LITMIR.BIZ

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… it could be minutes. I blacked out after a while.’

      Sister Wheel banged her fist to the table and the shadows danced. ‘Any period of time one novice spends strangling another is too long. What are we even discussing? Take her habit. She’ll never be fit for her vows. Novice Arabella can take the Ordeal of the Shield and serve the Argatha in her place.’

      High above them the shutters rattled as the ice-wind picked up strength. It always seemed to be an ice-wind these days.

      Abbess Glass stared at the two novices. She knew Joeli to be manipulative and spiteful, unable to forget her family’s privilege. On the other hand she was a quantal prime with rare skill at thread-work and was an accomplished poisoner to boot. Nona of course was too precious to be lost to the Church, a three-blood, fast as a devil and with a temper to match. The abbess would not lose sight of the girl – but Nona might just have made keeping her in the order impossible. If she had deliberately injured another novice Nona had done about the only thing that could get Sister Rose to agree with Sister Wheel on something. Sister Rose spent too much time repairing bodies to forgive deliberate and unwarranted harm caused in anger. She wouldn’t let a training blade be put in any hand that might seek the life of another novice. Together both sister superiors could overrule the abbess.

      Sister Spire frowned. ‘Have you anything to say in your defence, Novice Nona?’

      ‘I didn’t try to kill her. I barely squeezed her neck.’

      Joeli straightened, lowering the hand from beneath her chin and pulling down the collar of her habit. Along both sides of her throat livid bruises told the story of fingers pressed deep, the black imprints surrounded by a halo of yellowing flesh. Sister Wheel drew in a sharp breath. Sister Rail thumped the table in outrage. ‘This! This is the work of someone who has no place within our order.’

      Abbess Glass felt the tide turn. She presided over a convent where a score of novices could do the miraculous, some moving faster than thought, some weaving shadows, or fire, and some few walking the Ancestor’s Path, returning from it echoing with the power of the divine. And yet given a choice she would never once consider exchanging for any of that the gift the Ancestor had given to her. People were a magic and a mystery, no matter whether they were low-born or high, no matter whether it was soil or spells they turned their hands to, whether they were geniuses or fools. There were few who saw past faces, past status, past what people said to what they meant. Abbess Glass knew she didn’t see far into the puzzle, but she saw further than most, and it gave her an edge. An edge so sharp that most of those she cut didn’t even know it until it was far too late. Right now though, all her gift told her was that the room had shifted and Nona stood on the brink.

      Across the table from Sister Wheel Sister Rose lowered her head, lips pressed tight, brow furrowed.

      ‘Are there no witnesses?’ Sister Kettle asked, looking up from her recording. Surprise registered on several faces. Sister Kettle never spoke up at convent table – it wasn’t her place to – less than ten years into her vows. She came to record, not to speak, but so soon returned from a long and arduous mission she might be forgiven her lapse.

      ‘There are many witnesses!’ Sister Rail brightened, showing narrow teeth in a narrow smile. ‘Let me—’

      ‘Joeli is a very popular novice.’ Abbess Glass spoke over Mistress Academia. ‘Many of the girls may be swayed by personal loyalties, turning suspicion into fact.’

      ‘Would you summon the accused’s friends instead?’ Sister Rail demanded.

      ‘We need a witness who would satisfy all of us as impartial and true.’ The abbess studied the grain of the table between her spread hands as if such a hope were impossible.

      Sister Wheel took the bait. ‘The Chosen One was there!’ She looked up in triumph.

      Sisters Tallow and Apple suppressed long-suffering sighs.

      ‘Let it be Novice Zole then.’ The abbess nodded to Kettle who hurried to the door. ‘At least nobody can accuse her of being friends with either party. Or anyone else. Nona and Joeli can wait outside.’

      Kettle led the pair to the door and returned to the table having sent for Zole. The shadows clung to the nun as she walked, like cobwebs. They mottled her face as if they were stains running across her skin. When Apple had brought Kettle back, injured and changed, there hadn’t been one person at the table who had thought the convent still held a place for her, not now she walked in darkness as the Noi-Guin do. That had been a long debate. A long night and a longer morning. But at length Glass had steered the sisters to the decision she wanted.

      ‘You know there is no safe place for Nona if she were to leave this convent.’ Sister Apple spoke to the table in general, her gaze avoiding Sister Wheel and Sister Spire. We’ve waited more than a generation for a three-blood novice and now you want to send her out to our enemies because of a fight with a girl who’s never forgotten she was born Sis. Joeli’s two parts spite, one part privilege.’

      ‘She is a member of our sisterhood!’ Wheel glared across the table. ‘And she was nearly killed whilst under the protection of the Ancestor.’

      ‘Attempted murder is punishable by the oven. She would be of no danger to us then.’ Sister Rail spoke lightly as if the matter were of little consequence. ‘She would fall into nobody else’s hands.’

      ‘In Sweet Mercy we drown rather than cook,’ said the abbess, without humour. ‘And we have managed to avoid capital punishment for several decades. I do not intend to start again today.’

      Raised voices in the corridor drew their eyes to the doorway. Abbess Glass prayed the novices weren’t fighting again. The argument drew closer and she relaxed, hearing a man’s complaint. A brief knocking and the heated debate outside continued.

      ‘Come!’

      Sister Pail burst in. ‘He won’t listen! I told him to stay!’ She still looked like a child to Abbess Glass, just two years in the habit. It took an effort not to call her Novice Suleri. Behind her came Zole, ice-spattered and glowering at the world with impartial dislike. Behind Zole a tall white-haired man encompassed by the thickest of velvet robes.

      ‘Irvone!’ Abbess Glass rose to greet the judge. The other nuns followed suit, Sister Rose struggling to rise having sat too long and weighing three times what was healthy.

      A young man, burdened under books of law, hastened around the judge to introduce him.

      ‘Judge Irvone Galamsis offers the Abbess of Sweet Mercy Convent his greetings and felicitations on this the ninety- seventh anniversary of Emperor Royan Anstsis’s victory over the Pelarthi insurrection.’

      ‘Ah, that. How could we forget?’ Abbess Glass broadened her smile into the most genuine imitation at her disposal. ‘Irvone! How nice to have the pleasure of your company again. It’s been what … three years?’

      ‘Forgive the intrusion, dear abbess.’ Irvone inclined his head towards a bow. ‘But on seeing the arrival of the young lady about whom I’ve come all this way to petition you I felt I must be heard.’

      Abbess Glass considered having the judge escorted from the hall, perhaps even from the convent, but it would be an expensive pleasure. Better to hand over the small victory of a seat at the convent table in order to compensate the loss awaiting him. She gestured to a vacant chair and the judge’s assistant pulled it out for him.

      ‘Stand at the end of the table, Novice Zole.’ Abbess Glass indicated the spot before glancing towards Sister Pail. ‘Bring Nona and Joeli back, sister.’

      Accused and accuser re-entered the hall a moment after the junior nun exited. Sister Apple craned her neck to watch Joeli with particular attention, her eyes narrow. Further along the table Sister Pan coughed and muttered about the cold.

      ‘Novice Zole, what can you tell us about this morning’s incident at blade-path?’ Abbess Glass favoured the girl with a warm smile, knowing that it would not be returned.

      ‘Novice

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