Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [93]
Feena eased Dhauna's frail body out of her embrace and laid her on the torn linens that covered the floor, turning her on her side and drawing her cooling limbs up into a childlike huddle. She clenched her teeth as she stood Dhauna's body told the comforting lie of a peaceful death, a mercy to ease the mourning of the faithful.
The truth would be a terrible, secret burden for her to carry alone.
Feena bolted the iron-banded door behind herself. It was reasonable to assume the spell oi moonlight that had lit the infirmary had ended with Dhauna's death. There would be no reason for anyone to guess she had been back to Moonshadow Hall.
Outside the infirmary, she paused. The sounds of a new day were drifting through the halls of the temple. She might still be able to slip out before too many of the remaining priestess and acolytes were up and about. Against the savory scents of Idruth's kitchen, however, she was suddenly aware of the foul smell that clung to her robe. She stank of urine and death. There would be a fresh robe in her former chamber, but in the extra minutes it would take her to retrieve it, there was also a greater chance of getting caught.
Her fists clenched with a sudden need to be rid of the tainted garment.
She turned and darted down a dark corridor. The mossy pillar in the kitchen garden wasn't the only secret she remembered from her playful days as a novice and an acolyte. Exploring Moonshadow Hall's unused passages and dusty storerooms was a rite for every child entering the temple. Beyond the infirmary, a steep, narrow ramp led up to the second floor and a series of dim rooms that smelled of mice. Beyond those rooms was an abandoned library, walls lined with empty shelves. Beyond that was a long, curved passage with dust so thick on the floor it held the footprints of countless novices-and one stealthy priestess. Feena walked quickly, the hem of her robe stirring up little clouds of dust in her wake. At the end of the curved passage was a narrow door. Feena thrust against it. Hinges squealed.
She stepped out beneath the ramp leading up to the archives. Leaving the narrow door ajar, she trotted past the ramp and peered down the long corridor that connected the clergy's quarters. The morning sounds of the novices' and acolytes' dormitories echoed from its distant end.
Just ahead, sunlight burned a bright path across the dim corridor.
Feena trotted up to Dhauna's chambers and peered inside. The broken door remained where Mifano had left it, leaning against a wall. Someone had pulled open the heavy curtains that hung over the big window, though. Morning light streamed in. On Dhauna's desk, the ancient tome that recorded the fall of the New Moon Pact shone in the sunlight, white leather gleaming like a lie. Feena looked away and darted past.
Her former chamber was only a short way along the corridor. Its door stood open as well, though the curtains remained drawn. The torn strips she had used to bind Jhezzail were scattered on the floor. Feena stripped off her fouled robe and kicked it under the bed, then opened the wardrobe. A clean robe hung inside-right next to the silver-embroidered gown she had worn to Ammanas Aumleagarr's garden party. She brushed the moon-pale silk regretfully before tearing her hand away. Swiftly donning the robe, she stepped back into the corridor and ran for the ramp that led down to the temple's ground floor.
A shadow fell across it from below. Someone was coming up.
Feena pulled away quickly. Could she hide in her chamber? No. With the door open, anyone passing could see inside-and soon the novices and acolytes would be pouring past on their way to breakfast. Closing a door that had stood open all night would only draw attention.
But there was a chamber nearby that had been deliberately placed so that no one passed it. Feena scrambled silently back down the corridor and ducked into the brilliance of Dhauna's chamber. Holding her breath,