The Year of the Witching(47)

“Of course not! Ezra would never.”

But even as she spoke, Immanuelle knew it didn’t matter whether Ezra had done anything. The real danger was being near him at all, under the watchful eyes of Bethel. Judith was a prime example of this. And Immanuelle was ashamed to admit it, but she was selfishly relieved that it was Judith who was now paying the price in contrition, for it could have just as easily been her.

“If it’s not Ezra, then what was it? What is all of this?” Leah demanded, motioning to her with a pass of her hand. “You look a fright, Immanuelle—all frail and quiet. It’s not like you. Does this have something to do with those women you saw the night you went into the Darkwood?”

Immanuelle didn’t want to lie to her, but she knew that in light of things, a lie was better than the truth. “No.”

Leah studied her for a beat, trying to decide what she wanted to believe. Immanuelle braced herself for more questions, but they didn’t come. With a smile, Leah hooked an arm through hers. “Good. I was a little afraid Ezra had turned you into a simpering harlot.” Immanuelle elbowed her in the ribs and Leah laughed. “Of course, I wouldn’t blame you if he had. For all of his Holy Gifts, he’s got the eyes of a devil—and the tongue of one too. I don’t trust him one bit.”

“He’s not as bad as he seems,” said Immanuelle. “Now, quiet down. These corridors carry echoes, and he may hear you.”

“Well, he won’t hear anything he doesn’t know already. I’m certain that boy’s been scheming since the day we met at the riverside. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Leah!”

Leah smiled at Immanuelle, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and the two dissolved into a fit of giggles. By the time they arrived at the library, they were laughing and staggering, tripping over their own shoes, trading jokes and stories.

“Prudence tried to dye her hair red with beet juice,” said Leah between giggles. “And her curls went as blue as a cornflower’s petals. All that effort to catch the eye of Joab Sidney? I mean, the man’s ancient. If you ask me, he’s two steps from the grave.”

“You’re wretched.”

“We’re wretched. That’s why we’re a perfect fit. Always have been.”

“And will be,” said Immanuelle, starting down the hall toward the library, but before she could make it more than a few steps, Leah dragged her back.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, suddenly grave.

“What is it?”

Leah hesitated. “Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. No matter how you feel, no matter how angry it makes you.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul,” said Immanuelle. “You have my word.”

“All right,” said Leah, and her chin trembled a bit. “Give me your hand.”

Immanuelle obeyed without question, and Leah guided her hand past the layers of her gown, until Immanuelle could feel the shape of her belly, which was swollen into a pronounced bump.

“Are you . . . you’re not . . . you can’t be . . . ?”

“Pregnant.”

Immanuelle’s mouth gaped open. “How many months?”

Leah’s brows knit together the way they always did when she was deciding whether or not she wanted to lie. At last she whispered, “Six. Give or take a few weeks.”

Immanuelle went very still and very quiet.

“Say something,” Leah pleaded, in a voice so soft and so young it didn’t even sound like her own. “Say anything. Yell at me if you have to. I’d prefer that to your silence.”

“Is it his?”

“Of course it’s his,” she snapped, with a harshness that didn’t become her.

“But how is this possible? You’ve barely been married a month.”

Leah stared down at her feet, ashamed. “We were betrothed soon after.”

“Soon after what?”

Leah frowned, and she couldn’t tell if it was anger she read in her eyes or hurt. “He came to me one night, before my cutting, while I was doing penance.”

Penance. Of course.

Many girls in Bethel were invited to serve the Church as maidservants to the Prophet’s wives or other inhabitants of the Haven. As a bastard by birth, Immanuelle was never enlisted, but Leah served often in the years before her engagement. Toward the end of her service, it seemed like she spent more nights at the Haven than she did in her own home. Now Immanuelle knew why. “When did it start?”

Leah looked sick with shame. “A few weeks before my first blood.”

“So you were barely thirteen?” Immanuelle whispered, and it was so horrible that even as she said it, she could barely believe it was true. “Leah, you were . . . he was . . .”

Leah’s chin trembled. “We all sin.”

“But he’s the Prophet—”

“He’s just a man, Immanuelle. Men make mistakes.”

“But you were a child. You were just a little girl.”

Leah hung her head, trying to choke back tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have done what you’re doing now.”

“And what am I doing, Leah?”

“Baring your broken heart. Sharing in the shame of my sin like it’s your burden too.” Leah reached out to her then, took her by the hand, and pulled her close. “This pain is mine. I don’t need you to carry it for me. One day you’re going to have to learn that we can’t share in everything. Sometimes we’ll have to walk alone.”