Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 125
The priory was discovered to be a large but unimposing brick cruciform with a crossing tower, bells and all, jutting from the nave and transepts, the top of which was swallowed by low clouds. Beyond the little copse on the north side, Emma could see what looked to be a rectangular dormitory. The whole of the property—the church, chapels, and outbuildings—stood hemmed behind a low stone wall with a rudimentary wooden gate. It was through that little gate that they entered the premises.
Along the path, they passed by a willow, its tresses hanging low in the fishpond nearby, its leaves falling like tears upon the ripples of preceding drops. It seemed to be considering its own reflection in the pool and lamenting what it saw. Emma fancied she saw something of herself in its listless repose by the watery mirror, and could almost hear the soft elegies it sang beside the pool. Distracted, Emma approached the modest west front without being in the least bit charmed by the thick vines mantling its facade with vibrant blue flowers. They peeped out from the green foliage like shy little church bells.
“Our arrival has been noted,” said Valko, recalling her attention abruptly. With a nod of his head, he steered her gaze up to the nave entrance.
Observing their progress from her post at the hallowed doors was a plump little nun with a welcoming smile. The smile brightened when Emma introduced herself as Mary’s cousin. After Valko’s devoirs were paid, Sister Margret directed them to a parlor where she bade them wait, promising to return with Milli and Sister Mary.
Nothing of import had been uttered between Emma and Valko since the carriage ride; in fact, hardly two words strung together. “It was I that forced Milli to wear the Devil’s Bane,” she said suddenly.
There was no surprise etched in his countenance as he considered her. “And did you force her out of the castle that night.”
“Of course not.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Then it seems that even Milli must own some responsibility.”
“Milli is a green girl!”
“Well, it is high time she grew up, wouldn’t you say? She is no victim; and until she is dead, she may command her own destiny as she wishes, and learn from the past.”
Emma bristled, for she knew he was right, but it irked her to admit it. She pressed a handkerchief to her wet lashes, ruing the loss of momentary warmth her ire had afforded; it was so much easier to cast blame than it was to accept her share of it, or acknowledge that no one was truly innocent. Not even dear Milli. Nothing was ever simply black or white.
It was almost comical that she should find herself swallowing the pricklish wisdoms of a wehr-wolf lector, and in a church no less. A creature apparently far too much at his ease beneath this hallowed roof. Far too confident for her liking.
When he finally noticed that he was the subject of her weighty regard, he looked a question back at her.
“Should you not have burst into flames by now, Mr. Valko?” She was not entirely in jest. In fact, she almost wished he would.
He gave a bark of laughter. Above him loomed a crucifix with a shrunken-bellied Christ hanging from iron nails, his head bowed as if in lorn contemplation of the beast below him.
Valko followed her gaze up to the crucifix. “So you think me a hellhound, do you?”
She glanced away. “I do not know what to think anymore.”
“I think you think too much,” he said.
She almost laughed at that, but it was not altogether a happy impulse—Milli was always telling her she thought too much and relied too little on her feelings. But feelings were dangerous, weren’t they? Sentiment was like to blind one’s logic in nebulous fog.
“Here,” said Valko. In a shockingly audacious move, he took possession of her bare hand and placed something warm onto her palm. “Mrs. Skinner found this in the ashes,” he said. His gaze was penetrating as he watched her brow furrow over a bloodstone ring. Markus Winterly’s signet ring. “Do you wish to know what I think, Miss Rose?”
Emma glanced up at him, bemused.
“I think forgiveness sets the heart free. I think we all deserve a second chance at hope; and at love.”
Before Emma could utter a single intelligible response, the door swung open. Cousin Mary entered in a coif and dark veil, and behind her was Milli. Her hair sat on her nape in a tight chignon and she was dressed in a very austere black overdress. Save the for dragon necklace hanging from Milli’s neck like a crucifix—the head, wings and tail all emulating the four points of the cross—the undergarment was without ornament and covered her from throat to wrist in white linen.
Emma had only a moment to stow the ring in her pocket before her sister was rushing headlong into her arms.
“Tell me this is all just some mad dream,” Milli whispered.
“It’s all just a mad dream.”
Milli leaned back with a tremulous smile. “You’ve always been a dreadful liar.”
Other than the drab uniform, Emma could see nothing the matter with her sister. No visible wehr-wolf bite and no sinister whisker growth to mar her healthful complexion. “Are you all right, Milli?”
“I am well, only…I am still unsure if what I saw was real?”
Emma hugged her sister again, her embrace almost punitive. “Where were you bitten? Why did you not tell me?”
“Why did you not tell me about…them sooner?” Milli’s hands tightened on Emma. “Had I known…”
“You’d not have believed me if I had. You didn’t believe me until you saw for yourself.”
Milli’s lips tightened a moment before she nodded guiltily. She then fastened her eyes to Emma’s throat as though she could sense the bruise and fang marks masked beneath Emma’s shawl. “Are you all right?”
“I am unharmed,” said Emma, though she could not