Page 68 of Insolence
.: Lunch ~ 13:00 to 14:00 :.
(Refectory)
.: Chores ~ 14:00 to 18:00 :.
(Main Kitchens)
.: Dinner ~ 18:00 to 19:50 :.
(Refectory)
.: Free time ~ 20:00 to 22:00 :.
.: Lights out ~ 22:00 :.
Chapter 20
Itissa
That night, my dreams are full of finches that shriek with human voices.
My door opens in the middle of the night. Part of me is aware of Sister Delia poking her head in for a lights-out check, but dream logic takes over, turning her into a specter hovering at the end of my bed. A feverish nightmare I can’t battle or bargain with.
Consumed with my own thoughts, I sit with my friends in the middle of an eerily quiet breakfast. Cordelia and Sadrie chat about the ceremony and celebration. The fact that our schedules now feature acolyte classes.
I sit in stiff silence, sipping strong black tea and watching the betrothed girls with growing concern.
They eat in groups, heads uncovered. Where normally most are as animated as my friends, today the women now betrothed to Eisha’s service are almost catatonic.
I pay it no mind at first, too preoccupied with my own concerns.
But the morning meal isn’t half over before it’s clear they’re not merely being demure or practicing some new measure of decorum. No, it’s far more unnerving than that.
All of them stare vacantly ahead or at their plates.Noneof them speak and barely move beyond breathing, chewing, and taking slow bites.
The sisters are a stark contrast, perched in clusters of their own and gossiping away. As usual, Ailen and Viv seem embroiled in a competition to hold the others’ attention the longest.
Kerrigan munches her toast, chitchatting along with her cohorts like she didn’t probably murder a girl two mornings ago.
Shaking my head, I sigh and let my gaze drift to a strangely serene Rosalie yet again. Her eyes are devoid of emotion as she raises a bite of porridge to pale lips that barely part to admit her spoon. Her motions are unhurried yet stiff, her face pointed directly ahead—even when a bit of food dribbles onto her black dress. She might as well be a puppet or a porcelain doll.
A tremor runs through me.
“They’re unusually quiet today, aren’t they?” murmurs Cordelia, following my sight line.
“What in the world is wrong with them?” I whisper.
Sadrie snorts into her tea. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I think the sisters gave them something,” says Cordelia, leaning in close.
“What?” asks Sadrie.
“To sedate them,” I finish the thought, only now noticing that none of them have on silver collars anymore. Not even Rosalie.
“Sedatethem?” Sadrie glances around. “Do you think?”
Cordelia gestures as if to say,You have a better explanation?“The prioress has no compunction about electrocuting us via magic dome. Plying the betrothed with tranquilizers is mild in comparison.”
