Tracing the Shadow by Sarah Ash Page B

Celestine’s. Startled, Celestine took a step back, screwing up her eyes, for Katell’s breath smelled strongly of licorice comfits.
    “I’ll be six when the snows come,” Celestine said.
    “You’re only a baby.” Rozenne stroked her hair. “I was six when I came here, two years ago.”
    “I’m seven, but I’m half a head taller than Rozenne.” Katell fished in the pocket of her smock and brought out a couple of dusty comfits. “Here. You can have one. Sister Kinnie keeps a jar in the Infirmary. Sometimes she gives them as a reward.”
    Celestine nodded her thanks and put the comfit in her mouth. The strong flavor made her tongue sting, but she hadn’t the heart to spit the gift out into her palm.
    Katell twirled away down the dormitory toward a great armoire of dark-stained wood. Celestine trailed after her. As Katell tugged the door open, a faint odor of lavender and starch wafted out. Clean, folded sheets were piled high inside.
    “Catch!” Katell tossed her one. Celestine reached up and caught it. Then she saw the painting on the wall. A lady gazed down on the dormitory with eyes of soft violet blue, her golden tresses falling about her shoulders, her slender fingers caressing the keys of a gilded portative organ.
    “Oh,” breathed Celestine, gazing back. “She’s so pretty. Who is she?”
    “Don’t you know? She’s Saint Azilia, silly,” said Katell scornfully.
    “How could she know?” Rozenne put her hands protectively on Celestine’s shoulders, bending down to whisper in her ear. “She’s the saint of music. Our patron saint.”
    Celestine nodded, still staring at the smiling lady.
    “And here’s a clean smock for you.” Katell thrust a folded garment at her.
    The smock was made of brown linen, like the ones Rozenne and Katell were wearing. Celestine stared at it in bewilderment, not knowing how to put it on over her shift.
    “I’ll help you.” Rozenne pulled it over Celestine’s head and showed her how to tie the fastenings. “Oh dear. It’s rather too large for you, isn’t it? But you’ll grow.”
    “Now you’re a Skylark too.” Katell grinned at her. “Don’t look so sad! You’re not going to cry, are you?”
    A bell began to ring, a rapid succession of clangs that echoed around the white convent walls.
    “Choir practice!” The girls scampered off, leaving Celestine standing, bemused, in the middle of the dormitory.
    “Come on, Celestine!” Rozenne ran back and grabbed her by the hand. “Sister Noyale will scold us if we’re late.”
             
    The high, vaulted ceiling of the chapel vanished into dim greyness far above Celestine’s head. She trotted along at Rozenne’s side, hearing the patter of their light footfalls magnified, echoing far into the shadows.
    “You’re late,” said a stern female voice.
    “Here’s the new Skylark, Sister Noyale.”
    Celestine shuffled forward, trying not to trip over her smock. Sister Noyale towered above her.
    “Sweet Azilia, she’s an infant! I’m not running a nursery here.” Celestine registered a strong yet handsome face, brown-skinned, with arching dark brows and eyes that flashed with annoyance. She also noticed a round mole like a beauty spot above Sister’s Noyale’s upper lip—and, fascinated, could not keep her eyes from straying back to it. “Whatever is the Abbess thinking of?”
    Celestine shrank back. Sister Noyale scared her. She could sense that all the Skylarks were staring at her. She felt for the warmth of Rozenne’s hand and clutched it tightly.
    “Sister Kinnie said—” began Rozenne.
    “I don’t give a fig for what Sister Kinnie said. This choir is not for babes in arms.”

    What the Skylarks dreaded the most, Celestine soon learned, was the moment when Sister Noyale would abandon her lectern to pace up and down along the rows of singers, hands clasped behind her back, coiffed head down, listening intently for wrong notes. Every time this happened, Celestine would feel her