The young nun shook her head. “I must not tarry. I’m to take Luciana to Mother Ginessa’s office.”
Luciana’s breath caught. The nobleman was there.
Sister Fallyn looked her over and clucked her tongue. “Heavenly goddesses, yer hair is a wild and tangled mess. Ye should braid it again afore ye meet—” She winced.
“Meet…?” Luciana gripped the bloodstained towel as a sense of foreboding pressed down on her. Something was about to happen, something she wasn’t sure she wanted.
Sister Fallyn peered over her shoulder at Mother Ginessa’s office and mumbled to herself, “Perhaps she should know afore, so it won’t come as such a shock…”
Luciana stepped back. Thunder rumbled overhead, making the air around her feel charged with tension. The skin on the back of her neck tingled.
Sister Fallyn turned to face her. “Aye, ’tis best to tell ye now. The man who just arrived is yer father. And he’s come to take ye away.”
Luciana gasped. The towel fell from her hands and fluttered to the floor. A father? She looked at her sisters, and her heart clenched at the sight of their stunned expressions. They must have heard the same thing she had. Even so, she didn’t want to believe it. “Nay. I don’t have a father.”
“That’s right!” Maeve latched on to Luciana’s right arm. “She’s an orphan. We all are. Mother Ginessa said so.”
Brigitta took hold of Luciana’s left arm. “She’s not going away. Her home is with us.”
Sister Fallyn sighed. “I know how close ye are to one another, but there is no help for it. Luciana’s father has the right to take her with himself.”
Luciana swallowed hard. “How can I have a father?”
With a grimace, Sorcha muttered under her breath, “Mother Ginessa lied to us.”
The other girls gasped, and Sister Fallyn quickly raised her hands. “Don’t judge her harshly. She was only doing what Luciana’s father asked her to do. He wanted Luciana to be raised as an orphan, so she wouldn’t wait her whole life for a reunion that would ne’er happen.”
Luciana stiffened as if she’d been slapped on the face. “Ye mean he didn’t plan to e’er come back for me self?”
Sister Fallyn winced. “I’m only making matters worse. Come along, so ye can hear what yer father has to say.”
And just like that, with a few words from her father, everything would be resolved? All these years her father had been alive. Nineteen years. How could nineteen years of being unwanted suddenly disappear as if they’d never happened? Anger swelled inside her. “Why should I see him? He abandoned me.”
“That’s right.” Maeve tightened her grip on Luciana’s arm. “She’s staying with us.”
“He’s yer father.” Sister Fallyn motioned impatiently with her hand. “Come now. Show some respect. Don’t leave himself waiting.”
Respect? Luciana’s anger twisted in her gut. How could she respect a father who had never planned to return for her? She should reject him, just as he had rejected her. He should feel the pain—
A twinge of shame pricked at her. Since when did she knowingly try to inflict pain on anyone? She’d been raised better than that. Even though it was not her parents who had raised her. “Is my mother alive, too?”
Sister Fallyn sighed. “I don’t know. Ye’ll have to ask yer father.”
“She’s not seeing him,” Brigitta cried. “She’s not leaving us.”
Luciana’s eyes filled with tears. How could she not remain with her sisters, as much as she loved them? But if she refused to see her father, he might leave and never come back. She might lose her only chance to meet him.
“Are ye not curious about himself?” Gwennore asked.
She was curious. But what would she say to a father she’d never known? Why did ye not want me? Was it because she was Embraced? Had he sent her here to protect her? But why make her believe she was an orphan? He could have come to visit her. He could still have been a father to her. But he had completely rejected her.
And why did he suddenly want to take her away? This was the only way of life she’d ever known. Her sisters were her family.
“Are the rest of us orphans?” Sorcha demanded. “Or was that a lie, too?”
Sister Fallyn turned pale as she hesitated. “I don’t know. But I do know this—if Mother Ginessa lied to us, then she had a very good reason for doing so.”
“Perhaps she was protecting us,” Gwennore suggested. “Because we’re Embraced.”
Sorcha huffed. “I don’t care what the excuse might be, I don’t like being lied to!”
Luciana took a deep breath, her decision made. “I would know the truth.” No matter how much it hurts.
As she stepped toward the door, Maeve and Brigitta reluctantly released their grip on her arms. She stopped at the door and looked back at her adopted sisters.
Sorcha still looked angry. Gwennore attempted to smile, while Brigitta sniffed. Maeve looked so young and lost with the tears streaming down her face that Luciana thought her heart would break in two. As the oldest, she’d been the one to dry Maeve’s tears when she’d scraped a knee or hold her in the middle of the night when she’d had a bad dream.
“Chee-ana,” Maeve whispered, using the shortened version she’d called Luciana when she’d been too young to manage her full name.
“I’ll come back,” she assured them. Somehow, she would convince her father not to take her with him. She needed to stay with the only family she’d ever known.
Chapter Two
As Sister Fallyn scurried across the courtyard, Luciana followed at a slower pace, heedless of the heavy drops of rain pelting her head and shoulders. No doubt she would look like a drowned rat by the time she met her father.
Did it matter what he thought of her? A rebellious streak in her wanted to answer no, but she knew herself better than that. Whether it was her natural demeanor or a result of growing up dependent on the generosity of nuns, she didn’t know, but she had always been the sort of child who was eager to please. She simply hated to disappoint.
The wind seemed to mock them, shoving them back a step for every four they took. She turned her face away from the stinging rain and slowed to a stop when she spotted the two servants carrying the coffin into the chapel.
A streak of lightning lit up the sky so brightly she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, a movement and flash of color drew her attention to the graveyard. Through the sheet of rain, she detected a woman wandering among the gravestones, her head covered with a sheer black veil. Her gown looked expensive—a rich red brocade.
Thunder cracked overhead just as Luciana was struck with a sudden realization. Even though the woman looked as solid as Sister Fallyn, her skirt was not moving with the wind. Her red gown and black veil were dry. Red as blood. Black as death.
The inhabitant of the coffin had not remained inside.
Luciana sucked in a long breath. Her gift was still with her.
“Luciana!” Sister Fallyn cried out. “Why on Aerthlan are ye standing there in the rain?”
She glanced at the nun, who had reached the shelter of the portico, then looked back at the woman in red. The ghost must have heard Sister Fallyn, for she had turned toward them. She lifted her veil to uncover her face.
Luciana gasped.
It was her face. Automatically, she lifted her hands to form the sign of the twin moons. May the goddesses protect her. How could this spirit look exactly like her? Was this some sort of premonition that she would soon be dead?
But no, the ghost seemed real.
“Hurry!” Sister Fallyn yelled once more, and Luciana lifted her rain-soaked skirts to run toward her.
The nun shook her head disapprovingly. “Heavens, ye look like ye took a swim in the ocean.”
“I—I’m fine.” Luciana glanced back at the graveyard. Her look-alike ghost was gone, thank the goddesses.
Sister Fallyn knocked on Mother Ginessa’s door, then opened it slightly. “I’ve brought herself.”
&nbs
p; Luciana’s heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear Mother Ginessa’s response.
Sister Fallyn opened the door. “Go inside now.”
This was it. Luciana brushed back wet tendrils of hair that had become plastered to her cheeks and hooked them behind her ears. Steeling her nerves, she stepped inside.
The room was dark, lit only by a candle on Mother Ginessa’s desk and the low fire in the stone hearth that illuminated the bottom half of a large man. His shoulders and face were still in shadow, but Luciana heard his quick intake of breath.
She attempted a curtsy. She’d never had a reason to do one before, so her execution was a bit wobbly.
“Luciana,” a deep male voice whispered.
She stilled. He knew her name? Had he always known it, or had Mother Ginessa told it to him a few minutes ago?
“Amazing,” he said. “You look just like your sister.”
Sister? Was that the ghost? Luciana shivered.
“By the goddesses, child, ye’re soaked through.” Mother Ginessa drew her closer to the hearth. “And yer hands are like ice. We cannot have ye catching a cold.”
“I’ll build up the fire.” The man turned toward the hearth and added a log.
Mother Ginessa wrapped a woolen shawl around Luciana’s shoulders, then used the edge to pat her face dry.
Luciana’s gaze met Mother Ginessa’s. Why did ye ne’er tell me? she asked with her eyes.
Mother Ginessa pressed her warm hands against Luciana’s cold cheeks. “’Twill be all right. Now sit yerself by the fire. I have some wine warming on the brazier.”
Luciana perched on a leather-covered footstool, her gaze venturing to the man nearby. He was leaning over, using a poker to coax the fire into a brighter blaze. The flames illuminated his face. A long straight nose, wrinkles around his eyes as if he’d spent too much time squinting into a bright sun, a trimmed beard with more gray in it than black. His hair, almost entirely gray, was tied with a strip of leather at the nape of his neck.
He continued to jab at the fire as if he knew she needed time to adjust to his presence. She attempted to feel some sort of connection … but he was a stranger.
He settled in an armchair across from her and leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. His eyes were a sharp blue, as if age had not diminished his sight or intelligence. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am your father, Lucas Vintello, from the kingdom of Eberon, where I hold the title of the Duke of Vindalyn.”
Luciana stiffened so suddenly she nearly slid off the narrow footstool where the leather had been made slick by her wet gown. She righted herself before he could grab her. He was a duke? Lucas? Had she been named after him?
He lowered his hand once he saw she was steady. “No doubt, my arrival has come as a great shock.” He gripped his hands together so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He was nervous, too, she thought, and that realization made her feel more at ease. She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. They were glimmering with unshed tears.
“Luciana,” he said softly. “I want you to know that I have always kept you in my heart. I’ve prayed for you every day, and I am so … happy to see you again.”
Her heart swelled with a longing that threatened to push aside her resentment. But not quite all of it. For why would a loving father abandon a child?
“Mother Ginessa has been telling me how well you’ve done with your studies,” he continued, glancing toward the nun who was busily filling two goblets. “She says you’re proficient in all four of the mainland languages. And I know how well you can write and draw.”
“Aye, that he does,” Mother Ginessa agreed as she handed him and Luciana each a goblet of warmed wine. “Remember how surprised ye were when someone purchased the first book ye transcribed and illustrated?”
Luciana curled her hands around the warm goblet as she gave the duke a questioning look. She’d completed her first book two years ago. As a practice exercise, it had clearly been inferior to the works produced by the more experienced nuns at the convent.
He nodded, beaming proudly. “I have everything you’ve done. Even the drawings you did as a child. Mother Ginessa sent them, along with reports on how you were faring.” His smile faded. “Of course, I had to keep them secret.”
Why? What was wrong with her? Luciana took a gulp of wine and nearly choked. It was much stronger than the watered-down wine she and her sisters usually drank.
“Are you all right?” the duke asked.
“Aye.” She set the goblet on the stone floor with a clunk. “Nay, I am not,” she corrected herself and lifted her chin to face him. “I don’t understand why I am a secret. Why did ye send me self here as a wee babe? If ye truly care, why did ye ne’er come back for me?”
“Luciana,” Mother Ginessa fussed. “Ye shouldn’t—”
The duke lifted a hand to silence the nun as he shot her an irritated look. “Why does she have an accent? She’s of noble blood, yet she speaks like an islander.”
Luciana winced. Her first time to open her mouth and she was a disappointment. Why should ye care? a rebellious streak in her mind hissed. Ye don’t plan to leave with himself.
Mother Ginessa huffed with exasperation. “She was raised here. Of course she speaks like an islander. Would ye prefer that she’d grown up standing out as different, without e’er knowing a reason why?”
With a sigh, the duke set his goblet on a nearby table. “You make a valid point, but I didn’t anticipate this problem. I assumed she would speak like an Eberoni, since the islands and Eberon share the same language. She’ll have to lose the accent within a fortnight. Can she do that?”
Mother Ginessa nodded slowly. “Aye, I believe so. She’s very bright—”
“And I’m right here,” Luciana added, growing increasingly annoyed that she was being discussed like a codfish at the local market. “Yer Grace—”
“You should call me Father.”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I appreciate ye remembering me self after nineteen years, but I see no reason to be changing. I speak like an islander because this is my home. I have no wish to leave.”
“Luci—” Mother Ginessa began but hushed when the duke lifted a hand.
“I can understand why you’re somewhat … distrustful, since it must look like I abandoned you. But I never forgot you, Luciana. Not for a moment.” His eyes flared with emotion as he pressed a fist to his damp coat. “Giving you up was like having part of my heart ripped from my chest.”
He seemed so sincere, Luciana blinked back tears. “Then why? Why did ye want rid of me?”
“My dear child.” He clasped her hands in his own. “I never wanted rid of you. Even when your mother begged me to send you here, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“My mother? Is she alive?”
A pained look swept across his face. He released her hands and with haunted eyes turned to gaze at the fire.
You killed her.
The soft voice carried across the room like the wisp of a breeze.
Luciana looked sharply across the room. There, beyond Mother Ginessa’s desk, stood the look-alike ghost.
The woman in red stared back, her mouth twisting into a knowing smirk. “So you can hear me, too.”
Luciana glanced at Mother Ginessa and the duke. Neither of them seemed aware of the new presence in the room.
“Don’t pretend you can’t see or hear me.” The ghost moved closer, her steps gliding silently over the wooden floor. “You obviously have the same gift I had.” She shrugged. “Hardly surprising, given the fact we’re twins.”
Luciana swallowed hard. No wonder they looked identical. But how could she have shared a womb with another soul and not know it? Wouldn’t she have felt a terrible loss as an infant? Perhaps that was why she’d bonded so fiercely with Brigitta, who was only six months younger than herself. And why she felt so close to all her adopted sisters. She’d needed to fill a void.
Her sister chuckled. “You didn’t know, did you? That there were two of us.”
Two. Luciana remembered the third Telling Stone.
“I was the firstborn,” the ghost continued. “I was the one Papa wanted to keep. While you…” Her nose wrinkled with disgust. “You were sent to this wretched rat hole. Just punishment, I would say, for killing our mother.”
Not knowing how to react, Luciana simply grew still. After being raised in a convent that valued peace and harmony, she was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of such cruel words. Could it be true that she was somehow to blame for her mother’s death?
She didn’t know what to believe, but one thing was certain. She couldn’t converse with her dead sister without revealing her gift. Mother Ginessa knew about it, but Luciana wasn’t sure how much the duke knew. Besides, what could she tell him? I just met my sister and she hates me?
She leaned toward the duke, who was still gazing forlornly at the fire, apparently lost in painful memories. “Ye mentioned afore that I look just like my sister?”
He covered his mouth to suppress a sob. “Poor Tatiana.”
Luciana glanced at her sister. Even their names sounded alike. “What happened to herself?”
Tatiana snorted. “I died, obviously. Not too sharp, are you?”
With his shoulders sagging, the duke wiped tears from his face. “Poor, beautiful Tatiana. To have died so young.”
“You see?” Tatiana moved closer. “See how he grieves for me? I’m the one he cares for.”
Mother Ginessa crossed her arms. “It seems very chilly all of a—” She blinked, then cut a questioning look at Luciana, who nodded very slightly. With a wary glance around the room, the nun made the sign of the two moons.
“How did my sister die?” Luciana asked the duke.
“Struck down by a plague,” he grumbled. “The king demanded we go to his palace in Ebton. On the journey there, we stayed at an inn in the port of Ronsmouth. Tatiana and I both became ill, though she was suffering much more than I. Keeping our identities a secret, I hired a vessel to bring us to the Isle of Moon. I’d learned from my correspondence with Mother Ginessa that you have a gifted healer here in the convent.”
How to Tame a Beast in Seven Days Page 2
