The rain came suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Clouds had roamed thickly for days, to the point where coats and hoods were drawn tight in anticipation. Unfortunately, what sunshine that had managed to lighten the sky’s shade shrank quickly, leaving a bleak torrent before the clock struck five.
Fortunately, a dragon was easy to spot in any weather. If nothing else, the rider’s guarded lantern was signal enough. In the thicket where the Bertholde family’s mansion resided, the descending light drew eager eyes.
The maid, Judith, opened the door before the rider dismounted, casting a dim pallor on the battered grass. The dragon’s dark scales gleamed emerald green where the doorway’s light touched them. Pastel yellow eyes rolled about without pupils, but the humans felt the foreboding heat of their gaze when they stopped. Judith, used to draconic visitors from Mr. Bertholde’s powerful acquaintance, merely curtsied and called a welcome over the storm.
Small candles blinked eerily from the second floor windows. The far right pane flickered with a pacing shadow. The rider glanced at the figure and the land surrounding it. From what was visible through the splintering rain, the Bertholde estate poured wealth. An elaborate garden glimpsed at visitors from beyond a back gate, stretching into strange shapes when stared at too long. Flowers and green shrubbery likewise embraced the ground bordering the front of the house. Any traces of life that could have inhabited this spot before the family’s settlement had been thoroughly erased.
Judith called once more, uncertain if the visitors had heard her. The rider patted her beast and traipsed up the muddied path to the steps. Once assured of their companion’s safe entry into the house, the dragon wrenched into the dark woods surrounding the house, despite the Bertholde family’s assurances of adequate shelter in their correspondence.
Inside, the visitor removed her hood, revealing herself in a nun’s habit. Judith removed her wool, thickened with rain, and conveyed her to the parlor. Her expression did not change its neutrality.
A fire and greeted the nun, as well as a haggard young man who had obviously dressed in a hurry.
“Sister Constance, I presume?” he asked excitedly.
“I am indeed, Mr. Bertholde,” Sister Constance replied. There was an awkwardness in her step as she accepted the invitation to sit.
“I’ll have tea brought to you immediately. Forgive me, I had not been expecting you until seven.”
“The contents of your request to the church abbey expedited my arrival. I hope I did not inconvenience you.”
“Not at all! It is a tremendous relief, dear Sister. A tremendous relief. How was your journey?”
Lightning conveniently supported the Sister’s polite, “It could have been better, sir. But I am here now, and safely. Thank the Lord,” she swiftly added.
“Yes, thank the Lord,” Bertholde echoed fervently. “My mother’s condition has only worsened.”
Sister Constance nodded gravely. “Have there been other incidents?”
“Judith had been the only one present.” Bertholde, however, did not glance at said woman as she set the tea between them. “But—I saw the aftermath in terrible clarity. The nurse—I had hired her not long after beseeching the church—she had been.” He swallowed. “She had been much in the same condition as my father.”
Sister Constance nodded again.
“The Church has been imbued with the divine fortitude to withstand a dragon’s influence. We had pleaded with my mother against her decision to take the hatchling instead of my father, but she secured the connection without our knowledge. Please have mercy on her, Sister. Ask God to forgive her. She would never harm any creature!”
Sister Constance sipped her tea. “Where is the dragon in question?”
Bertholde grimaced, looking to the dark window. “Gone. As soon as the alarm was raised, the wretched thing escaped into the forest. We’ve not been able to find it. My mother…she laughs whenever I ask her to reveal its location. A horrible laugh, Sister.” He shuddered.
“Be at ease, Mr. Bertholde. I will do all I can to save your mother’s soul.”
Bertholde clasped her hands. “Thank you, Sister. God bless you.”
Sister Constance finished her tea and asked to be shown to the former mistress of the house.
Mrs. Bertholde had not stopped her pacing when Judith ushered Sister Constance into her bedchamber. Despite her wild step, however, her dress was neatly fastened, her hair carefully pinned. Aside from the candle in her window, the room was completely dark beyond the single dome of light. The effect pulled the walls closer, until the room was rendered more confining.
“Thank you, Judith,” Sister Constance said.
Judith inclined her head and closed the door. The lock clicked.
The nun turned back to the pacing lady. “Mrs. Bertholde? Maria?”
Mrs. Bertholde stopped. Wide, shadowed eyes met her visitor.
“You.”
The rain had not abated when, at seven o’clock, a knock rapped on the door.
“Hello,” said a kindly woman, “I am Sister Constance. Mr. Bertholde requested the Church’s help in examining his unfortunate mother.”
Bertholde was naturally confused. He asked if there was another Sister Constance that had been sent. Confusion shattered into alarm when Sister Constance’s brow furrowed and answered that she was the only Constance among her Sisters.
Bertholde rushed upstairs to his mother’s chamber. No one answered his urgent calls as Judith unlocked the door.
candle had been moved to the bedside table. The window had been left opened a fraction, enough to chill the room. Rain giggled darkly on the panes. Neither nun nor patient were present.
Bertholde hurried to the lattice, throwing it open. But the storm had swallowed what visibility had remained. After a few distraught moments, Bertholde became aware of a biting pain in his palm.
There, glinting bloody on the sill, was a wedding ring.
