Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries) by Royal Priscilla

Author:Royal, Priscilla [Royal, Priscilla]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2013-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Larcher laid the pewter badge on the table and admired his intricate work. It glittered like old silver in the pale beam of light flowing from the window above. Impatient, he began to pace around the empty audience chamber at Ryehill Priory. He had made a great effort to finish the badge for the prioress of Tyndal as requested. Where was Prioress Ursell?

Twitching with annoyance, he looked around as if the woman must be hiding somewhere just to infuriate him. He had no time to wait for her to grace him with her presence. Kicking at the rushes, he muttered a curse unsuited to a religious setting.

The chamber door swung open. Outside, two women held a brief conversation before the prioress of Ryehill entered with a small nun in tow.

He glanced at the attendant, half expecting to see Sister Roysia. A chill shook him as if a ghost had touched his arm, and he began to sweat with rank fear.

“It is about time you finished that badge, Master Larcher,” the prioress said as she seated herself with a muted thud onto her dark wooden chair. “Let me see it.” She pointed to the item.

He bowed, then reached for the requested object and passed it to the prioress, taking care not to touch her.

No longer brightened by the outside light, the badge looked dull.

Ursell felt the weight of the badge in her hand, scowled, and hefted it again. Then she stretched the object out at arm’s length to study each nuance of design.

The silence in the room felt far heavier to the craftsman than this intended gift for the prioress of Tyndal. Master Larcher’s temper was growing short, and he longed to go back to his shop. The apprentices were surely growing slack in their labor without the threat of his arrival and the whip he always held in his hand. As he nervously watched the prioress, her glare suggested displeasure. He fingered the details of the Virgin in the badge, and decided he would first stop at the inn for a soothing cup of wine.

“I saw the look you gave my current attendant,” Ursell said, lowering the badge and bestowing her disapproving look on the craftsman instead.

Her voice made Larcher think of the Archangel Gabriel’s horn announcing Judgment Day. He swallowed, but his throat remained too dry to speak.

“She will not succumb to sin like Sister Roysia did.” The prioress waved her hand toward the shadowy figure by the door. “I have made sure she understands the horrors of hellfire for any bride of Christ who breaks her vows.”

Although he could not be sure, the craftsman thought he heard a muted cry of pain from the unnamed nun. “I do not understand, my lady,” he whispered.

“You both thought I was a fool, Master Larcher. I knew of your meetings in the bell tower.” She waited, then hissed, “I pray that Sister Roysia’s death has opened your eyes to how a wrathful God punishes vile sinners.”

“What meetings? What sins?” As if expecting a dagger blow, he crossed his arms across his chest.

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