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That night after speaking to the Abbess, a warm meal, and a re-issue of her equipment, Ara settled into her cell, Nona sitting on the bed as she organized her meager belongings. Nona leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, watching her friend organize a few keepsakes that had once belonged to her late family members.
“Remember how bored we get when Jula goes on about some things,” Ara said. “It doesn’t surprise me that she’s having trouble inspiring the young ones.”
Nona watched her flick her golden hair back over her shoulders as she bent down to organize her shoes on a small shelf beside the door. It seemed to stay for a moment, but any time she moved again it fell back in front of her face. Soon, it would be back in a practical braid, so Nona was glad to see it down, even if it seemed to be irritating Ara.
“It’s not just about inspiration,” Nona said. “She can’t control them, they walk all over her. I’m…having the same problem.”
Ara stood up and looked at her, the mass of hair flying with the momentum. “You? Sister Cage? Controller of the Moon?”
“They smell weakness,” Nona said, embarrassed.
Ara laughed, bright and clear as a bird. “Weak is not a word I would assign to you.”
“Strong against Noi Guin, weak against nine-year-olds. It’s not all of them, but it starts with a few, and then it spreads. There’s…more to managing children than I expected.”
“You could always poison them,” Ara said, stuffing the bag she came with into a cabinet and turning to the bed where Nona sat. Nona pulled up her knees and hugged them close to give her space to sit on the bed. She sat facing Nona, cross-legged in her simple linen night clothes, a stark change from the lord’s finery she had arrived in only hours before. “Maybe it will be easier once I take over the Path classes.”
“Oh? You think you’ll have the magic touch that Jula and I don’t?”
Ara hit Nona’s knee playfully. “No, I just think it must be exhausting teaching two classes.” Her hand settled somewhere on Nona’s calf, where she rubbed gentle circles with her thumb. After a moment, her playful smile faded into something unreadable, as if she were searching, wondering, peering into Nona with her clear blue eyes.
Nona leaned her head back and closed her eyes, peeling them away from Ara’s. She was afraid if she held that gaze for too long, she could get lost, like falling off the Path. Except that Nona had stumbled off the Path and recovered. Stepping toward the reality of her feelings for Ara seemed somehow even more dangerous. Feelings repressed and unexplored, feared. The wrong step on this path could hurt Nona in ways somehow more frightening than the raw power of the Path.
“I think I’m about done unpacking,” Ara said. Lost in her thoughts as she was, Nona found the sound distant. “I may put the painting of the asters somewhere else, but I’ll keep it there for now.”
“Oh, okay,” Nona said, lowering her feet and standing. Below her, Ara looked up, mouth slightly open and eyebrows scrunched. “I’m glad you’re back. Sleep well.”
She made for the door. It was wasn’t far, and her legs were long. Two steps later, she placed her hand on the knob and began to turn it.
“How many years must I wait?” Ara asked from behind her. Her voice seemed equal parts agitated and sad.
Nona turned, keeping her hand on the knob behind her. “Wait for what?” she asked. She knew what she hoped Ara was referring to, but it could be anything. How many years must she wait to become a master of managing a classroom of children? How many years must she wait for a habit that didn’t seem like it came from the back of broom closet? She need wait no longer for Nona, though she could not say that.
Ara hung her feet off the side of her bed. She steadied herself with her hands in her lap, face to the ceiling, taking deep breaths. Nona wondered how terrible she must be that her oldest, dearest friend seemed to summon her serenity trance just to speak with her. “How long must I wait for you to see me?” Ara asked quietly.
“I do see you,” Nona said.
“And what do you see, Sister Cage?”
This was it. Her first step on a dangerous and frightening path. “My oldest and dearest friend,” Nona answered, truthfully.
Ara let out a sharp laugh, the kind that held no joy. She stood. “And how many of your other friends have you formed a thread bond with through a simple kiss?”
It wasn’t a simple kiss, Nona thought to herself. It had reached to her core, occupied valuable space in her mind for weeks, distracting her from classes, from war, from the falling moon. It had been Nona’s first taste of someone else’s tongue, of pulling someone’s body close against hers and being unable to let go. But Nona didn’t say that. She said, “I’ve never kissed any other friend.” Step two, and she was already losing her balance. How many steps had she taken on the Path her first time, all those years ago?
Ara faced her and took a step toward the door. In the flickering lamp light, Nona thought she saw glistening at the edges of Ara’s eyes. She paused there, arm’s length away from Nona, searching again. Nona stood perfectly still, as if hiding in a shadow, her hand exactly where it had been, on the doorknob. After a moment, Ara took a deep breath, as if coming to a decision. “Do you love me? Say no, and I’ll never speak of it again.” Nona opened her mouth to speak, but Ara put a hand up. “No. Not like a sister. Not like your oldest and dearest friend. Do you love me? Like Apple loved Kettle? Like you loved Regol?” Ara barely choked the last question out.
“I don’t love you like I loved Regol,” Nona said, and her words hung in the moment. She watched grief fall over Ara’s face in slow motion, as if she had slowed time to hang between breaths. Step three, and she was falling, losing her grip in a way that would surely end her. She braced herself, emotionally, spiritually, and physically, gripping the doorknob behind her with all the small gerant strength she had. “Regol is a foolish boy who thought he could form a statue of love out of a ball of mud.”
Ara waited, her face no longer contorted with grief, but warped in confusion. Nona continued. “I love you like I love the dying sun…but you are the sun. Or brighter, more beautiful than the sun.”
Now the words, held so firmly inside just moments ago, were tumbling out of her like a devil had her tongue. But she had no devils, only a well of emotions she had never once put to words. “But I know what I am. A monster, a killer, a peasant. Half the people in this convent revile or fear me, almost as many merely tolerate me. But you are infectious, kind. The world swirls around you, and I am caught in it, afraid to touch for fear that you see me for what I am, but too paralyzed to move away for fear that I may lose you.”
Her heart pounded as if she were facing a Noi Guin. But there was no Noi Guin, only a friend in front of her, gently stepping closer. Ara’s mouth opened to respond, but Nona couldn’t stop, too lost to the devil on her tongue. Could there be a devil made out of someone’s love? “I said that I saw you as my oldest, and dearest friend. It’s true. You are. I love no one more dearly, trust no one more wholly. How could I ever risk ruining that? I’ve lost so much, and I couldn’t lose you. This, it’s too precious. You’re too precious.”
She was breathing heavily as Ara closed the distance and raised a hand toward her cheek, stroking it gently. She looked down into eyes that made everyone feel welcome, feel appreciated, so close she could feel Ara's breath.
“I see you, Nona,” Ara whispered. “I see you like you see me, beautiful, kind. You’re so very wrong about yourself. Let me show you.”
A pressure came across their thread-bond, a gentle request to allow Ara into Nona’s mind. Nona closed her eyes and let go.
Memories flooded her mind, all of them of familiar places and people, but disorienting because they were not hers. They were Ara’s, with Nona forced to look at herself through someone else’s mind.
***
They were in the cave of the holothour, with Nona barely visible through lantern light. Ara’s head was pounding, blood dripping from the injury on her forehead.
“Did you come back for me?” Ara asked.
“I tripped over you,” Nona answered.
Through their thread-bond, though, Nona didn’t only see the memories; she felt them. Now, she felt Ara’s knowledge of Nona’s lie.
***
They were in Blade Class during their mystic years. Ara’s right hand fidgeted with a wound on her leg, testing out how much it had healed since Nona had sliced her the week before. It still throbbed at even a moderate touch.
With Zole gone and Ara injured, Nona had to spar with Ruli, who stood no chance against Nona’s speed and cunning. Ara watched the bout from the sidelines as Nona patiently deflected every blow.
When Ruli feinted and approached with a slice to Nona’s ribs, Nona let her have it, as if wanting to reward her friend for what she thought was a good maneuver. She backed away smiling, even as she put her hand over the small cut. As Ruli celebrated the success, Nona looked over to Ara and smiled, and Ara felt a gratefulness, to be there in that moment, blessed under Nona’s gaze. There, next to the gratefulness: pure desire, her eyes sweeping across Nona’s muscular arms, glistening with sweat.
***
They were in the Holy class dorm, late at night. Ara woke up gasping from a bad dream, disoriented in the dark of the dormitory. Nona reached across the space between their beds and took her hand. Ara gripped it softly, and Nona’s thumb brushed over her hand until Ara’s breathing slowed down. Ara dozed back off, safe, and content.
***
The next vision didn’t have Nona in it. It was Sister Kettle. Ara’s emotions pulsing across their thread bond shifted suddenly from those of affection to anger.
“Why do I have to stay? Did the Abbess say why?”
Sister Kettle tapped on the wall behind her nervously. “It was Sister Cage.”
“What?”
“Sister Cage asked the Abbess to keep you here.”
The anger deepened and summoned forth a storm of new emotions: fear of losing Nona, rejection at the thought that Nona did not want her with her, resentment that she had had no agency in the matter. “Why doesn’t she want me there?” Ara asked. “Why doesn’t she want me with her?”
Kettle stepped forward and Ara watched through blurry, teary eyes. Kettle rubbed her arms. “She’s trying to save you.”
“I don’t need saving. I need to be with her,” Ara cried, and Kettle pulled her into a tight embrace. “Why doesn’t she want me there?”
“She loves you,” Kettle answered quietly. “She’s going out to die today, and wants you to live. I’d do the same for Apple if I could. You’d do the same for her.”
Even though no one had yet died, dread gripped at Ara’s heart at the idea of moving on with life without Nona beside her.
***
The memories stopped. Nona felt Ara draw back from their thread-bond, and she opened her eyes. They were back in Ara’s tiny cell. Nona felt the warmth of the room and the warmth of Ara’s body, almost touching hers. She was still rubbing Nona’s cheek gently, energy pulsing down her core with every gentle stroke.
“That's how I see you,” Ara whispered.
Nona released the door knob behind her, her fingers stiff from gripping it so tightly for several minutes. She lifted her hand to Ara’s cheek, then closed the space between and kissed her.
***
A cough drew Nona awake. She untangled from Ara’s embrace and sat up, rubbing her eyes in the gentle light drifting in through the window. A figure stood in the doorway to the cell, and after a few moments her eyes focused and she could see her. Kettle.
“Good morning, Sister Cage, Sister Thorn,” Kettle said, grinning.
Nona groaned. Beside her, Ara also sat up. Unlike Nona, she didn't care to pull the sheets up over her chest as she did. “Good morning, Sister Kettle,” she said sheepishly.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt a lovely moment, but Sister Cage is wanted at the abbess’s house. Something about a messenger from the emperor.”
“How did you know where to find me?” Nona asked.
Kettle leaned lazily against the doorway. “Even if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of last night’s festivities through our thread-bond—which I very immediately closed off—you two could be heard up and down the hall.”
Nona snorted and Ara covered a wide smile behind her hand, never one to be embarrassed by anything. Looking up at Kettle, Nona weighed what to say, as she had so many times since Sister Apple had died, wondering if Kettle could handle a gentle memory, or if the wound was still too tender. She decided to take a chance. “You’re one to talk. Every nun and novice in this convent knows what your moans sound like.”
Kettle’s lips curved slightly, sadness and fondness behind her eyes. “Yes, well, Appy was rather talented. Don’t keep the emperor waiting, Sister Cage.” She turned to go, then suddenly turned back. “Oh, and—you’re not novices anymore. You’ll need to learn to call her Sister Cage, not Nona, even in the throes of passion.”
With that, Kettle left, closing the door behind her.
Nona turned looked down at Ara, who nuzzled her head against her neck, her hair spread out uncontrollably in every direction. “Good morning, Nona.”
Nona kissed the mass of hair just below her chin. “Good morning.” She gently extricated herself and climbed out of bed. Ara leaned against the wall and followed her with a sleepy, loving gaze as she tried to find her clothes on the floor of the cell.
When she was dressed, Nona bent down and gave Ara a kiss, tender and lingering. “Welcome back to Sweet Mercy, Sister Thorn.”