Seraphina's POV
The bucket of freezing water hits my hands and I bite back a scream.
Scrub harder, Sister Agnes snaps. She's the meanest nun here, with a face like a dried apple and a heart full of vinegar. Those floors won't clean themselves, sinner.
Sinner. That's what they all call me now. Not Lady Seraphina. Not even just Seraphina. Only sinner.
I'm on my knees in the convent hallway, scrubbing stone floors that are already clean. My hands are raw and bleeding. My blue ball gown is long gone now I wear a rough brown dress that scratches my skin. My golden hair is hidden under a gray scarf.
Three days ago, I was a duke's daughter.
Now I'm a prisoner.
Sister Agnes kicks my bucket, spilling dirty water everywhere. You missed a spot. Start over.
Something dark flashes through my mind. I imagine grabbing that bucket and hitting her with it. Imagine her shocked face as I run for the convent gates.
But where would I go? Father disowned me. Julian destroyed my reputation. The Queen declared me unfit for society. I have nowhere. No one.
I'm trapped.
Yes, Sister Agnes, I whisper, picking up the bucket.
She walks away, her footsteps echoing. I'm alone in the cold hallway again.
Alone with my thoughts. My memories. My rage.
I scrub the same spot over and over, but I'm not really seeing the floor. I'm seeing Julian's face when he accused me. Violet's hidden smile. Father's cold rejection.
And Alexander. Crown Prince Alexander, who took one step forward like he might help, then stepped back and looked away.
I trusted him. For one stupid second, I thought he would save me.
But everyone I trusted betrayed me.
My hands scrub harder. Faster. The brush tears at my skin but I don't care. The pain feels good. Real.
You'll scrub right through to the basement at that rate.
I jump. An old nun stands at the end of the hallway. I've never seen her before and I've been here for three days, so I've met everyone. At least, I thought I had.
She's ancient, maybe seventy, with white hair and eyes so sharp they seem to see through my skull into my thoughts.
Mother Superior Marguerite wants to see you, the old nun says. Now.
My stomach twists. Mother Superior is in charge of the whole convent. I've only seen her once, from a distance. Did I do something wrong? Will my punishment get worse?
I follow the old nun through winding corridors. My heart pounds. We climb stone stairs that seem to go on forever. Finally, we reach a heavy wooden door at the top of a tower.
The old nun knocks three times, then leaves without a word.
Enter, calls a voice from inside.
I push open the door.
The room is small but warm. A fire burns in the fireplace. Bookshelves cover every wall, crammed with more books than I've ever seen. And sitting in a chair by the fire is Mother Superior Marguerite.
She's old too, maybe sixty-five, with silver hair and a face full of wrinkles. But her eyes are sharp and intelligent. She's reading a book philosophy, I notice. Aristotle.
Sit, she says without looking up.
I sit in the chair across from her. My hands are still bleeding from scrubbing. I try to hide them in my lap.
Marguerite finishes her page, marks her place, and sets down the book. Then she looks at me. Really looks, like she's studying a puzzle.
You're angry, she says. Not a question. A fact.
I don't know how to answer. Nuns are supposed to preach forgiveness and peace. If I admit I'm angry, will she punish me?
It's alright, Marguerite continues. You should be angry. They destroyed you with lies. Took everything. And now you're here, scrubbing floors while the people who ruined your life throw parties and laugh.
Tears burn my eyes. I didn't do anything wrong.
I know.
Those two words break something inside me. I know. The first person in three days who believes me.
I start crying. Not pretty, quiet tears. Ugly, choking sobs. All the fear and pain and rage pour out of me.
Marguerite waits until I'm finished. Then she hands me a handkerchief.
Better? she asks.
I wipe my eyes. I don't understand. Aren't you supposed to tell me to forgive them? To pray for their souls?
Why would I tell you that?
Because you're a nun.
Marguerite laughs. It's sharp and bitter. Oh child, I'm only a nun because forty years ago, I had nowhere else to go. Just like you.
I stare at her. What do you mean?
She leans back in her chair. The firelight makes shadows dance across her face. Forty years ago, I was Duchess Marguerite Beaumont. I was beautiful, wealthy, engaged to a prince. Then my cousin, who was jealous of me, created lies about me. Said I was sleeping with stable boys. She forged letters, bribed witnesses, exactly like what happened to you.
My breath catches. The same thing?
Almost exactly. Betrayal doesn't change much over the years. The methods stay the same. Marguerite's eyes grow distant. My fiancé the prince called off our wedding. My father disowned me. The King declared me unfit. They sent me here to rot.
But you survived.
I did more than survive. She leans forward. I got revenge.
The word hangs in the air like smoke. Revenge.
How? I whisper.
First, I learned to become someone else. I studied people, learned how they think and what they fear. I made connections with the right people. And then, one by one, I destroyed everyone who destroyed me.
But you're still here. In the convent.
By choice now, not force. After my revenge was complete, I discovered I liked the quiet. The books. The power that comes from being underestimated. She studies me. The question is: do you want revenge, Seraphina? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life scrubbing Sister Agnes's floors?
My hands clench into fists. I want them to pay. All of them.
Even the Crown Prince who abandoned you?
Alexander's face flashes through my mind. That moment when he looked away.
Yes, I say. Even him.
Marguerite smiles. It's not a kind smile. It's the smile of a wolf. Good. Then your education begins tonight.
What kind of education?
The kind that will teach you how to destroy your enemies. How to become someone new. How to take back everything they stole from you. She stands and walks to a bookshelf. She pulls out a book and hands it to me.
It's about poisons.
I stare at it, then at her. You're going to teach me to poison people?
Among other things. Poisons, politics, manipulation, disguise, seduction. Everything a woman needs to survive in a world that wants to destroy her. Marguerite's eyes gleam. But first, you need to understand something important. Revenge isn't about anger. Anger makes you sloppy. Revenge is about patience. Planning. Becoming so powerful that your enemies beg for the mercy they never showed you.
My heart races. This is insane. A Mother Superior teaching me revenge?
But I think about Violet's smug smile. Julian's lies. Father's rejection. Alexander's cowardice.
When do we start? I ask.
Now. Marguerite pulls out more books. You have two years before you're ready. Two years to become someone completely different. Someone they'll never recognize.
Two years is a long time.
Revenge is worth waiting for. She opens a book on disguises. Now, the first thing we change is your appearance. That golden hair makes you too recognizable. We'll dye it dark brown. Then we work on your voice, your mannerisms, your
A knock interrupts us. Sharp. Urgent. Three times.
Marguerite's face goes pale. That's the emergency signal.
She opens the door. The old nun from before stands there, breathing hard.
Mother Superior, royal guards just arrived. They're searching the convent.
Searching? For what?
For Lady Seraphina Ashford. The old nun's eyes find me. They have orders to kill her. Make it look like suicide. The Duke paid them.
My father wants me dead.
Marguerite moves fast. She grabs my arm and drags me to the bookshelf. She pulls a book and part of the shelf swings open a hidden door.
Get in. Don't make a sound. Don't come out until I get you.
But
Now! She shoves me into the darkness behind the bookshelf.
The door swings shut. I'm trapped in blackness.
Through a crack in the wood, I can see Marguerite's room. She calmly sits back down with her book like nothing happened.
Heavy footsteps echo up the stairs. The door bangs open.
Three men in guard uniforms enter. But their uniforms are wrong too clean, too new. They're not real guards. They're assassins dressed as guards.
The leader has a scar across his face. Mother Superior. We're looking for a girl. Blonde, nineteen, goes by Seraphina.
Many girls come through here, Marguerite says calmly. Could you be more specific?
Scar-face pulls out a knife. Don't play games, old woman. The Duke of Ashford paid us well to clean up his mess. Where is she?
I don't respond well to threats.
He presses the knife to her throat. Where. Is. She.
My hand covers my mouth to keep from screaming. Marguerite's life is in danger because of me.
But Marguerite doesn't look scared. She looks... calm. Almost amused.
If you kill me, she says quietly, you'll never find her. This convent has sixty rooms and twenty secret passages. You could search for days.
Scar-face hesitates.
But, Marguerite continues, I'll make you a deal. Leave now, tell the Duke the girl killed herself, and I'll give you double whatever he paid.
Double?
I was a duchess. I have money hidden. Lots of it. Kill me and you get nothing. Leave now and you get rich.
The three assassins exchange looks. Money always wins.
Fine, Scar-face says. But if you're lying
I'm not. Marguerite stands calmly. Now get out of my convent.
They leave. Their footsteps fade down the stairs.
I wait in the darkness, shaking. My father hired assassins to kill me. My own father wants me dead.
The bookshelf swings open. Marguerite pulls me out.
Pack nothing, she says urgently. We leave tonight.
Leave? Where?
Away from here. Your father will realize his assassins lied. He'll send more. We need to disappear. She grabs books and shoves them in a bag. You wanted revenge? Good. It starts now. But first, we have to survive.
How? We're two women alone with assassins hunting us!
Marguerite smiles that wolf smile again. Did you really think I survived forty years with just books and prayers?
She reaches under her desk and pulls out a sword. A real, sharp, deadly sword.
I told you, child. I got my revenge. And I learned that sometimes, you have to become the monster everyone thinks you are.
She tosses me a cloak. Put this on. We have a long journey ahead. And Seraphina?
Yes?
The girl you were died tonight. Tomorrow, we start building who you'll become. Someone stronger. Smarter. Deadlier.
She opens the window. Cold night air rushes in. Below is a three-story drop to the ground.
Can you climb? Marguerite asks.
I look at the darkness below. At the woman offering me revenge. At the choice between staying and dying or jumping and living.
I take the cloak.
I can learn, I say.