The Mother Superior leveled her with a penetrating gaze.
“Unless you’re worried he might run away and rain terror on the villages nearby.”
“He would never,” Briar said quickly. “I know it goes against what you’ve heard about revenants, but Rune is not violent. We traveled together, we were snowed in for three days, and he never laid a finger on me. He’s harmless.”
She tried not to fidget as she lied to the nun’s face. He’d never hurt Briar, but harmless he was not. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she saw him rip that soldier apart. Over and over.
The Mother Superior placed a hand on Briar’s arm.
“Child, he is not welcome in our home.”
“What about…” She lifted her gaze toward the hilltop. “I could take him to Sister Margaret.”
The old woman considered. She rubbed her hands together and blew into them to warm them up. Briar waited with bated breath.
“You and Sister Margaret have a special relationship,” she said. “She hasn’t come down in five years and has only accepted to see you in that time. I myself have difficulties remembering her face. If you believe she would agree…”
“I would like to try.”
“You have my blessing, then.” She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her cloak and started walking back to the gate. “Don’t take long. I want us to have a heart to heart before sunrise.”
Briar thanked her as she hurried to catch up. She asked Sister Magdalena to take Rose and Nettle, since the path to the hilltop was too steep and treacherous for horses. She and Rune had to go on foot.
“I can stay in the cottage,” Rune said.
“It’s a cold, bare thing in the woods,” Briar said as she reached for a tree trunk to haul herself up. The ground was slippery, and what waited below was a ravine. “The convent used to have a guesthouse outside of its walls, but they turned it into storage. There’s no room for hospitality in times of war, and the nuns at Saint Vivia’s were never that sort of nuns anyway. The cottage is mainly used by the priest when the weather is too bad for him to return to the village. Or for the rare times when they need to hire a mason or carpenter to repair something. They’re very strict about not allowing men inside after nightfall.”
She yelped when the toe of her boot lodged into a hidden root, causing her to lose her balance. Arms flailing, body tipping backward, she was already thinking of a snarky comment for when she met Saint Peter at the gates. Because of course she was headed for Heaven after all the charity work she’d been putting in.
Rune caught her, his big hands splayed on her lower back and waist. He stopped her fall and pushed her forward, leaving a hand there, at the base of her spine.
Briar blushed madly but didn’t shake him off. She could feel his sheer strength, the steady, firm way in which he held her, basically, in the palm of his hand. She’d been his crutch so far. It felt good to be taken care of for once, even if it was just so she wouldn’t trip and break her neck.
“What if Sister Margaret refuses too?”
He was closer than ever, towering over her, his warm breath brushing the top of her head.
“She won’t,” Briar said. “She’s different. Not better, mind you. Worse, actually, but in different ways. Ways that should favor us.”
They got to the top of the hill, where the trees parted to reveal a stone house set in the middle of a clearing. It was low, its roof bowed under the weight of snow. A thin line of smoke climbed from the chimney into the cold. One window faced the clearing, its shutters closed. No path had been worn to the door. There were only the prints of whoever had climbed up the day before to leave a basket of food.
Briar knocked three times, then stepped back. Not a minute later, a tall, lithe woman with brown eyes and long, black hair falling down to her waist opened. In the glowing light coming from behind her, she studied Briar for a long moment, and Briar studied her in turn, noticing that she had more gray hairs around her temples than when she’d last seen her. Eventually, Sister Margaret, caught out of her habit and veil, moved aside and motioned for Briar to enter.
“I am back and in one piece,” Briar said. “I know it brings you great joy to see me.”
There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
The woman merely smiled. She drew a chair for Briar and another for the man she was with. She observed with interest as Briar tugged at his sleeve to show him where to sit. He pulled down his hood, she saw the scarf he wore around his face, and her eyes widened. She pursed her lips.
“How have you been, Mother?” Briar asked.
Rune’s head snapped to her, and she smirked though he couldn’t see it. She turned to him slightly, though her gaze remained fixed on Sister Margaret, who sat down on a bench near the hearth.
“Rune, this is my mother. Five years ago, she took a vow of silence and moved out here. It’s a nice little place, with a bedroom in the back, which I hope she’ll be kind enough to host you in.” She addressed her mother: “Only for a few days. I’ll figure something out, but I need time to convince Mother Superior that Rune is an asset she wants close.”
The woman took in Rune’s stitches, visible on the lower half of his face and on his hands that he kept tucked in his lap.
“I will let him tell you how he got like this,” Briar said. She leaned toward Rune: “Her vow of silence prevents her from speaking to anyone. For all her faults, she’s a great confidante. You can tell her anything, and she’ll take it to her grave.”
