Free Selfish is the Heart by Megan Hart Page A

surprised, but it would have been nice if the Mother who greeted her had mentioned a test. “What sort of test?”
    “Oh, all sorts.”
    “Reading? Figures?”
    “Yes, of course.” Tansy shifted on the bed, her chin lifting. She spoke by rote. “One who is not educated cannot properly serve.”
    “What else will I be tested on?”
    “Oh . . . the canon of the Faith. Other skills. Have you any other skills, Annalise?”
    “Ah, that depends upon whose opinion you solicit. Yes. I have skills. I can tat a doily, darn a sock. I can, if hard-pressed, compose a poem, though I make no boast of its merit. Is that the sort of thing you mean?” Annalise had heard stories of what tasks a Handmaiden might be expected to perform. Other, more intimate skills, she was not going to mention.
    “Oh, you sound so accomplished.” Tansy clapped with delight. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully!”
    “What happens if I don’t?”
    Tansy looked pensive. “Nothing harsh. Don’t fear.”
    Annalise hadn’t been afraid, only curious. “Do they turn you away?”
    “Oh, no. Nothing like that. We’re all placed in classes according to our skills. There’s no term, such as there would be in school. We move from skill level to skill level, until we can take our place as teachers to those who need instruction, or we’re assigned patrons. Handmaidens never stop learning.”
    “Lovely,” Annalise said without enthusiasm. “I can only wonder that more poor families don’t send their girlchildren here for their educations, especially since the Order doesn’t indenture its novitiates.”
    Tansy tilted her head. “Oh, I suppose some might . . . but I can’t imagine why anyone who didn’t have a true Calling would come here.”
    “I can,” Annalise said, but then turned the subject to other places.

Chapter 6
    H e knew her name, now. Annalise. It suited her, somehow regal but not royal. Cassian knew she would never be an Anna.
    After a daylong session of testing to determine her path of training, she would no doubt be tired, hungry, even bristling with annoyance. He wasn’t surprised that she’d sprung from the chair when he came in, or that her mouth had twisted and her brow furrowed. He’d have done the same, he thought, watching her.
    “You!”
    “Me,” he said.
    Annalise had woven her hair into a single braid in the style they all wore. If asked, he’d have said he preferred the tight ringlets falling down her back, but nobody questioned him, and Cassian worked hard to never let it be known he had a preference about which anyone might ask.
    “Where are the Mothers? Deliberata, Consolata, Patience?” Sudden weary laughter erupted from her. “By the Arrow, I cannot tell you how difficult I find it to believe there are women who answer to such names.”
    Cassian had closed the door behind him and now he moved forward into the room. “It would behoove you to believe it.”
    She watched him warily. “And you? Your name. Let me guess. Arrogance? Liar?”
    “Men don’t enter the Order of Solace.”
    “But men can become Temple priests.”
    “Priests keep the name of their birth unless they choose otherwise. They’re not given other names.”
    “You mean the men get to keep their identities.” She gave a small sneer. “They’re not required to take on a new persona to perform their service.”
    “Priests must take on many things. A name, at least, changes only what others call you. It can’t change who you are.”
    She sniffed and crossed her arms over her stomach. “So, what is your name? Who are you? You must have some place here, not in the stable or the yard. You said yourself they don’t allow men in the Order.”
    He waited without giving himself away while she circled ’round him, looking him over. Cassian had been so scrutinized before, many times, and even her hottest gaze could not move him. Or so he told himself as she moved closer to look at the high collar of his jacket, the length of his sleeves