Selfish Is the Heart Read online

  “You’ve excelled in your studies. What may seem minor can be very great. Solace can be found in a simple cup of tea.” Compassionata gestured toward the Temple priest, still silent. “It’s said when the Allcreator found his bride in the forest, what won him was not her face or body, but the comfort she gave his weary body with a simple cup of tea.”

  Prudence made a low noise in her throat. “Listen to Annalise. She says she’s not ready, she’s ever been uncertain of her ability to serve. I say she’s not uncertain at all. She knows it’s not in her nature to serve. She might’ve done well enough with mixing herbs and embroidering cuffs, but put a cleaning rag in her fist and see how straight the line of her spine. And of service on her back, well, we all know if skill in that arena was all it took, there’d be no need for the Order at all. Any brothel would suffice, instead.”

  “Are you calling me a whore?” Annalise looked Prudence square in the face.

  Prudence looked slightly taken aback, as though surprised Annalise had dared respond. “No. I’m saying that just because you’ve managed to acquire a goodly number of bedroom skills, you’re no more prepared to take your vows than someone who just walked in from the yard.”

  “Someone who walked in from the yard might be entirely ready to serve without even a minute’s training,” Annalise said. “Some are born to it, isn’t that so?”

  “And some,” Prudence said, “are not.”

  Deliberata had watched this exchange in silence, but now she tutted. “Prudence speaks on your behalf, though it would seem she opposes you. You call yourself unable to serve, and she agrees.”

  Annalise frowned. “So I should go against her out of spite?”

  “No.” Deliberata shook her head while Prudence shifted, sighing. “You should make this choice from within your heart. Not because you’ve nothing to which to return . . . or nothing for which to stay.”

  Annalise’s throat closed and she couldn’t speak no matter how hard she swallowed. The Mothers-in-Service knew of her shame, and she couldn’t be surprised. She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids, willing back the tears not because she was too ashamed to weep in front of them, but because she feared once begun they would not cease.

  “Only days ago your faith was strong. Your decision made. You were as ready as any novitiate I’ve ever known, Annalise. You’d found your purpose and had taken pleasure in it. Is this not so?” Deliberata asked.

  “The fact that much has changed in those few days should be reason enough for me to doubt, should it not?”

  Compassionata shook her head. “Oh no, my dear. Any Handmaiden who never wonders if she’s chosen the right path is too full of arrogance to be able to truly serve. The fact that you’ve doubted is a sign to me, above all else, you’re ready.”

  “Should I not know this, someplace in my heart? Someplace deep inside me?” She asked them all. “I thought you might tell me when it was time, not ask. I thought . . . many things. Most of which were wrong. And now I’m uncertain of the path I should choose.”

  “Most paths are uncertain. I say it’s those that lead to uncertain destinations that teach us the most,” Deliberata said.

  “I’m not sure I can bring anyone to solace.” There. She’d said it. “I believe myself an utter failure at such a task.”

  Deliberata shook her head gently. “A flower is made more beautiful by its thorns. Your doubt is your thorn, Annalise.”

  “Selfish is the heart that thinks first of itself,” Annalise replied. “I have ever been selfish, Mothers. I have ever thought first of myself.”

  “Not in everything,” Deliberata said, but went no further than that. Instead she clapped her hands together softly and leaned forward in her chair. “Let me ask you this. If you were granted a lifetime to serve and bring solace to a hundred patrons but knew even those hundred arrows would not be enough to finally fill the Holy Quiver, or if you were granted one patron who needed that lifetime of service before reaching solace, yet his was the arrow that filled the Quiver and brought about the return of the Holy Family, which would you choose?”

  “A hundred brought to solace, or only one but his would bring back the Return?” Annalise shook her head, thinking. “Mother, I can’t decide that. To be the one responsible for bringing back the Invisible Mother—”

  “And the Allcreator, and the First Son,” put in Prudence.

  Annalise gave her a steady glare. “To be the one responsible for that would be the greatest honor I could ever imagine.”

  She meant it. Knew her sincerity from deep within her soul. Doubts had batted at her like buzzing flies, mindless and annoying and unswattable . . . but now some of them, at least, began to fall away.

  “But to serve a hundred patrons,” she continued, thoughts like silken festival banners unfurling in her mind, “to know I’d been able to help a hundred people . . . that too, would be an honor.”

  She looked at the three Mothers-in-Service and at the priest, too. “I cannot decide. I’m sorry. More proof I’m not fit for the vows.”

  Deliberata stood and held out her hands. “On the contrary, my dear, you’ve answered with perfection. Mine was a question without an answer.”

  Confused, Annalise took the offered hands. Deliberata’s fingers were warm and soft, and she squeezed to pull Annalise a little closer. “You are ready to take your vows, child, even if you don’t feel it. And it’s my pleasure to grant your new name and welcome you as my own dear Sister, Certainty.”

  The new name settled on Annalise’s shoulders, the finest and warmest of cloaks, yet she couldn’t wrap herself within it. Not yet. “I fear you’ve confused me, Mother. Certainty?”

  “Oh, yes. For you’ve ever been certain of yourself, no matter your course.”

  “Respecta would have been an unsuitable choice,” Prudence said with a grudging smile. “But Certainty I will also own suits you.”

  Compassionata laughed. “Welcome, Sister!”

  The priest, at last, stood. He reached inside the draping scarf of his tunic and withdrew a small pot he uncorked and dipped a thumb inside. “Come closer, Sister Certainty, and be anointed, that you might begin your new life within the Order of Solace.”

  Annalise—Certainty as she was now named, and would she ever grow used to being so called?—let go of Deliberata’s hands and moved toward him. He smudged some oil on her forehead. He smiled at her.

  “Certainty, do you so vow to spend your days in the service of the Order of Solace, beneath the gaze of the Invisible Mother?”

  “I do.”

  “Welcome,” said the priest and kissed both her cheeks.

  “That’s it?” Annalise touched her face where the warmth of his lips had pressed. “Naught more than that?”

  “Naught more,” Deliberata promised.

  Giddiness swept her, and Annalise felt for the back of a chair to keep her knees from buckling. “I thought there would be more.”

  “There’s naught magic about it, I’m afraid.” Deliberata laughed. “Though I think you’ll find yourself much changed.”

  “Indeed.” Prudence shook the folds of her skirt as she stood. “But first, I suggest a meal. I’m fair famished. Come, Certainty. Join us.”

  As simply as that, it was done. No longer Annalise Marony but Certainty, Handmaiden in the Order of Solace, as yet unassigned to her first patron but no longer uncertain she would ever be ready.

  It should’ve been a shining moment and was tarnished by but one thing—she had no Cassian to share it with.

  Chapter 24

  You know we would miss you greatly, Cassian.” Deliberata poured him not a mug of tea but a glass of cordial, bright as cherries. “You’ve been an asset to the Order, and I fear we’ll not find a worthy replacement.”

  Cassian swirled the ruby liquid in his glass and sipped, expecting sourness. Unexpected sweetness didn’t tempt him to drink. He’d have preferred the bitter. “You know as well as I there are Temple priests aplenty who can provide the same service.�