimand for the cooks.

Finally, Joyhinia put down her fork and studied R’shiel across the table. “Jacomina says you missed class three times this week.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” Having her mother’s closest ally as the Mistress of Enlightenment was proving rather uncomfortable. Mahina had never reported half the things she got up to. “I’ve been getting headaches. They seem to get better if I rest.”

“Have you seen a physic?” Joyhinia had no patience with illness or invalids.

“I hadn’t thought a headache worthy of a visit to a physic.”

“Well, see Sister Gwenell if they continue. You can’t afford to be missing classes.”

“Yes, Mother,” R’shiel replied dutifully. Missing classes was the only thing her mother seemed to care about – not if she might be ill. Annoyed, R’shiel pushed her unfinished meal away and said the one thing guaranteed to aggravate her mother. “Have you seen Tarja, recently?”

“Your half-brother does not choose to visit with me nor I with him. I suggest you adopt a similar policy.”