Her Rightful Place

14: The Chapel

"Mireille.... Mireille, it is time for Chapel, dear.... Aren't you awake? Oh, Saints preserve us! Are you really still in bed?" Queen Généviève fusses as she comes into Mireille's suite without so much as knocking. Mireille groans and rolls over, burying her head in the pile of pillows on her bed. Christelle stumbles into the room from her own chamber, still bleary-eyed but brandishing a fire poker, ready to protect her friend. Upon seeing the Queen, she drops the fire poker and curtseys, but her features arrange themselves into a decidedly defiant expression.

"Are you really coming in here before dawn to ask if we're ready for Chapel?" Christelle questions slowly, not quite believing her ears and trying to get the Vyrunian right. "We didn't go to bed until midnight, at least, and you're here five hours later wanting us at Chapel? Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but yesterday was a terribly long and full day, and poor Mireille can't even be half recovered! Besides, you didn't even inform us that we should be going to Chapel this morning! We can start this tomorrow. Have fun in church. We'll see you at a decent hour." Queen Généviève is aghast and thunderstruck.

"No, I will not hear of such a thing as skipping Chapel! You have been without God long enough in Mordalce, and I will not have my daughter without salvation for another moment! Mireille, get up, dear! We will be late if you do not come anon!" Mireille groans.

"Ridiculous," she grumbles in Vyrunian, burying herself further in the pillows and blankets. "God is omnipresent. I believe in Him. Chapel before He wakes up is unnecessary. Good night." The Queen gasps again; clearly she has no idea how to deal with Mireille and her very sound logic. Accordingly, she sets her jaw, marches into the room, and whips the covers off her daughter. Mireille hisses like a cat and jettisons further into the pillow mountain against her headboard. The Queen, undeterred, starts flinging pillows across the room. Finally Mireille is uncovered, still in yesterday's undergarments, which, fortunately for her, hide most of her scars. She gives the Queen a glare that could melt the marble palace walls before crawling out of bed, throwing on her thick dark cloak and a pair of wooden shoes, and tromping towards the door.

"Oh, no, dear. You simply cannot enter God's House looking like that," Queen Généviève protests. Mireille rolls her eyes impatiently.

"Do you want to be on time or not?" she demands, still speaking Vyrunian. Christelle is baffled. She must be recovering her memory, in this place, else her subconscious is still in control. Perhaps Agnes's spell is wearing off, now that she's come home, she muses, unable to come up with a more plausible explanation. The Queen, however, fails to marvel at Mireille's newfound fluency in her birth tongue and is instead miffed that Mireille is once again in possession of infallible logic.

"I suppose we must be off, then. Christelle, you too," Queen Généviève orders, sweeping past both girls to lead the way. Christelle grabs a cloak of her own and drapes it over her night-rail, muttering obscenities in Mordalcean under her breath. They scuttle through a series of marble corridors before reaching an imposing set of double doors, all thick wood and stained glass depicting the pivotal moments from the Book of the Faith. A pair of footmen opens each door slowly, straining against the weight while the Queen taps her foot impatiently. In her spotless white gown with elegantly coiffed locks, she stands in stark contrast to the two young women clad in nightdresses, black cloaks, and wooden shoes with disheveled tresses. Christelle hands Mireille a scarf she had snatched on the way out of their suite and both of them belatedly tie scarves over their heads to contain their hair. The Queen presses costly jeweled prayer beads into each girl's hand before leading them into the chapel, which is shining with gold and polished wood and yet dark with smoke from incense; the only light comes from the countless candles strategically placed around the room. Upon seeing their entrance, the monks and priest begin chanting in a tongue neither Mireille nor Christelle recognizes. The Queen hurries them to the front of the room and motions for them to kneel on the cold stone floor.