Kyla ran a hand through her hair. There was a smear of dust on her spectacles, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“What if ye are out all night? What then?”
“If I’m gone for more than two hours, then leave the door locked and go to bed. I’ll come back when I can.”
“This is dangerous, Freya.”
“I have a bad feeling,” Freya repeated, a hint of desperation in her voice now. “I owe Brendan my life, just about. The Abbess says she’ll make inquiries about him, but how long will that take? I don’t think I can afford to wait. Please, Kyla. Ye have to help me. What are friends for, after all?” she added.
Kyla eyed her for a long moment.
“Fine,” she sighed at last. “But ye owe me, Freya. Ye owe me ahugefavor.”
“I’ll owe ye two huge favors if ye want. Just… just don’t tell anyone, aye?”
“Of course, I’m not going to tell anyone. What, ye think I’m going to run and tell tales to the Abbess?”
Freya hesitated, just for a moment. “I was thinking of Senga. Don’t tell Senga.”
Kyla pursed her lips. “That might be sensible. Senga likes rules, and she likes everybody to follow them. She would certainly tell the Abbess. But if ye are caught, Freya, don’t ye dare drag me into it.”
“I swear I won’t,” Freya promised. A flicker of excitement was starting to build up inside her, a tingling sensation running through her chest.
However, there was a fair amount of dread there, too. She couldn’t say where the bad feeling had come from, only that itwasthere, and wouldn’t be shaken away.
Something is wrong, and I don’t know what.
Well, I suppose I’m going to find out soon enough.
“Let’s get on, then,” Kyla said, not unkindly. “This floor isn’t going to scrub itself.”
Freya sighed heavily.
Chapter 11
Contagium
“No chance of me convincing ye otherwise, then?”
“Nay, I’m afraid not.”
Freya ran over the last conversation with Kyla in her head, again and again.
“Why does he mean so much to you, Freya?”
That question had taken her by surprise. There was no need to ask whohewas.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Are ye sure ye aren’t just chasing after someone who doesn’t care for ye as much as ye care for him?”
The silence that followed had been painful. She heard her own voice echo in her head, small and unsure.
“I don’t know.”
She had considered, several times over, turning back and heading home to the convent. It was a cold night, with freezing fog hanging over the forest. It curled around the trees, creeping over the frozen ground. Icy grasses crunched under her boots. Freya knew that if she stayed still for too long, the cold would start creeping up through the thin soles of her boots, turning her feet to ice.
People died on nights like this. Freya, of course, was usually tucked up safely in a warm Keep, in her own bed at least, or perhaps curled up by a roaring fire with a blanket over her lap. Even back in the convent, notoriously difficult to heat, her bed had been warm and cozy. Leaving had been hard.
