Lenobia's Vow: A House of Night Novella by P. C. Cast, Kristin Cast Page B

deck from which the rowboat would be lowered.
    In her feverish state, it seemed her mother’s voice returned to Lenobia, admonishing her not to call it a word that sounded so much like casket. Lenobia moved slowly belowdecks with the rest of the girls, feeling eerily like the voice from the past was an omen of the future.
    No! She shook off the melancholy she was feeling. I have a slight ague. I will think of Martin. He is making plans for us to leave New Orleans and go west, where we will be together—forever.
    It was that thought that propelled her forward as she settled, shivering and coughing, in the small boat with the other girls. Once she was seated between Simonette and Colette, a young girl with long, dark hair, Lenobia looked around listlessly, trying to summon the energy to complete her journey. Her gaze passed over the rowers and olive eyes caught hers, telegraphing strength and love.
    She must have made a sound of happy surprise, because Simonette asked, “What is it, Lenobia?”
    Feeling renewed, Lenobia smiled at the girl. “I am happy that our long voyage is over, and eager to begin the next chapter of my life.”
    “You sound so certain it will be good,” Simonette said.
    “I am. I believe the next part of my life will be the very best,” Lenobia responded, loud enough for her voice to carry to Martin.
    The rowboat rocked as the last passenger joined them, saying, “I am quite certain it will be.”
    The strength she’d found in Martin’s presence turned to fear and loathing as the Bishop settled into a seat so close to her that his purple robes, blowing in the warm, humid air, almost touched her skirts. There he sat, silent and staring.
    Lenobia pulled her cloak closer to her and looked away, focusing on not allowing her gaze to turn to Martin while she ignored the Bishop. She breathed deeply of the muddy, earthy aroma of the port where river met sea, hoping the warm, moist air and the scent of land would soothe her cough.
    It did not.
    The Abbess, Sister Marie Therese, was a tall, thin woman who Lenobia thought looked oddly crowlike standing on the dock with her dark habit blowing around her. While the Commodore helped the Bishop exit the boat, the Abbess and two nuns who were pale faced and looked as though they had been weeping, helped the crew members pass the girls from the rowboat to the dock, saying, “Come, mademoiselles. You need rest and peace after the horror of what happened to our good Sister. Both await you at our convent.”
    When it was her turn to climb onto the dock, she felt the strength of familiar hands on hers, and he whispered, “Be brave, ma cherie . I will come for you.” Lenobia’s touch lingered in Martin’s for as long as she dared, and then she took the nun’s hand. She did not look back at Martin, but instead tried to muffle her cough and blend in with the group of girls.
    When they were all onshore, the Abbess bowed her head slightly to the Bishop and the Commodore and said, “ Merci beaucoup for delivering my charges unto me. I shall take them from here and will shortly place them safely into the hands of their husbands.”
    “Not all of them.” The Bishop’s voice was like a whip, but the Abbess hardly raised a brow at him when she responded. “Yes, Bishop, all of them. The Commodore has already explained to me the unfortunate mistake in the identity of one of the girls. That does not make her any less my charge—it simply changes the choice of husband for her.”
    Lenobia couldn’t squelch the wet cough that racked her. The Bishop glanced sharply at her, but when he spoke his voice had taken on a smooth, charming tone. His expression was not angry or threatening—it was only concerned.
    “I am afraid that the errant girl has become infected with something other than the sins of her mother. Do you truly want her contagion in your convent?”
    The Abbess moved to stand beside Lenobia. She touched her face, lifting her chin and looking into her eyes.