She could ask Sister Blandina to give her relic to the Mother Superior, and then make the Mother Superior…
No.
Seraphina had to do it herself. Briar’s killer would die by her own hand. That was fair. It was clean and just. Because she wasn’t a maniac, a deranged woman who spilled blood for the sake of it, she would do it fast. Like she’d done it to Mayer – a dagger to the throat – and to Holzer’s brother – a musket ball to the head.
She weighed Idris’s knife in her hand. It was smaller than her daggers, the blade thin and sharp. She knew Idris had never hurt a soul with it. He had it for self-defense, but even in those circumstances, he avoided using it. The knife had been baptized in blood tonight, and Idris would likely not want it back.
She stepped closer to Michael, placed the blade under his chin. He swallowed hard. He was trembling, but he didn’t beg. There were no tears and no apologies for what he’d done.
“Last words?” she asked.
She waited. He remained silent. The one time she allowed someone his last words, and he refused the honor.
Seraphina slashed his carotid open. She moved away so as to not be sprayed. The Mother Superior turned her head but was splashed, nonetheless. Her veil, her right cheek… blood was on her lips. The man collapsed, hands to his throat, trying to stop the jets that pumped out in rhythm with his heartbeat. His face drained within seconds, his skin turning gray-white. He gasped, gurgled, and shook, his body rigid before the muscles started to relax as he lost consciousness. From there, it didn’t take long. Seraphina watched every second of it, feeling like it was her duty to bear witness. This was the third man she’d killed with her own hands. She didn’t take it lightly.
The Mother Superior sobbed silently. Eyes shut tightly, fingers clutching her crucifix, she swayed on her knees but remained upright. She’d crawled about a foot away without realizing. Seraphina could tell she was fighting very hard to stay put while all her instincts were telling her to bolt, save herself. But there was no running from Seraphina. The Mother Superior knew that now.
“You…” Seraphina said gently.
The nun didn’t look at her.
“It’s all right, I won’t make you do anything. I will only tell you that I don’t think you’re welcome here anymore.” She looked up at the sisters. “I don’t think they want you to shepherd them. They don’t trust you. You’ve failed them. You’ve failed Briar.”
From silent and contained, the woman’s crying turned loud. Shattering. She fell forward, bracing herself on her hands.
Seraphina watched her for a few seconds, then walked away. She approached Rune, and ever so gently, brushed her fingers over his wrist. He drew away, but this time, she didn’t let him. She pushed her hand into his wide palm and intertwined their fingers. She could feel how hard he was shaking.
“Briar needs us,” she said. “Let’s take her home.”
He nodded and followed Seraphina, head held low, feet heavy, dragging through mud, snow, and blood.
Sister Margaret stood up on shaky legs. Seraphina grabbed her elbow to steady her. She didn’t let go of her daughter’s head, pressing it against her breast like a mother would do with her new-born baby. Seraphina didn’t judge.
Rune bent down and slowly lifted the rest of Briar into his arms. The gold chain slipped. Seraphina picked it up before it got buried.
They started toward the convent, Rune in the middle, Seraphina and Sister Margaret flanking him. Behind them came the sisters, shuffling their feet, holding onto each other, keeping a respectable distance.
The Mother Superior did not follow.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
To keep him, she’d have to leave him.
They took Briar to the church and laid her down on a bier. The sisters lit candles and set about bringing what was needed to wash her and wrap her up. Sister Margaret allowed Seraphina to place her head where it belonged, but only when Idris came in and said he would prepare the body himself and make Briar whole again. She was on her knees now, praying.
Rune retreated to the back of the church. He sat in a pew, staring ahead, at the golden statue of Christ on the cross. Seraphina wondered if he was truly looking or seeing through it. He hadn’t spoken a word.
Idris was taking out his surgeon’s tools. In the silence of the cavernous church, only Sister Margaret’s whispered prayers could be heard, the clink of metal, and shuffling steps as the sisters brought in various things. Even so, Seraphina felt like she was suffocating. There were too many people. She wanted to be alone with her best friend one final time. Idris could be there, because he was also her friend, and Rune, because he was her everything. But even Sister Margaret irritated her.
Briar had told her about her mother. Not a lot, nothing about their past in London, before they came to Bavaria and were taken in by the sisters at Saint Vivia’s. But she’d told Seraphina how much she missed her. When Seraphina arrived at the convent, her mother was already living in the house on the hill, away from the community, under a vow of silence. She tried to understand why someone would choose not to speak for an undetermined number of years, but not even Briar could explain it. Because she didn’t know. She’d told Seraphina that her mother had not always been pious. She’d done things for which she sought penance. Seraphina saw that Briar suffered. Her mother was right there, and still, she’d lost her. Briar waitedfor her to return to her former self, but another year went by, then another, and the silence persisted.
While she felt compassion for Sister Margaret, she also believed that she’d hurt her daughter greatly. Here she was, praying to God, when what she should’ve done for the past five years was to speak to the one person who was the most important in the world. Seraphina knew Sister Margaret would blame herself for the rest of her life. As she should.
She put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.
“I would like to be alone with Briar,” she said.
She wasn’t asking for permission, she was telling her to leave.
