Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

During the ten-minute walk to the dormitories, Tinsley kept pace with my longer strides, all the while pushing her bottom lip forward in an expression of discontent. Or maybe her lip naturally rested that way. Pouty. Sexy. No, Christ. I snatched away the thought before it drew breath. I couldn’t think it, whether it was true or not. But there was something else appealing about her at the moment. Her silence. Sweet, glorious silence. When she wasn’t talking, she seemed older. More mature. With a lithe figure and self-assured gait, she carried herself with refinement and grace. Not in a deliberate way. No, she tried very hard to exude defiance and hostility. But when she let her guard down, her breeding shone through. Obedience was second nature to her. Submissive obedience. That whisper of truth was harder to snuff out. It spoke directly to the parts of me I longed to forget. “Were you telling the truth about the falcons?” she asked. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about that or anything else.” “Oh. Right. Because priests don’t lie?” “Because I don’t lie. Left here.” She turned into the next hallway, depriving my view of her face. “Will I be able to see the falcons outside? Do the fledglings fly near the school?” “Sometimes.” “Cool.” Her spine remained stiff, her tone terse. But the mention of the birds seemed to improve her mood by a small degree. “We’re leaving the main building now.” I escorted her into a vacant corridor. “It houses the classrooms, offices, library, and dini...