Chương 64: Book 2, Chapter 3: Happy Company

"I think this is where you want to start." Clara circled a phrase in Professor Morris's notebook: ' Quod fractum est sanetur, quod extinctum est accendatur, quod periit reddatur.'

"I don't know the exact translation, since I'm not familiar with some of the terms, but I can tell it's talking about fixing something fractured, casting light on what was extinguished." The pacing of Helena's words, or whatever Morris had been able to scribble down during the miracle, was more ceremonial than legal, so Clara hadn't been able to fully parse all of it, but this seemed to be the part that was most likely related to the restoration of Stella's memories.

And therefore, the part most likely to help Morris in his search for a cure for Forrest's Memory Void.

"I see. I'll try to compare this section with my previous work on memory magic, and whatever texts I can find over at the restricted section of the library." The professor pushed his glasses up.

"Thank you for taking the time to show me this before your departure. I expect I'll have made significant progress by your return, at which point I may need your unique expertise again." Clara nodded.

"Best of luck, Professor." They'd developed a good working relationship over the past few weeks—Clara helping Morris with his research, both through her Latin knowledge and by letting him examine her, and Morris teaching her some more magic, now that she could cast directly. She'd already expanded her repertoire beyond lighting up rooms or cutting apples and the occasional high inquisitor. She could perform a limited version of Morris's magical sight, levitate light objects, and even summon a tiny flame.

Having to control her own magical energy gave spells an additional layer of complexity, but at least now she wasn't limited to the paltry amounts of power that gems could store. Clara glanced at her pocket watch. It was almost time to meet Bel. Good thing there had been enough time to meet Morris and to settle the lease.

"Before I leave for the Empire, are you sure you don't want to tell me more about the dark magic that almost cost me my arm?" asked Clara.

"Oh, I'd be delighted to tell you everything I know about it!" Morris gave her a cheeky smile.

"Provided you reciprocate by sharing the source of your knowledge of the Sacred Tongue. It'd be a fair trade, I daresay." Touché, Morris. At this point, Clara almost didn't mind telling him the full truth: that she was a transmigrator who'd been sent to this world through unknown means and taken over Stella's body. He might even be able to help figure out what caused her to move between worlds. But there was a simple reason she couldn't do that yet: she wanted Iris to be the first to know.

This trip might be a good chance to come clean to her. Clara gathered her notes, exchanged farewells with the professor, and made her way out of the faculty offices and into the sunny Claves campus. She'd just about reached the main gates when a familiar voice called from behind her.

"Casewell." Clara immediately turned around and curtsied. Lochlann stood in front of her, his hand resting lightly on Helena's back. He wore a green riding jacket fitted neatly to his frame, while the girl beside him wore her Claves uniform, her honey-blonde hair arranged in a bun to conceal the white at its tips. Mostly.

The Church, Clara had been told, was very particular about how a not-yet-canonized Saintess ought to present herself in public, which essentially meant pretending nothing had happened at all until they were good and ready to announce it.

"Your Highness. Lady Helena."

"Edward tells me the matter of the account is settled." Lochlann's tone was light, almost playful.

"I imagine it was quite the hassle." Wait, did he know he was sending me running around on a fool's errand trying to open that account? Clara had assumed Lochlann hadn't even thought about the hurdles of opening an account for someone of her station, but now it felt more like he knew exactly what would happen and wanted to get a kick out of the situation. The gall of this kid.

"It is, Your Highness. Thanks to Lord Edward, the bank was eventually accommodating. I'll be ready to receive the transfer at your earliest convenience," said Clara.

"Good. I'll have the paperwork done next week, and the funds will be settled by the time you return from the Empire." Clara raised an eyebrow. So he's already heard about that. She had not realized the prince's information network operated with such speed.

"I appreciate that, Your Highness." He nodded.

"I hope you're feeling well, Miss Clara." Helena approached her with a soft smile. Up close, the white in her hair was harder to ignore, and Clara noticed the usual topaz ring on her finger had been replaced with a plain silver band.

"Has there been any pain in your arm? Stiffness in the morning? Anything at all out of the ordinary?" The questions were exceedingly warm and earnest, to a degree that was either completely genuine or so well-rehearsed that Clara could not tell the difference. The most unsettling thing about Helena Rosewood was that, even now, with everything Clara knew, she still couldn't tell. Was she part of the conspiracy? If so, had she turned her back on them by healing Clara? Was Helena being manipulated, like Stella?

Or was she the manipulator, like Marcella? This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"No pain at all, my lady." Clara flexed her fingers to demonstrate. She hadn't told Helena that the miracle also restored the missing memories and magical energy, so as far as the Church was concerned, the only thing that had happened was purging the corrosion.

"Thank you once again for your assistance. I am in your debt." Helena waved her hand.

"I already said you don't have to thank me, Miss Clara. I really wasn't… It wasn't me, was it? Not really. I only opened the door, and the Goddess did the rest. Frankly, I barely remember it." Helena lowered her voice.

"And the Church says I shouldn't even speak of it too much. Until the ceremony, you know."

"You're too modest, Helena. You've done something incredible—take pride in it," said Lochlann. Helena blushed and let out a small laugh, and Lochlann took her hand. Clara took this budding display of affection as her cue to leave. As Clara approached the Westwick Plaza, the first thing she noticed was a swarm of beige jackets and green sashes moving with cheerful purpose around a long line of carriages.

She dodged a pair of sailors carrying what looked suspiciously like the entire contents of Madame Silka's atelier and made her way up the steps to the hotel.

"Miss Clara!" Emma came barreling out of the lobby, her freckled cheeks flushed. She looked the same as ever—same neat uniform, same earnest brown eyes—except she now had a small travel satchel strapped to her waist. The notebook Clara had bought her months ago was poking out of it.

"Emma, it's good to see you. How are things around here?" asked Clara.

"It seems quite hectic."

"They've been packing since dawn. Lady Iris changed her mind about which dresses to take three times. And the duchess—er, Lady Bel—she's been teaching the porters a song that I don't think I'm supposed to remember any of." Clara shrugged.

"That sounds about right."

"Oh, and Lord Conrad has been pacing around the lobby. I think he's nervous about something."

"Are you sure that's not just Conrad being Conrad? He's always scowling, after all." Emma leaned in closer to Clara.

"That's the thing. He's not scowling." Clara chuckled, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Emma's ear.

"Have you kept up with your studies?"

"Mhm." Emma proudly tapped the notebook through the satchel's flap.

"I wrote all the practice sentences you told me to. The other day Lady Iris saw the shopping list I wrote for her tea with Lady Felicity, and she said it was adequate. I think that means it was good?"

"You're right about that. Good work, Emma."

"I thought maybe—on the ship, if you have time—""We'll find time," said Clara. Emma's whole face brightened.

"Emma." A clipped voice from atop the steps.

"My sister is asking after her parasols." Conrad von Rhenia, who indeed only had the faintest trace of a scowl on his face, wore a dark traveling coat with a silver eagle pinned at the lapel. His hand was resting on a saber at his hip, and his hair had been combed carefully. Emma curtsied and hurried off to the lobby. Conrad watched her go, then turned his crimson eyes on Clara with an expression that could only be described as uncomfortable.

"Miss Casewell."

"Lord Conrad." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight to the other side.

"I…" he began, and stopped.

"My sister is pleased that you are accompanying us." Okay, Emma was right; he's definitely nervous.

"Lord Conrad, are you alright? Do you need some water?" He grimaced.

"Ah, well, quite. It's merely been a while since I've seen the good Duchess de Bragança, and there are some unresolved matters between us. But that aside, I had been meaning to speak to you." Clara waited for him to continue.

"About what happened. At the lakeside." He cleared his throat again.

"If it weren't for you—well, we went there to rescue you in the first place, so if it weren't for you there'd have been no issues at all—but what I mean to say is, thanks to you, a dangerous enemy of House von Rhenia was brought out of the shadows and defeated. You have my gratitude."

"The gratitude is mutual, Lord Conrad. If it weren't for you and your family, I don't even want to think about how things would have gone for me." He offered her his hand, and she shook it. She couldn't help but smile. Two months ago, Conrad had been demanding that she ' stay away from his sister', and a few weeks ago he was essentially calling for Clara's execution because she'd chosen to defend Rowena. Eldritch abominations had a way of giving one perspective.

That was when two brawny arms wrapped around Conrad and Clara's shoulders before Clara could so much as turn her head. Bel, smelling faintly of rum and pipe smoke, had materialized between them as if from thin air.

"What a touching little reconciliation," she said merrily.

"Good morning, Bel," said Clara.

"Indeed it is! I can't wait to see the sea again. The air this far inland doesn't suit me." She turned her head slowly toward Conrad.

"Speaking of far away, Connie, tell me. Are you ready yet?" Conrad pulled away from her embrace and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his saber.

"You'll find I've improved significantly."

"Ready for what?" Clara asked.

"I'm so glad you asked. Our dear Connie here has been engaged to my Luisa for, oh, four years now."

"Five," said Conrad firmly.

"Five! And in those five years he has very politely written her many fine letters about troop movements and trade tariffs, like an absolute charmer of a young man, but he has yet to achieve the one, simple request I made of him, the sole condition he ought to fulfill before he can actually marry her." Troop movements and trade tariffs. That's certainly one way to flirt.

"And what condition is that?"

"It is, naturally, defeating me in a duel."

"Defeat you. In a duel," Clara repeated.

"Mm."

"Personally?"

"Of course, personally. What do you take me for, a coward?" Bel laughed, and several sailors across the courtyard reflexively laughed back.

"I would never deny Luisa my blessing to marry the man of her choice, but I do require him to earn it like a proper husband. He's tried a few times, but the results were most disappointing." Conrad's ears went pink at the very tips. This was certainly becoming a remarkable day for new information about the von Rhenia heir.

"So, do you feel ready, Connie?"

"…I am close." Close? He cut down that monster, but he's not confident he can stand against his future mother-in-law?

"Ha! Did you hear that, Clara? He is close. Last summer, he was getting there. The summer before that, he had promising fundamentals. We are making excellent progress, Connie. At this rate, Luisa will be married before she's forty!" Bel turned back to Clara.

"Though, between us, I think she is also enjoying watching him squirm. She is, after all, my daughter." Before Conrad could respond, the steady clatter of hooves on cobblestone announced a single rider approaching the Plaza. A black gelding drew to an unhurried halt next to the line of carriages, and its rider dismounted in a fluid motion, handing the reins off to a porter without looking at him.

"Ah, the last of our happy company arrives, right on time." Bel said, finally letting go of Clara. Warren made his way toward them with a casual smirk on his face, though his eyes were heavier than usual. He wore his customary suit and cravat combination, and attached to the sides of his horse were two travel bags.

"I couldn't well turn down a personal request from Your Grace, could I?" Wait, he's coming too? For what?

"No, you could not," said Bel.

"Now, you and I are going to need to have a talk about forms of address, little Albion. After all, we're friends now, yes? Should I call you Warry? Righty? Or does Ren work better? Decisions, decisions." Warren's smirk vanished, and Clara almost burst out laughing.