Selfish is the Heart (9 page)

“If you know,” Cassian said, “you’d be one of the first to guess without prompting.”

She had a lovely laugh, sweet but edged with wickedness. It was designed to turn men’s heads and draw women in close. Cassian didn’t look. He did not move.

Annalise moved around him in a slow circle as she spoke. “They tested me on many skills, but have said naught so far of what a Handmaiden is expected to do for her patrons beyond making tea and reading aloud. We all know there’s more to it than that, yes?”

“Sometimes. I would not presume to speak for every patron or every Handmaiden.”

“And I should not, either,” she murmured. “You need not say so aloud to chastise me. I understand when I’ve overstepped.”

At this, finally, he looked at her. “Do you? I find that difficult to believe, given our previous conversations.”

“You mean the ones in which you insulted me and led me astray?”

“And yet here you are.”

She stopped in front of him. With him seated and her standing, his gaze leveled at her breasts. He looked at her face, instead.

For the first time since their meeting in the forest, he saw hesitation in her gaze. Her tongue slipped out, soft and pink, to trace the fullness of her bottom lip. She stiffened her shoulders.

“Here we both are.”

He looked, and looked again. Annalise didn’t turn her gaze from his. He admired her for that.

“You are not here to see how rapidly I can divide a column of numbers.”

“No. Not that.”

She swallowed, and the motion of her throat working drew his gaze despite his best intentions to keep his eyes on hers. Her breasts lifted and fell with her breath. Her hands clenched at her sides.

Then, slowly but with grace, Annalise sank to her knees.

The sight of a woman in such a pose ought to no longer move him, but Cassian was still a man. Something tightened inside him when she tilted her face to look up at him from her place a scant measure from his feet, placed so firmly on the floor. Her skirt had tangled about her legs, and he reminded himself she was new to this—perhaps not to being on her knees, but to serving.

She’d not yet learned to Wait, and that, too, would come in time. Yet Annalise sank naturally back onto her heels with her hands in her lap. The pose wasn’t quite perfect, but the ease at which she set the posture sent another tight, sharp thrill through him until he forced it away.

“I suppose there are all sorts of service,” she whispered. “Are you here to judge my willingness, sir, or my skill?”

Neither, in fact. He was sent inside the room to judge a novitiate’s comfort level with a strange man and her ability to sense what might set him at ease, since service to men was far different than that to women. Only some assumed from the start, as Annalise now did, that he expected sexual service, and none of them had ever been right.

Until now.

The thought froze him in place. Her gaze flickered over him. Cassian strained to show no reaction.

“This would be ever so much easier if you were not so lovely,” the woman on her knees breathed, and Cassian was at once on his feet.

“I am here to test your capacity for empathy,” he said harshly, voice rough but not with anger.

She got to her feet. “My what?”

He gestured at the fireplace, the teakettle, the scattered pillows on the floor. “To judge your ability to put others at ease. To sense what might make another comfortable.”

Annalise blinked rapidly, lips parting. Then she put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’ve failed?”

“My purpose here was to see how easily you figured out what another person might need,” Cassian said sternly, without looking at her.

“Have I failed? Tell me, sir, if you find that to be true.”

“I’m saying you should seek further training. Much further training!”

Incredibly, she laughed again. “You accuse me of overstepping again.”

“This is not an accusation. This is a fact. A Handmaiden is not a kitchen slut, sent to flip up her skirts at the first crook of her patron’s finger!”

“Tell me no Handmaiden is ever asked to get on her knees and suck a patron’s cock, and I will call you a liar. Which I already know you to be,” Annalise told him.

“I did not,” Cassian said tightly, through gritted teeth, “desire you to perform such an act upon me.”

Annalise looked, as he had, at the teakettle and pillows, the props and tools that had gone unused. She looked back at him, her gaze hard as iron. Ungiving. And, Sinder help him, knowing.

“Liar,” she told him. “If a test was failed, I do not think ’twas me who failed it.”

He could say nothing, found no words. Cassian hissed in a breath and shook his head. Annalise shrugged and turned away.

“Shall I be sent away before I’ve begun? Was this what determines my place in the Order, or not?”

“No.”

She slanted a sly smile at him along with a glance. “No?”

“You’ll begin your training tomorrow,” Cassian said, his voice so tight it hurt his throat.

“Lovely,” Annalise said.

He thought he heard her laughing as the door closed behind him.

 

 

I
don’t believe the Holy Family will return any earlier based on the time I awake.” Annalise said this from the safety of her blankets, which had twisted around her ankles during the night.

“You don’t wish to miss morning services!” Tansy, already up and about, had washed her face at the basin and turned dripping cheeks toward Annalise.

“And if I do?”

“They’re the shortest ones.” Tansy tugged on Annalise’s toes through the blankets.

At this, Annalise peeked out from beneath the covers to see if the younger woman was teasing. It wasn’t quite possible to tell with Tansy. Two days in her presence hadn’t been long enough to learn her sense of humor.

“And the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get to the dining hall to break our fast. And,” Tansy paused dramatically, “there are cinnamon cakes.”

“Ah, well, if there are cinnamon cakes,” Annalise replied without moving.

Tansy giggled. The sound might have worked Annalise to irritation from another source, but there was simply no hating Tansy. Perhaps those spoiled girls they’d met in the hall could do it, but Annalise, whose patience for trivialities was notably thin, couldn’t. It was the girl’s overwhelming aura of joy, undeniable.

“You do wish to attend morning services, don’t you?” Now Tansy sounded concerned. “Annalise?”

Annalise cracked open an eye and yawned. “Not particularly.”

“Not . . . !” Tansy swallowed her shock and shook her head, sending the bright blonde braid swinging. “Oh, you are teasing me. You must be.”

“I assure you, I’m not.” At last Annalise threw back the covers and stretched, then put her feet on the floor beside the bed. “I can list ten fingers’ worth of tasks I’d rather set myself to this early, and attending Temple services isn’t on it.”

Tansy covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. “Oh, Annalise. How can you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s true. Ah, you’ve filled the pitcher for me. Thank you.”

Annalise hadn’t thought to do it before climbing into bed the night before. At home, the housemaid would have made certain to make it ready for the morn. Annalise supposed she’d best become accustomed to remembering, for what better way to learn to serve others than by serving herself?

Annalise was aware of Tansy’s gaze upon her as she washed quickly and dressed in one of the gowns the Order had provided. It still felt strange to go without her stays, but somehow liberating, as well. She fumbled with her braid and felt Tansy’s hands helping her a moment later with the headscarf Annalise had not yet grown accustomed to wearing.

Annalise looked over her shoulder. “Thank you, Tansy. You’re very kind.”

Tansy still looked worried. She gnawed her lower lip before speaking. “Annalise, I have to ask you something. Are you . . . do you not have . . . faith?”

The truth of that answer was no, but though Annalise liked Tansy, she didn’t fully trust her. Not with the truth of her reasons for becoming a novitiate, anyway. Annalise had passed all their tests, all of which seemed bound to determine her ability to become a Handmaiden. Her faith hadn’t been called into question.

“Must one attend services to prove one’s faith, Tansy? It’s been my understanding that prayers make their way to the Land Above no matter where they’re said.”

“Yes, but . . . in the Temple the priests lead the service.”

“In the Temple,” Annalise said, “the priests say aloud what the rest of us speak within our hearts. Tell me, which prayers do you think the Invisible Mother hears better?”

“The priests speak for those who can’t.”

“Ah, but I am not unable to speak, Tansy.”

Tansy bit at her lower lip again, her expression troubled. “Attendance at services is mandatory, I think.”

“But you don’t know?”

“Nobody has ever said otherwise. We only miss services if we’re ill, or not here. Everyone goes to services. All the Sisters and the Mothers. All the staff.” Tansy worried her fingers together into a knot, then loosened them only to start all over again.

“Then I shall attend as well.” Annalise patted her headscarf over her hair and smoothed the front of her dress.

“But not with joy in your heart!”

Annalise paused to look at her. “No, I can’t say that is true.”

Tansy shook her head, fretting. “I don’t understand.”

Annalise patted her shoulder. “You needn’t.”

At this, Tansy nodded, the storm clouds on her expression breaking apart to reveal the sunshine of her smile. “Well. I shall pray for you, Annalise. Extra hard. How is that?”

“If you must.” Annalise laughed. “Far be it from me to turn away such an offer.”

“I still don’t understand,” Tansy murmured as they left their small room and followed the long corridors and stairways toward the chapel. “Why enter the Order if you’re not of the Faith? If you don’t believe?”

“Believe in what? Allowing others to speak for me?”

They’d joined a group of other young women, all dressed in the same style gowns, identical braids under matching headscarves. We are a flock, Annalise thought with a pang of dismay-tinged amusement. All of us with the same feathers.

“In the return of the Holy Family. That’s why we become Handmaidens. To fill Sinder’s Quiver.”

“Ah yes, of course I believe in that.” Surely the Invisible Mother would forgive the lie.

Tansy, whose legs were shorter, had to do a double-skip in order to keep up with Annalise. “And you do believe we can do that, don’t you? Handmaidens? Provide our patrons with absolute solace?”

“Certainly. Of course.” It seemed the right answer, but Annalise didn’t believe one person could provide another with even a moment’s happiness, much less one of absolute solace. Anyone who depended upon another for such a thing would never find it, she thought. “Do you believe we can be taught how to do that?”

Tansy blinked. From not far away came the sound of the chime calling them to the chapel. “We’d better go. We’ll be late.”

It had been ages since Annalise had been inside a chapel, much less attended a Temple service. The last she could remember had been for the Fast of Sinder, not the most pleasant of holidays and certainly not the one she’d recommend to anyone attempting to convert the unconsecrated to the Faith. She could still recall the sting of incense in her nose and the buzz in her ears as she fought not to faint from hunger and lack of sleep. Her sister Adorette had in fact passed out, twitching and jerking on the floor in front of the priests who’d stepped over her and moved on as though she weren’t there. It was the last service Annalise had attended, no matter how many times her mother had pleaded. Or threatened.

Now here she was again, in the largest chapel room she’d ever seen. Long benches with carved backs made four rows each on either side of the center aisle. The beemah in the front, raised a step off the floor, was circular. Three priests, their heads shaved and oiled, sat there. Their bare chests gleamed with oil as well, the crimson silk of their folded robes lying over one shoulder and pleated at their waists to hang to the floor.

Contrary to what she’d been forced to in childhood, nobody was silent. The women of the Order chatted and laughed as they filled in the rows. The priests were silent, intent on lighting their casks of incense and making mystical symbols over everything with their hands, but unlike the priests Annalise could remember, none made stern faces toward the noise their audience made.

The service began without fanfare, just the simple chiming of a bell rung by the tallest priest. The three turned their faces toward the draped alcove at the back of the chapel then bowed from the waist, then once to each side. Upright, they began to sway and mutter.

Annalise, who’d followed Tansy into one of the last rows of benches, looked to either side of her. On her right, Tansy mimicked the priests, her eyes closed and smile rapturous. She clutched a prayer book to her chest, but didn’t read from it, apparently having memorized the service. At Annalise’s left, a broad-shouldered woman in a dark green gown squinted at the words in her prayer book. Her mouth moved as she read, her words a whisper. All around, the women chanted and muttered, each at her own pace.

And in the middle of it, Annalise stood still and silent. She didn’t open the prayer book. She didn’t whisper along with the prayers—though she could have. She knew them all, even if she’d done her best to forget. They came back to her not in pieces but all at once, chunks of pleas and supplications, poems of praise to the Invisible Mother that she hadn’t written and, therefore, could not feel were her own.

She’d never known how to pray in this manner. Someone else’s words but her own pace. Always before she’d sat and listened to the priests speak them for her, which made all the prayers theirs and never hers. Faced with wildness, this twisting and turning of the body to portray the joy of the supplicant, Annalise froze. It was too much even to feign.