Princess Awakening: Tower of Sand

Pater Noster

A hard, wooden object clunked onto the stair, and Aurelie knew that she had been given a way out—a chance to save both her body and soul. She gathered up her skirt and stepped down from the windowsill and through the mosaic of food and shattered glass. "Seraphine," she said, "I am ready to help you now."

Seraphine was humming a whining tune and combing her fingers through the matted wool that she'd pulled out of the mattress. She looked up, confused. "That's it? No more struggle? You just suddenly want to help me now?"

"Yes," Aurelie said. "I understand what's at stake." She spoke loudly, trying to cover the thump and shuffle of the person on the stair. "What are you doing there? Why did you cut open the mattress?"

"I need wool to spin thread," Seraphine said. "A spinning wheel spins wool into thread. This is really not that hard to understand, Princess. I wonder why you—" Seraphine froze, listening. Then she leapt to her feet. A heartbeat later, she had pressed a shard of glass to Aurelie's throat.

Aurelie held still, not breathing.

In the quiet, a staff thudded on the stair, and two footsteps shuffled after.

"I know that step," Seraphine said, wrapping her arm around Aurelie's waist.

"I know it too," Aurelie said. "And it means that you have failed. You will be exposed. God has stopped you."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Seraphine said, and a smile played on her lips. "Let us call a truce for now, you and I. We will let the blind bishop come inside but tell him nothing. If you want, you may make a last confession. And then, when he leaves, we will finish this."

The hobbling step drew closer.

"Why would I do that?" Aurelie hissed.

"Because otherwise," Seraphine said, "I will kill you. Or him." She brushed her cheek against Aurelie's. "I'm very keen to deliver this—as you call it—revenge. You can choose how."

Aurelie suppressed a shudder. "Very well," she said. "For now."

The step reached the top of the stair, and the visitor knocked.

Seraphine nodded, loosening her grip and stepping back.

"Is that you, Father Aimery?" Aurelie called. Her throat felt so dry.

"It is I," the bishop said, his voice a cheerful wheeze. He fumbled his key into the lock and turned it.

Seraphine held out Aurelie's half-key, and Aurelie jammed it into her side of the lock and flung open the door. "Bonjour Father Aimery!"

"My goodness!" Father Aimery said, leaning on his long, pastoral staff and clutching at the doorframe. His cloudy blue eyes roved across the ceiling, and his reddish-skinned neck jutted forward like a russet hen's. The bishop's mitre on top of his head wobbled, and he caught it and wedged it under one arm. "Bonjour mesdames," he said, chuckling and rubbing at the ring of soft gray hairs around his bare head. "Is now a good time for a visit? I could come back—"

"No, please, come in," Aurelie said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. "I am very glad to see you." Behind the bishop, the empty staircase yawned open.

"That's a relief," Father Aimery said. "This tower stair is a long trek. I would hate to tell my knees they had walked it for nothing."

"Of course," Aurelie said, glancing back at the open door. "Thank you." She kicked a silver coin out of the bishop's way.

"What was that?" Father Aimery said, tilting his head.

"Nothing," Aurelie said.

Seraphine shut the door and relieved him of his staff.