Pleasure and Purpose Read online

  She wouldn't wait so long as that. "I plan to leave this afternoon, actually." This surprised the other woman for only a moment. "Ah."

  Mina shrugged again. "It's been a long time since I've been able to practice my vocation, Mother. I don't like feeling useless."

  Compassiona frowned. "No Sister is useless, no matter if she's serving patrons or assisting here in the Motherhouse."

  "Dull, then. Weary. Unused. Is that a better description?" Mina gave a smile the other woman returned. "I don't like feeling unused."

  "That I cannot argue against. Go. And may the Invisible Mother herself attend you," Compassiona said.

  "And you." Mina gathered the papers and tucked them all together, then put them under her arm.

  Already smiling, she headed to her room to finish her preparations. Her journey would be long, but she had little enough to pack. The afternoon carriage couldn't come fast enough. But of course there would be no hurrying it, especially not when she could think of little else but heading away from this place. During her years in service she'd lived in several of the sister-houses scattered throughout the Seven Provinces, and once for a few delightful months at a seaside house as well appointed as a resort. Technically, they were all her home and had been since the moment she walked through the front gates of the Motherhouse, but she'd stayed the longest here.

  Long enough to hang a portrait on the wall of her cell and fill the drawers with clothes she'd bought for herself rather than relied on a patron to provide. Long enough to have worn a spot in the carpet where she paced before the window as she read from the book of poetry she now packed in her bag. Long enough that it was time to be out of this room, this house, this province, in fact, and away from the mountains and familiar smells of the flowers. She might return to this house, this room, but while she was gone they'd clean and paint it, scrub it down, so even if she did come back to it, she'd no longer feel like it had ever been hers.

  Many of her Sisters-in-Service couldn't abide this sort of change, but so few of them remained long enough in any one place they could never begin to feel like they owned any of the rooms, anyway. Sisters like Mina, those with not-oft-requested specialties, had more chance to stay longer and leave their marks on the rooms they left behind. She'd leave no marks on purpose and be glad to know they swept away any remainder of her. She slipped a gown identical to the one she wore into her hand-trunk along with a pair of sturdy leather slippers. She wore her good traveling boots and her traveling gown, and simply slipping into both had filled her with warmth. She also packed the carved ironwood box, polished to a high sheen, in which she kept her collection of teas. Some for pleasure, some for health. The mix all Handmaidens drank daily to prevent not only pregnancy but also the monthly flow could be brewed from ingredients likely to be found in any household, but she'd included an ample supply anyway. Mina added another small box filled with salves and lotions she'd mixed herself, scented with gillyflower oil from her own garden bed.

  Compassiona had said no Sister was useless, but Mina wasn't convinced. She'd been much neglected since leaving her last patron. She'd spent too much time with such activities, the growing of flowers and grinding of herbs. Not that it wasn't necessary to know how, and not even that she hadn't enjoyed keeping herself busy with such matters, but they weren't what she'd joined the Order to do. There was ever much to learn and Mina was no different, no matter how long it had been since she'd been in service or how accomplished she knew herself to be. She'd worked at training new Sisters-in-Service. She'd begun studying the hand-harp, simply because it was one skill that took a long time at which to become proficient and she could spend many hours a day on it. She had been useless and unused, and tired of it. She'd been ready to go the moment Compassiona'd sent for her, and now, completely packed, she still had to wait. Mina paced the familiar route in front of her window, taking comfort in the swish of her hem and thud of her boot heels on the wooden floor.

  The carriage did not come.

  When at last she could no longer stand waiting, Mina took herself through the halls and down the stairs to the house's large, open entryway. The massive double front doors, closed now as evening fell, resisted her hand but she forced them open anyway. The slate rang beneath her heels as she went onto the front porch and looked out over the yard and driveway, and to the road beyond.

  "Mistress?"

  She turned at the low male voice. The man in the doorway stood a full head taller but kept his gaze down and away from her. "Yes, Stephan?"

  "You're leaving us?"

  "If the carriage ever arrives, I suppose I am." Mina looked again toward the road. Stephan took a step closer. "Can I bring you something? Food or drink? You might be waiting a long time. You've missed the dinner chime . . . and it's getting dark." Though the trees crowded close against the lawns of trimmed grass, Mina didn't fear the forest or the encroaching night. There might be beasts in the woods but they rarely ventured this far. Still, she favored him with a smile.

  "I'm fine." He didn't expect more, which was why she gave it to him. "Thank you." He looked at her, then, a large man with a plain face and big, work-worn hands. He'd come from the fields to serve in the house and had never quite grown used to it. He smiled, and it was not difficult for her to remember the taste of his mouth. "You're welcome.

  "I'll wait with you," Stephan said. "Until you leave." He didn't have to, of course, and she wasn't even certain she required company. But she didn't deny him this small thing, more for his benefit than hers. They waited together in silence as dusk turned to darkness and there seemed little hope of the carriage ever arriving.

  She'd thrown her cloak on top of her hand-trunk and now shivered as the night breeze soughed out of the trees. Stephan covered her shoulders with the cloak at once and stepped back again. She gathered the soft material around her throat and looked at him.

  "You're not needed inside?"

  "I'd rather be out here." He roughed his hair with one of those big hands. Mina understood that. Inside, the Order ran with swift efficiency. The halls overran with women going about their business, and the young, giggling girls unlike she herself had ever been were enough to try the patience of anyone, much less a man like Stephan who'd never quite accustomed himself to the bustle of it all. Out here was only the darkness and the wind, and the scent of the earth in the fields stripped of their harvests. She had nothing to say to him, but Stephan didn't require speech. She appreciated that about him. Mina looked again to the road where the far-off clip-clop of hooves alerted her to the carriage's arrival. "Finally."

  When the carriage at last arrived, he helped her into it and loaded her single, small trunk. He kissed her hand.

  Mina waited for more, but Stephan stepped back from the carriage and gave the driver the signal to go. She looked out the window at him as they drove away. He lifted a hand in a wave she didn't return.

  Light cut through the darkness and Alaric put up a hand to cover his eyes. From far away, farther than the light had come, a groan rumbled in his ears. His own, he guessed, tasting it on his tongue before it faded. He thought he might be muttering, but if words formed on his tongue and not mere nonsense syllables, he couldn't tell.

  "By the Void, he stinks."

  "This entire room stinks."

  Something nudged him and the light shone bright again. Alaric burrowed deeper into softness, seeking his self-made cave. At the next nudge he cried out and swatted at the unseen tormenter. His hand connected with nothing and he fell silent. Listening.

  He recognized the voices. Edward and Cillian. Conspiring against him? What did they mean by "get him up, dump him in it?" Some small, clear part of his mind insisted he try to figure it out, but the rest of it, most of it, remained fuzzed with the delightful numbness brought on by herb and wine and some other small potions he'd picked up from he could no longer remember where.

  And with oblivion, the source of which he knew all too well. He tasted it with every breath and heard it whisper in his ears.