Canterbury, 1184 AD, May 15th – Abbey of St Mildrith

  It was an uneventful day.

  From morning prayer to evening, nothing of note occurred. The only thing that stood out to Ava was how ordinary it all felt. She woke to Constance’s arms around her, a brief, fierce hug. Constance had regained some of her old vigour since Ava told her of her departure. There were still moments of sorrow, of longing, but they came less often now.

  Good. She would have to learn to live without her.

  It was an uneventful day. Ava argued with Beatrice over everything, from something as silly as cheese against goat’s milk to theology itself. Grainne, ever the expert in discipline, washed their mouths with soap for it.

  Abbess Mathilda sang proudly, as always, leading the sisters and novices in worship. Afterwards, dinner was a mercy. It was nothing special, just coarse bread, warm pottage, and a small piece of cheese. Plain food, but it filled one hollow in her chest, even as another ache lingered behind her eyes.

  “Sister Aveline? Whatever is the matter?”

  Ava turned to face the novice speaking to her. “Nothing, Sister Natalie. I just got some pottage in my eyes, is all.”

  Ava tried to summon her usual smile, all mischief and warmth, but it would not quite come.

  To her dismay, however. Nightfall did come.

  …

  “Goodnight, children!” Lady Alice, one of the other sisters, equal in rank to Grainne, proclaimed. “Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight,” the novices replied. All of them but Ava.

  Ava lay on her side, ears sharpened to the sounds of the dormitory, waiting for the familiar signs of sleep to take hold. Constance was the first. She had a distinct pattern. Her breath would catch every so often, then spill out in a long, rattling snore. That was Ava’s signal. Constance, at least, was asleep.

  She did not want Constance awake for her departure.

  Ava slipped from her bed and into the cold air of the night-bound abbey. Her dark brown cloak

  The abbey lay in near silence. Now and then, a low murmur of distant psalms drifted from deep within the church, thin and wavering through the stone. Reluctantly, Ava shut it out and turned away, setting her feet toward the refectory wing and the kitchens beyond. If she wanted any hope of reaching Normandy alive, she would need all the food she could carry.

  She crossed the cloister beneath the pale arches, her footsteps careful against the stone, and as she neared the far walk, a figure stepped from the shadow ahead.

  The novice stood with her arms crossed, her posture drawn tight with displeasure, her gaze fixed on Ava.

  “Aveline,” Beatrice muttered.

  Ava scowled. Beatrice had planted herself squarely in front of the kitchen entry, barring the way.

  “What do you want, Beatrice?”

  “I should be the one asking you that, Aveline,” Beatrice replied.

  “I overheard your conversation with Constance, all those nights ago.” Beatrice twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “So you plan to leave St Mildrith’s?”

  “What’s it to you?” Ava snapped. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, for a dirty orphan like me to leave?”

  Beatrice let the words hang between them. Then, finally, she nodded.

  “You’re right. I did always want you to leave.”

  “But…” she continued, her voice tightening despite herself, “recently it’s been different. I’ve seen the sadness in Constance’s eyes. The abbey hasn’t been as cheery.”

  Beatrice paused, grimacing before the next sentence left her mouth.

  “The abbey isn’t how it used to be. The tone in the air has shifted since that night.”

  “I want you to leave, Aveline,” she said quietly, “but not like this.”

  Ava’s scowl deepened. Her fists curled at her sides.

  “Nine years.”

  Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

  “Nine years,” Ava went on. “From the day Lady Grainne brought me to the abbey, you’ve done nothing but make my life miserable. You made me wish I was never born. So many nights, I lay crying over your insults.”

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  Ava lifted her gaze to the pitch-black sky above the cloister arches.

  “So many nights, you made sure I never forgot my place in the world—”

  “And I’m not sorry about that, Aveline.”

  Ava’s blood boiled. “What did you say—”

  “I said I’m not sorry for what I said to you,” Beatrice went on. “But even if we don’t get along, if you leave this place…”

  She closed the distance between them. From within her habit, she drew out a medium-sized pack. She opened it, and Ava caught sight of what lay inside: bread, water skins, fruits, but most importantly.

  Cheese.

  “If you leave, you must come back,” Beatrice said. “The abbey needs you. Don’t betray their faith by not returning alive.”

  Ava looked up at her in shock, but Beatrice only continued.

  “And when you return, I’ll be happy to insult you as much as you please.”

  Ava kissed her teeth as she looked away, yet Beatrice extended her hand out.

  “I know you’ve not been taught proper etiquette, but this is what we call a handshake; it’s like a formalized agreement that you’ll return safely.”

  The two girls stood in silence. Ava, finally, slinging the pack over her shoulder, reached out her hand.

  “It’s a deal, then, and when I come back,” Ava stared directly into Beatrice’s soul, “I’m going to force that apology out of your mouth.”

  …

  Ava tugged on her cloak once more. She was finally ready.

  She turned from the kitchens and followed the narrow service passage that ran along the outer wall of St Mildrith’s. The warmth of the hearth faded with each step, replaced by the cold breath of night seeping through the stone.

  The passage was tight enough that her shoulders nearly brushed the wall, the rough surface rasping against her sleeve as she moved. At its end, the service door crouched in the wall like a wound in the stone, its wood dark with age, its iron bands dull in the low light.

  But another silhouette waited against the stonework.

  “Aveline. I’ve been expecting you.”

  She flinched. Anything but this. That voice, that calmness, the familiar cadence of the way she said her name.

  It was Lady Grainne.

  “Lady Grainne, I can explain,” Ava began. “I… I need to leave, just for a while. Normandy, you said? It’s nearby, and if I go, I can—”

  Grainne pushed herself from the wall and faced Ava from further down the passage.

  “I didn’t come here to pick apart your actions, Aveline,” she said quietly. “Constance told me most of it.”

  Ava winced. Of course, Constance would not let her go so easily.

  “I have no intention of trying to stop you. Even if I were to call the Abbess, you would find a way to escape once again.”

  Grainne paused, then set her hands at her hips, studying Ava in the narrow light.

  “I came here to ask you a single question.”

  Her face was stern, more stern than Ava had ever seen it.

  “Are you ready?”

  Ava’s throat burned as she forced the words out.

  “Am I… ready?”

  “Yes,” Grainne said. “Are you ready?”

  She did not raise her voice.

  “Because once you leave these halls and set your feet toward the Order of the Silver Sword, you begin to walk the road of the crusader. You place yourself in the hands of war.”

  Ava opened her mouth to speak, but Grainne did not hesitate.

  “You will not be able to stop certain events. No one will wish you well. The punishment for failure will be far worse than anything I could give you. Tragedy will come without warning, and there will be many who seek to exploit you, or to hurt you.”

  Grainne held her gaze.

  “That, Aveline, is the price of your ideals.”

  Ava fumbled her cloak, her pouch, anything to ease her somewhat from the warnings of her teacher.

  “So I ask, once more, are you ready? Are you ready to place yourself into the hands of war? Are you ready to shoulder this burden? Are you ready to fight and bleed for a future that you do not know is guaranteed?”

  Silence spread throughout the corridors, and the two women stared deeply into each other's eyes.

  “…”

  “I know I may be in over my head, Lady Grainne,” Ava said, barely over a whisper, “And when it comes to worldly matters, I have much to learn.”

  Grainne nodded.

  “But when I say I will fight for my ideals, I will fight for my ideals.”

  Ava took a step closer.

  “No one will stop me, nothing will break me. I will fight to the bitter end.”

  Grainne smiled.

  “I knew you would say that… this day, exactly nine years ago, I brought you here, through this door.”

  She stepped aside, the narrow passage opening before Ava like a wound in the stone.

  “And now, I will be the one to see you off, farewell.”

  A warm, tragic smile crept upon Grainne’s lips.

  “My child…”

  Ava took a step forward.

  “The weight of your beliefs weighs on you, does it not?”

  “…”

  “What?”

  Blood splattered across her face.

  Ava blinked. The stone corridor was gone.

  She looked down at her hands. They were no longer soft and pale. Iron enclosed her fingers, gauntlets slick with blood. The stink of copper burned in her nose.

  The door she had been reaching for was no longer wood and iron. It sagged and warped, bleeding into the world around it, its edges dissolving into smoke and fire.

  Ava staggered back. The cloister’s greenery had withered into ash beneath her feet. Heat rolled over her skin. The ground was studded with gravestones.

  “Grainne! Help me!” she cried, her voice tearing loose as the world twisted around her.

  The earth heaved. Hands broke through the soil and seized her ankles. Fingers like roots clawed at her legs, dragging her down.

  “You killed us,” the voices whispered, then rose into a chorus. “We had wives. Sons. Daughters. Brothers. Sisters.”

  Ava screamed, her breath breaking. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry—please—”

  The ground swallowed her calves. Her knees. She thrashed, but the dead did not yield.

  Names crowded the stone around her. Some she knew. Some she did not.

  One stood alone.

  Philip.

  Her breath hitched.

  I warned you, Aveline.

  Grainne’s voice threaded through the screams.

  I asked you if you were ready.

  Ava turned, sobbing. An older man stood a short distance away, robes dark against the firelit sky.

  “Bishop Alexei,” she begged. “Please. I have not yet repented. Please—”

  He looked down at her, sorrow carved deep into his face.

  “This is the path,” he said quietly. “The path of the crusader.”

  “No,” Ava choked. “Please. I’m sorry.”

  …

  “AHH!”

  Ava’s head flung upwards, her breathing frantic, her hair frizzy.

  Light poured in from the windows of her lodgings. Thomas sat on a stool next to it, his face contorted with horror and fear.

  “Deputy, are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer, and Thomas took the silence as an invitation.

  “I—you, you were flailing all night, when I woke, you were clutching your chest in your sleep, screaming names like Grainne, and Philip…”

  Ava noticed a particular wince of pain when Thomas mentioned Philip. But nevertheless, it was a new day, and Ava rose from the covers and began to prepare herself.

  “It was nothing you need to concern yourself with, Thomas.”

  Ava shot him a weak smile.

  “I just... forgot what these hands really were.”

  Ava looked down at her hands, calloused, with countless sword wounds and tears from wielding weapons.

  “These hands, they’re the hands of war, nothing more, nothing less.”