Sister Wheel took the bait. “The Chosen One was there!” She looked up in triumph.

Sisters Tallow and Apple suppressed long-suffering sighs.

“Let it be Novice Zole then.” The abbess nodded to Kettle who hurried to the door. “At least nobody can accuse her of being friends with either party. Or anyone else. Nona and Joeli can wait outside.”

Kettle led the pair to the door and returned to the table having sent for Zole. The shadows clung to the nun as she walked, like cobwebs. They mottled her face as if they were stains running across her skin. When Apple had brought Kettle back, injured and changed, there hadn’t been one person at the table who had thought the convent still held a place for her, not now she walked in darkness as the Noi-Guin do. That had been a long debate. A long night and a longer morning. But at length Glass had steered the sisters to the decision she wanted.

“You know there is no safe place for Nona if she were to leave this convent.” Sister Apple spoke to the table in general, her gaze avoiding Sister Wheel and Sister Spire. “We’ve waited more than a generation for a three-blood novice and now you want to send her out to our enemies because of a fight with a girl who’s never forgotten she was born Sis. Joeli’s two parts spite, one part privilege.”

“She is a member of our sisterhood!” Wheel glared across the table. “And she was nearly killed whilst under the protection of the Ancestor.”

“Attempted murder is punishable by the oven. She would be of no danger to us then.” Sister Rail spoke lightly as if the matter were of little consequence. “She would fall into nobody else’s hands.”

“In Sweet Mercy we drown rather than cook,” said the abbess, without humour. “And we have managed to avoid capital punishment for several decades. I do not intend to start again today.”

Raised voices in the corridor drew their eyes to the doorway. Abbess Glass prayed the novices weren’t fighting again. The argument drew closer and she relaxed, hearing a man’s complaint. A brief knocking and the heated debate outside continued.

“Come!”

Sister Pail burst in. “He won’t listen! I told him to stay!” She still looked like a child to Abbess Glass, just two years in the habit. It took an effort not to call her Novice Suleri. Behind her came Zole, ice-spattered and glowering at the world with impartial dislike. Behind Zole a tall white-haired man encompassed by the thickest of velvet robes.

“Irvone!” Abbess Glass rose to greet the judge. The other nuns followed suit, Sister Rose struggling to rise having sat too long and weighing three times what was healthy.

A young man, burdened under books of law, hastened around the judge to introduce him.

“Judge Irvone Galamsis offers the abbess of Sweet Mercy convent his greetings and felicitations on this the ninety-seventh anniversary of Emperor Royan Anstsis’s victory over the Pelarthi insurrection.”

“Ah, that. How could we forget?” Abbess Glass broadened her smile into the most genuine imitation at her disposal. “Irvone! How nice to have the pleasure of your company again. It’s been what . . . three years?”

“Forgive the intrusion, dear abbess.” Irvone inclined his head towards a bow. “But on seeing the arrival of the young lady about whom I’ve come all this way to petition you I felt I must be heard.”

Abbess Glass considered having the judge escorted from the hall, perhaps even from the convent, but it would be an expensive pleasure. Better to hand over the small victory of a seat at the convent table in order to compensate the loss awaiting him. She gestured to a vacant chair and the judge’s assistant pulled it out for him.

“Stand at the end of the table, Novice Zole.” Abbess Glass indicated the spot before glancing towards Sister Pail. “Bring Nona and Joeli back, sister.”

Accused and accuser re-entered the hall a moment after the junior nun exited. Sister Apple craned her neck to watch Joeli with particular attention, her eyes narrow. Further along the table Sister Pan coughed and muttered about the cold.

“Novice Zole, what can you tell us about this morning’s incident at blade-path?” Abbess Glass favoured the girl with a warm smile, knowing that it would not be returned.

“Novice Joeli accused Novice Hessa of helping Yisht to steal the shipheart,” Zole said. “Nona knocked her down.”

“I would have wanted to knock her down myself,” Abbess Glass said.

“I would have.” Sister Tallow kept a flinty gaze on Joeli. “No ‘wanted’ about it.”

“And then Nona strangled her!” Sister Rail said.

Zole shook her head. “She held Joeli’s neck. There was no strangling.”

Sister Wheel harrumphed in irritation but couldn’t bring herself to contradict the Chosen One. Beside her Sister Rail looked daggers at Nona then raised a hand towards Joeli. “Of course she was strangled! You can see it!”

“No.” Zole shook her head again. “It did not happen.”

“But the bruises!” Sister Rail banged the table. “You think we’re blind?”

“The evidence does seem compelling.” Irvone nodded, candlelight glinting on the gold circlet around his hair.

Zole shrugged.

“This is nonsense.” Rail looked around the table. “We should vote and then the abbess will decide.”

Abbess Glass puffed out her cheeks. There were only two votes that mattered, the rest she could overrule, but if the convent’s two sister superiors united against her the matter would have to go to the archons or the high priest. Such public dissent would weaken her position and Nona would likely be found guilty in any case. “Let us vote then.”

“Guilty.” Sister Rail folded her arms.

“Innocent.” Sister Apple frowned, still watching the novices.

“I abstain.” Sister Pan huddled within the range-coat she never removed these days.

“Innocent,” Sister Tallow said. “If Nona wanted the girl dead she would have cut her head off.”

As Mistress Spirit, Sister Wheel could vote first with the other mistresses, but as a sister superior she could also vote last. She waved for the class nuns to vote.

“Guilty.” Sister Oak, Red Class mistress, looked down.

“Guilty.” Sister Hearth had replaced Sister Flint as Grey Class mistress and had witnessed the worst of Nona’s rages while she struggled to control Keot.

Sister Spire seemed unwilling to speak but at last spoke in a small voice. “Guilty.”

“Innocent.” Sister Fork of Holy Class smiled encouragingly at Nona.

“Sister Wheel?” Abbess Glass inquired.

“I . . .” The older nun goggled at her, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I am sure the Chosen One had told us what she saw . . . but . . .” The words seemed to hurt her. “She may not have seen everything. And this novice is guilty of many crimes. So I say, guilty.”

“Sister Rose?”

Sister Rose shifted her bulk unhappily in her chair. “I wish you had come to me, Joeli. I have salves that would have helped your poor throat.” She looked at the abbess, brown eyes glistening. “I’m sorry . . . but I can’t sanction this level of violence against fellow novices, especially in one so talented in battle. What will come next? I—”