Freya nodded, feeling shaken. She wasn’t sure why she was so upset. Or so disappointed.
I never intended to stay here permanently. Why should I be disappointed that I won’t be allowed to stay?
“Enough of that,” Kyla said brusquely, shooting a look at Senga that Freya could not interpret. “We’ve got a few hours of chores to do before supper. I’ll show ye to yer room, and ye can rest. I’ll come call ye when it’s time to eat. Ye can meet Astrid then, too.”
It felt like a dismissal. Freya nodded and forced a smile, letting Senga and Kyla walk ahead. They talked easily, clearly long-time friends, and Freya felt a distinctive twinge of jealousy.
What would it be like to have friends like that? True friends that I could rely on? Somebody I could tell anything to?
She had no time to answer her own question because Senga abruptly waved goodbye to them both, and took a hallway which seemed to lead into the infirmary. Now it was just the two of them, and Freya jogged to catch up with Kyla.
“Ye seem comfortable here,” she said.
Kyla smiled. “Aye, it’s a good place. We’re more relaxed than other orders. The women have a lot of freedom here. We can really do some good, ye know? Senga has only ever wanted to help people. She’s a fine healer, but never had the chance to truly flourish.”
“She’s been here a long time, hasn’t she? How long, exactly?” Freya prodded.
It was a clumsy question. Kyla’s smile wavered, obviously not happy to reveal too much about her friend. Freya hastily changed the subject.
“It was odd seeing Brendan here. I thought men weren’t allowed in nunneries.”
“Oh, generally not, but Brendan is trustworthy, and we needsomeoneto deliver food we can’t grow ourselves.”
“Do ye know where he got those scars?” Freya asked, wondering if it were a step too far.
Kyla shrugged. “War, I suppose. He was a soldier, I know that much. I heard that he retired after losing all of his men in some battle or another. I imagine that those scars we see on the outside are nothing compared to what he has inside. Poor man.”
“Poor man,” Freya echoed.
Kyla shot her a sidelong glance. “I’ll be frank with ye, Freya. Ye strike me as a curious sort, and there’s nothing wrong withthat. Ye probably have already noticed that Senga doesn’t like talking about her past. Neither does Brendan. Senga will just change the subject or walk off, but if ye ask him too many questions, he’ll take a bite of ye.”
Freya grimaced. “Understood.”
“Sometimes it’s best to leave the past in the past, ye know?”
“I understand.”
They reached a long, dark corridor, lit by lanterns set at intervals. There were dozens of identical, heavy wooden doors set at short distances apart, most of them standing open.
“This is where we put visitors,” Kyla explained, leading the way to the nearest open door. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s warm and comfortable enough. Ye should have everything ye need.”
Freya stepped inside, looking around. Itwasa small room, with a narrow bed in the corner, a trunk for clothes at the foot of the bed, and a desk and stool set beside the bed. An unlit candle, half burned down, stood on the desk. There was a rug covering the stone floor, a splash of color in the dull space, but the walls were bare. The only light came from a small, deep window set high in the wall above the bed.
“It’s a wee bit bare,” Kyla acknowledged. “But if by some miracle yeareallowed to stay here for longer than a day or two, ye will be allowed to add extra furniture, put hangings on the wall, and things like that.”
“I’m grateful,” Freya assured her. “Thank ye for everything.”
Kyla gave her a nod and smile. “As I said, I’ll come back to fetch ye for supper.”
Then she left, leaving Freya alone. She sank down slowly onto the bed, glancing around her.
What now?
Freya must have fallen asleep,curled up on the surprisingly comfortable bed. She was woken by an urgent knocking on the door, and jerked upright. The light was fading, the room gloomy and unfamiliar.
“What?” she mumbled. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Kyla. It’s almost six o’clock.”
