Sister Sable (The Mad Queen Book 1)

by T. Mountebank

  “Know what you do: to ensure the prophesy lives, the mothers will kill her and your people will tear clergy and empire to the ground in her blood.”

  Remy’s temper gained strength. “I will never allow the Cloitare, which includes you, near her again.”

  “The nuns will call her an imposter.”

  “Then she will be free.”

  “I will not allow it.”

  Remy lost what remained of his poise. “Mothers in hell,” he shouted, “all to protect me?”

  But Aidan was impassive. “I do not care specifically about you. You are acceptable for your role, exemplary if I must, perhaps even fated. I am attached to what happens if you fail. I am conscious of what occurs should this dynasty fall. You will marry her, or she will die.”

  ~~~~~~

  The Master and Mentor had bowed deeply when told he was forbidden to see Sable again. “Such is the King’s will.” But Remy knew it would not end at that.

  As he left his rooms for the medical rooms, he vowed Sable would never learn of the threats he had heard. He did not as yet know what he would do with her, where he would put her to keep her safe, or how Girard might fix this with the public. All he knew definitely was he was tired and wanted to go back to the crystal white calm of the lithium field.

  When he entered her room, he was brought to a stop. She was once again in the robes of the Cloitare, awaiting her mentor’s return.

  “Master Aidan has returned to the cloister and you will be moved tomorrow to secure quarters.” His voice still held annoyance from his exchange with Aidan.

  “Remy,” she smiled to console him, “the time for that is long past. There is only one way to end this that does not result in your ruin.”

  His irritation with them both could be felt. “You will not be permitted to return to the convent.”

  Her serenity deepened to meet his frustration. “It must be concluded with the Cloitare.”

  “I am told they will kill you, but I suspect you know this. I assume you intend to push them to this end. You will be held under my guard until a suitable conclusion is agreed between us.”

  Before he could leave, she took his hand, and then opening the fist, she drew it up to her mouth to press her lips into his palm. She said, “There will come a time when you will doubt yourself. You will think you could have done more, or you could have done different, but you will be wrong. You must remember, this was all decided by fate, or accident, it matters not which. All it was ever going to take was one break in the tracks for everyone’s plans to be pulled off the rails. Everything after that was set, just waiting to happen. Remember, when you think back, remember there was nothing you could do to stop what happens.”

  ~~~~~~

  Retrospective vision, Berringer cursed its clarity. Why, he rapped his thoughtless head, why had he not done more than increase the guards? He should have barred all the windows and bolted the doors. Guards weren’t enough.

  A rough stone-sharpened butter knife and a pile of glass stacked at the base of the centuries-old window explained her escape. When Berringer reviewed the video, he knew where to look. She was the specter that hung at the top of the arch, carefully chiseling at the lead for hours. She had removed the black robe to climb the room’s stones in nothing but the tight under suit, a cat burglar breaking out. The outside cameras showed the windows, curtained at the bottom, bare but dark above the transom, with a shadow prying loose panes before vanishing to set them aside. Over and over, she put her bare feet to the rocks and materialized at the top until she had cleared a space wide enough to escape.

  The guard below leaned against the wall, spoke into his radio, and later talked with another guard on patrol, but he heard nothing to draw his attention to the dismantling above.

  He didn’t hear her slink from the hole or pull herself slowly barefoot, robe tied around her waist, along the rock face, stealth stepping down the line of cameras until she could drop. She donned her robe and appeared as a nun walking the grounds. She entered the palace and then disappeared behind the double doors.

  Remy covered his eyes but did not hide his angry mouth. “Send someone to the doors. Tell Aidan I wish to speak.”

  ~~~~~~

  Girard made Berringer watch while she played the wall creeping segment again, and then once more while she laughed with apprehension and respect. “I don’t know which of us to feel sorrier for if he marries her.”

  Laudin joined them in the King’s rooms. “Then it’s settled. I will arrange for as few dignitaries as possible to attend, but what excuse am I going to give for the wide-ranging insults?” He looked to Catherine.

  “Invite them to the reception. If she turns and runs at the altar, then we can at least hope no one sees Berringer tackle her in the grass.”

  “Find an excuse,” Remy waved it at Girard, “to hold it in the small chapel.” He felt slow and numb with fatigue. “Bring in my parents, my sisters, a cousin or uncle, that will fill the pews.”

  “And if she runs?” Berringer had no desire to tackle a nun.

  “Let her.”

  Remy wanted to return to the tranquility of the wide-open salt flat with the comforting chug of pumps, the salt you could smell, the burn of the sun in summer and the bite of the wind in winter. He wanted to drop his black shades to this mayhem and be blinded by white.

  He imagined in time Aidan’s admission would fade. “She is not entirely sane. You have seen the expression; you will know when she goes under.”

  “How insane are we talking?” Girard had asked. “I know we can’t hope she’s just talking-to-dolls crazy. So what do you mean?”

  “Who knows what form her madness will take? It is yet unformed.”

  The great apparition who rose from the dust of Cloitare scriptures, who had entered their lives over two decades previous, pulled Remy close so that only he could hear. “After this, I leave her with you, to find from you what she will. Know what I have done for you. I have made you a weapon, a shield, and a refuge. She will return to you in multitude what you give her. Give her the whole of yourself and she will make you a legend. Give her nothing and, I promise you, she will drop you into the abyss and show you the void. Understand what you have: she could make me a god, yet I give her to you.”

  Acceptance

  Every time she moved into the distance, she was overwhelmed by Aidan. She had not pressed to go further. He was the mentor and her mind was fractured. Once, she had been the unfathomable water the Cloitare could not disturb, but they had found a way to freeze her then shatter her. She stepped across the floes looking for land. She tipped less frequently, but the waters were perilous.

  The distance seemed preferable, but Aidan’s infinite presence said no.

  They walked outside the cloister that day. It was the first time since her return she had walked in the open in daylight. It should have been to the sound of the grounds under care, but nothing she heard fit with her memory. It was silent of life. There were no gardeners, no visitors, no one crunching across the gravel in a hurry to see the King or his advisors. She pushed into the distance again but found only Aidan.

  They had stepped through the palace’s silent halls to exit the back that spread over the garden. Bordered by shrubs, they walked the grass to the boundary where the old chapel sat square and squat. The walk had been unhurried. As they climbed the chapel steps, Sable felt a mental embrace, as though Aidan were holding her dear. The steps were few and as they reached the top, Sable felt his affection turn to loss, such terrible sorrow she turned to Aidan to question his pain. He held her firmly before himself and then leaned her to the side, to see beyond him to the palace, the upper windows filled with cameras and recorders.

  She exhaled the betrayal and closed her eyes to the trap. She knew before the spin what waited behind. Pushed without effort to the open doors, she hid behind the Cloitare Stare.

  To those in the chapel, it appeared like a teacher imparting final words on a pupil. Aidan held her shoulders in the
open arch and leaned down to tell her, “It is now your choice what happens to the King, his empire, the future, your people. I will not stop you from leaving. I have never lied to you, anawa. I tell you, if you turn your back on him, the King will die this year.”

  Aidan pushed her forward so she wouldn’t fall back, and then he was gone. Behind her, the people recorded her judgment. If she turned away, the King’s people would turn with her. The Cloitare would disown her. She would not have the influence to talk down the crowds.

  She scanned the chapel for one of the King’s advisors, any of them, to see if they supported this action, but the chapel was filled with faces she did not recognize.

  The King stepped the distance between the chapel’s two pews and held out his hand.

  She had told him there was nothing he could do and here he had done it. She felt the train wreck. She felt breaking acceptance.

  ~~~~~~

  The General had Girard in his ear. “Keep the family back and the way clear. You have to trust me.”

  Keeping Remy’s family held livid in the chapel had not been the plan. Berringer was watching the King and Bride return across the garden to the palace. He radioed back, “She looks fine to me.”

  “She isn’t. She’s a woman that’s just been tricked into submission and she’ll barely be keeping her head together.”

  It was not the grand wedding the public expected. It was quiet and grim with the King in muted regalia and the Bride as a nun. They walked alone and silent from a crypt of a chapel through the palace and into the King’s private quarters.

  Sable was still looking from dead eyes when she entered. She swept them over the valets waiting in the corner where Girard had pushed them and then to Girard holding open the door that led to final privacy. Catherine was closing it behind Remy when Sable started tearing at the headdress and robe.

  Remy removed the short sword from his hip and the sash from his chest in preparation for the mental collapse. Sable ripped her headdress and hair free in one violent move, then shrugged off the robe like it were on fire and stamped it out.

  He approached her, hands out to pacify, but she backed away shaking her head. He expected her to accuse, but she came out pleading, “I am so sorry.”

  “Come here. Everything is fine.”

  But she continued to step back around the room. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know. So many people were watching.”

  He lunged for her, grabbed her, saying, “No, hush,” and pulled her close.

  She rested a mere moment against him. She said, “I’ve killed you.”

  He was going to tell her she was wrong, she would see, but they heard a voice, the tone high in arrogance, demanding to see Sable, Vesna was insisting.

  In the next instant, Remy felt himself turned and released. He saw Sable flash silver against black and open the door. The scabbard fell in the arch, the blade was free, and Remy was racing to catch her.

  Girard said, “Whoa, sister,” but Sable spun Girard in a circle and drove her into the King.

  Giving her his best smile, Laudin raised his hands and started to say, “There’s no need for—” but before he could finish, Sable ducked past him.

  Both hands on the hilt, she was swinging down with speed for the mother’s neck when Berringer ran into her. It should have been simple. He had one hand on Sable’s wrist, another coming under her arm, and knew he would disarm her in a second, but before he had control, she cartwheeled away, tossing herself over his arm to land in a crouch. She meant to get past him, but he grabbed once more for her wrist and also her head, pushing her sideways and down, but again she flipped with him.

  It took him back. He remembered his first loss on the mats when he thought none could defeat him. He remembered the mirthful lesson, You can’t hold the wind.

  What have you done, old man? he asked the voice from the past.

  The General reconsidered his stance and the Bride did as well.

  He was the fortress that held against the storm. She couldn’t move him, wanted to be no place near him, but still she wanted what lay at his back. He circled with her attention keeping the mother behind.

  Remy commanded, “Sable, that is enough,” and came forward to control her, but Berringer knew she was not in her head. He told the King to stand clear, but no one was listening.

  With the General’s attention dividing, Sable stepped back in the room, the blade held before her, angling toward the King to separate the General from what she was after.

  Berringer ordered, “Vesna get out.”

  The astonishment that held her was broken and the mother moved for her life.

  Sable’s eyes went left for the King. She feinted with the point and then flipped to the right.

  The General fell for her bluff. He reached out thinking he’d find her before Remy, then had to race for the door.

  Sable was swinging up from a roll with the blade in one hand. She had Vesna in line with the edge when Berringer stepped into her arm and was at last able to force her around. They danced down the wall, both fighting to lead.

  Go where the wind blows until you find yourself shelter.

  Turning to the outside, to the wall, and again out, he stopped the next spin against a substantial carved cabinet. Squared in its corner, Sable couldn’t circle or turn, and the sword that was not meant for him became her undoing. Locking his hand over hers on the grip, he began to pull up. The sharpened edge of the blade followed her leg.

  The General didn’t want to hurt her—he didn’t want to be hurt either—but the idea Sable might slip him and he’d have to chase her again made him firmly determined. Still pulling up on the grip, he drew the blade away from her leg, but she pushed forward to follow, knowing he wouldn’t cut her, hoping to drive him away, to give her space from the wall; but he slammed her back, knee into thigh, hand twisting the scarred wrist that was forced to drop steel, while with his other, he fought for control until he restrained her completely.

  He watched her try to shift and saw her expression turn to complete disbelief. Then, in the next instant, as realization conquered confusion, there flashed in her face recognition. It reminded him of the night she had first run away. She had spotted him from the gardens and against the stone barrier, she had pulled back her headdress. Now, against another wall, they recognized each other once more, she with a slight rise of the lip, half a smirk, surprised it was him. This time, she inclined her head, but she offered respect not collusion.

  Then Vesna’s voice, rising with indignation, set the wind raging again. Berringer saw the sanity in Sable’s eyes go out. She’d cast them through the wall, down the hall, and fixed them for blood.

  He thought, She’s gone. Utterly gone and not coming back.

  The General shouted out the door, “Get that goddamn mother out of here.”

  ~~~~~~

  When Sable had returned enough to her senses for Berringer to release her, no one doubted her when she warned, “If I see any one of those black-clad bitches, I will tear off their heads and roll them through the halls.”

  She had retreated to Remy’s bedroom to prepare for the reception. “You’re not considering it?” Berringer had asked.

  But Remy was adamant, “Keep the Cloitare behind their doors. It was a moment of madness. It has passed. The tension is gone. She will behave.” Then less resolute, “Nevertheless, stay near.”

  To observe her now, no one would imagine that hours before Berringer had felt the need to clear the King’s chambers of everything sharp. She had stepped from his room in a gold-colored dress of silk, lace, and beads. Hiding her scarred wrist was a wide jeweled cuff that Remy had made especially for her. She would prove herself expert at keeping her hands clasped, her palms down, always in mind to conceal the ritualized X cut into her flesh.

  But she didn’t fully transform until they left the private quarters behind. Her posture relaxed, shifted to ease, and she put on a smile. In the next breath, she made it appear perfectly sincere.
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br />   Throughout the long reception, she held the right tension in her eyes and her mouth so that everyone she met was riveting beyond measure and incredibly dear. And not once did she falter.

  Remy had assumed, but he couldn’t confirm, not until they stepped back into the private halls, that she was not genuinely enthralled. But once alone, her face relaxed, her body hardened, and Sable as he knew her reemerged.

  He showed her to the door that would be her rooms and made to leave, but she held him back, saying, “I will join you.”

  He took her hand and said kindly, “In time. We have time.”

  But she shook her head to deny it. “Until this is …” she shrank from saying the word consummated, so said instead, “… finished, I’m still a nun. My place is in the convent.”

  He looked on her with compassion. “They will never know.”

  “Yes, they will, and they do, and they are waiting.”

  He smiled with indulgence, “How do you think this is possible?”

  “Within the mind, the Cloitare are one.”

  Remy was flummoxed, but he was more concerned to see the fear in Sable’s face, a fear turned to begging, “Please, Remy. I need the division. Please don’t deny me.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he assured, “Sable, I would never deny you. If this is what will give you peace, then yes, you will join me.”

  Double Doors

  At 3:00 a.m., Berringer was woken by the call. “You’re going to want to see this.” It was a soldier near the Cloitare doors.

  “Send it to me.”

  “You won’t want copies of this traveling. You’ll want to see the video here.”