Mathilde recovered. She bobbed a curtsey. “Of course, miss. I’m sorry, miss.” With great dignity she walked out with her broom and dust mop, and Tesara shut the door behind her, and locked it for good measure. She did a quick reconnaissance.
The little purse was where she had left it, as was the newly soiled silk dress. She doubted Mathilde would take it upon herself to clean it for Tesara again. Good, she thought. She didn’t need a maid; she needed privacy. Mathilde had become entirely too familiar. And the fact that she was at the masque was a coincidence bordering on the fantastic. Yes, all sorts were at the Fleurenze’s last night. Half the city, it seemed like. But the Mederos housemaid too? Tesara was tempted to call her back and ask her about it, but she didn’t want Mathilde to know that she had been there too.
Maybe it was her anger and tiredness, but her fingers continued their irksome buzzing. The strange energy coursed through them, and if anything, it strengthened, pulsing now. Tesara felt a twinge of alarm. She flexed her hands, and a gust of wind rocketed out of her fingertips, physically pushing her backwards onto her heels. She almost fell onto the bed. The gust rattled the rickety wardrobe door. She held her breath, waiting for her mother or father to exclaim, but if they heard they made no comment. She held up her hands. They looked as ordinary as ever, one normal hand, one crippled, but the unseen energy increased.
Tesara panicked. She had to get out of there.
She threw on a shawl, grabbed for her gloves, and bolted from the house. She got a glimpse of her parents’ astonished expressions as she went past the parlor, heard her mother call out, “Tesara? Where–” and then the house was behind her, the gate swinging in her wake, and even knowing it was impossible, she tried to outrun her uncomfortable power.
Chapter Forty-Three
It was perhaps not the most devout idea, to take comfort from religion when one was on the verge of destroying everything in one’s path, but the dimness inside the Cathedral was comforting. The incense, the soft murmur of the acolytes, the comforting sense of sanctuary all had the effect of stilling most of the charge in her fingers. Now they barely tingled. She clasped her hands in her lap, twining her fingers as best she could.
“I’ve been gambling but that’s not the problem, Holy One. And I stole my mother’s dress, too, and I’ve been sneaking out of the house without her permission. And I did steal a servant’s dress, but that I did return. And there’s a boy I like and I’m having thoughts of the flesh about him. But those aren’t the problems either. It’s just that when I was little, I sank a merchant fleet with almost all hands from my bedroom window, and I don’t know how to atone for it.”
She had tried to confess six years ago, in this very church. It had caused nothing but trouble.
After the announcement of the loss of the Mederos fleet with all hands but one, the bells tolled ceaselessly from the belfries of the three churches of Port Saint Frey. The Cathedral of Saint Frey, which crowned the Old Crescent that directly overlooked the harbor, had a booming bell that sounded like thunder rolling in from over the waves. The Church of the Sea, down by the harbor, and the much smaller Chapel of the Quiet Saints, rang their bells too, so that the air of Port Saint Frey was thick with discordance.
The service went on forever. Tesara grew weary of standing and sitting and saying the responses. She couldn’t focus. Every time she scolded herself to listen, that God wanted her to mind the service, her attention skittered away like a mouse. When the service was over, she knew what she had to do.
“Mama, may I light a candle?”
Alinesse rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of Saint–” she controlled herself. “Yes. But this had better be about solace for the widows and not just about playing with matches.”
Before her mother could change her mind, Tesara darted back into the coolness of the church, dodging the still-streaming outbound parishioners.
The dimness soothed her eyes. She waited her turn at the table of light, and then took up a lit candle and lit another. The scent of smoke and beeswax filled the air and comforted her.
Tesara closed her eyes and said a prayer for the sailors, commending their souls to the Sea Above. Her eyes popped open. She was almost alone. She glanced out the big double doors open to the harbor, and saw her parents were talking with some of their friends. She had time. Hurrying, Tesara went ahead to the small booths for private intercessions.
There would be no priest to listen to her but she didn’t mind. She closed the slatted door behind her and sat in the dark space on the bench, gathering courage. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say. God already knew her sin so it felt strange to confess. What she really wanted, and what she knew even God couldn’t do, was to make a bargain.
The silence in the little booth lengthened. The outside noises of the crowd faded. It doesn’t count unless I say it out loud.
“I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper, and then gathered her courage and spoke in a normal voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. But if I promise – if I promise to never do it again, would you bring them back? Please?”
When a low male voice came from the other side of the wall, she started. “Is that all you have to tell me?” the voice said.
What?
“Do you have payment?” another voice said, a
