Nettle & Bone

by T. Kingfisher

The riders that the prince had sent were better dressed than Marra’s mother and father. Marra resented her parents for being shabby and resented the prince for making it obvious.

She had not realized that a nun had more power than a princess, that she could close a door.

The goats, less amused now that she was doing it correctly, wandered off.

Since the goddess did not seem to want anything, the nuns offered prayers to saints that had no worshippers of their own. “Some of them probably aren’t alive,” said the abbess, lighting candles, “but a few prayers for the dead won’t go amiss, either.”

She had no one to share her excitement with, but she did not mind, because it did not occur to her that anyone else might care.

The white stone glowed against the brown earth, but it was a chilly glow, like moonlight on snow. Marra felt very small compared to that immense white city, very small and insignificant, and yet she had the feeling that the effect was deliberate, as if the city was designed to make visitors feel insignificant in comparison.