“Nothing’s fair,” said Arrin. He slipped off his horse and walked beside them. “That you should be a fugitive least of all.”
“Oh,” said Snow. “No, not that. I mean, no, I shouldn’t, obviously — the queen shouldn’t be trying to kill me. Or anyone, I guess, unless they really deserved it and I don’t think I do. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
“What were you thinking about, then?”
“People,” said Snow. “And pigs. And potatoes.”
Arrin rubbed his face and wondered if he shouldn’t have listened to Stomper’s advice after all.
The convent was small — a single story, with a cloister and expansive gardens. A row of neatly kept beehives echoed a row of neat little buildings. Snow wasn’t sure if they were outbuildings or if they served as sleeping quarters for the nuns.
The first nun that Snow encountered was middle-aged and plump, with a soft chin and sharp eyes. She was hoeing the garden, and when she saw Snow and the pigs approach, she straightened up and leaned on her hoe.
“Why, it’s the truffle girl!” said the nun, quite pleased. “And your lovely pigs! I was hoping you might stop by.”
Snow halted. “You — you know about me?”
“Only that you came to town and sold truffles to the cook and to Master Elijah,” said the old nun, smiling. “Gossip travels very fast, my dear.” Her eyes lingered on Snow’s hair and eyebrows, but she did not say anything.
Snow relaxed. Yes. All right. That makes sense.
“And did you bring some truffles to sell? There are those who say that the Lord requires us to keep to simple fare, but I believe that He would not have made truffles if he did not expect for us to enjoy them.”
“Yes,” said Snow. “I have a few. I’d be happy to trade for honey, if you have some. And I was hoping to talk to — to someone in charge.”
“Certainly, my dear,” said the nun. She leaned the hoe against the fence and walked to a nearby bench. “Come, sit here and talk to me.”
Did that meant that this nun was in charge? Was she an — an abbess or a Mother Superior? Snow wasn’t sure what the term was. Would the woman in charge be hoeing the garden?
Someone has to do it. Just because my father never did — well, he was the king. Kings are above nuns, I guess, or at least somewhat off to the side, but maybe nuns can’t get other people to hoe the garden. Oh dear! But I couldn’t just walk up and demand to talk to the king, either.
Perhaps she’s a sort of under-abbess, and I have to talk to her before I can talk to whoever’s in charge.
This seemed most likely. Snow took a deep breath and plunged into her prepared speech.
She left out any mention that she was the king’s daughter. She said only that she’d had to leave her situation, and she’d made friends in the forest.
“The truffle hunters?” asked the nun, smiling.
Snow nodded. “They — um. They’re shy.” She grimaced, because “shy” was entirely the wrong word, and possibly she was lying to a nun. “That is, they — they don’t talk to many people. They look a little … odd.”
The nun nodded.
“And they dig truffles, and they’re wonderful — they’re so kind, and they’ve taken care of me all winter. And this awful peddler — ”
She spilled the entire story, shocked to find that she was still so indignant about the peddler and the boars that she was crying.
The nun made sympathetic noises in the right places. At the end, she pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it in Snow’s hand.
“Thank you,” mumbled Snow, wiping at her face. She hated crying. She had to be the color of a roasted beet. “Anyway … I had to stop that … I thought I did … but now I can’t leave them, because I drove him away, and I was only trying to help but I think I made it even worse!”
The last word came out in a quiet wail and she crumpled the handkerchief against her face, embarrassed.
“Oh, my dear … ” said the nun, and put her arms around Snow.
It undid her completely.
“There, there,” said the nun, because that is the only possible thing to say. She had the air of one who had been cried on by many young women. “There, there. It is all terrible right now, but we may yet put it right.”
“I have to leave,” said Snow miserably, when she could talk again. “I’m afraid I’ll — well, I just have to. That’s all. But someone has to help them. And that’s all wrong, because they’re smart and good and they shouldn’t have to need someone’s help. The world’s awful. I don’t know what to do.”
This sent her back into tears again. She mopped her face with the handkerchief.
“Do you have to go at once?” asked the nun gently. “It seems that you are doing very well by them at the moment. If it is too hard living with them, you are welcome to stay here with us for a little while.”
Snow’s heart leapt, and then immediately slammed back down. She had already endangered the boars. The queen would not hesitate to kill nuns, would she?
“It wouldn’t be safe for you either,” she muttered. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head ached.
“The rules are different for us,” said the nun gently. “Many women find sanctuary with us. Even king’s daughters, sometimes.”
Snow jerked back in sudden horror.
“Oh, my dear,” said the nun, smiling. “No need to look at me like that. Your secret’s safe with me, I promise — although I fear it’s not much of a secret.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” asked Snow grimly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Does everyone in the village know, then?” Snow could not bear the thought of that. Had they all been laughing at her? She thought she had done so well …
“I don’t think so. Master Elias may have an inkling,
