Chương 91: Book 2, Chapter 30: Honey

A sister came rushing in from one of the adjoining kitchens. Her gaze swept over the toppled stool, the scattered vegetables, and then the blood on the chopping board.

"What in the Goddess's name happened here? Is someone hurt?"

"It's Lady Helena. She cut her hand," said Clara.

"It looked deep. I tried to help her, but she ran off."

"Oh no. Not again." The sister pressed a hand to her chest.

"Again?"

"That poor child works herself too hard, no matter how much we tell her not to. I'll go find her." The sister hurried out before Clara could ask anything else. A second sister appeared in the doorway a moment later, her sleeves white with flour. She took in the room and clicked her tongue, glaring at the acolytes.

"Sore wrists again, was it? Or maybe headaches?" Nobody answered.

"Lady Helena is not your pack mule. She doesn't listen to us when we tell her to slow down, but you all should know better than to let her do your chores for you. Finish this up, and if I hear of her carrying anyone's share again, I'm sending you straight to the custodian. And mind your knives, please." The other acolytes exchanged worried glances and immediately got to work, as if their ailments had been miraculously cured. Clara righted her stool, sat back down, and took a deep breath.

Her hands went back to work on their own, but her mind was elsewhere. Assess the situation. Look at the evidence. A deep cut like that, and all Helena cared about was the carrots. And what about the crisscrossed scars running down her pale arm? They looked too orderly to be the result of random accidents like this one.' Lady Helena will shine brighter than any of us could.' That was what Leofric had said. Was it possible she was being abused, maybe even by the Church, like Stella had been?

That somehow, people within the conspiracy discovered she was a potential Saintess and tried to mold her for their purposes? Then again, the sister just now seemed genuinely concerned for her. And Helena isn't an orphaned nobody; she's a baron's daughter. Would Baron Rosewood have stayed silent while something like this was happening to his daughter? And why even torture her in the first place? Surely there were other ways they could've inspired loyalty. Clara wondered if Prince Lochlann knew of the scars.

There were still too many variables to say anything for sure, and wild speculation wasn't going to do anyone any favors. For all Clara knew, it could be a case of self-harm, or of abuse by someone who'd since been dealt with, like those stories where the heroine starts out being tormented by her maid. And then there was that push. It was clearly magic, but Helena wasn't holding a wand or even wearing a ring, and there was no chant, so how did that happen? Only one thing was certain: Clara wanted to find out more.

Not just because of the danger the conspiracy presented to herself, or to help Duke von Rhenia and Iris, but simply because there was a young girl who might need help, and Clara wanted to reach for her hand before the chance soared away. Then again, she couldn't forget that there was a not-insignificant chance that the girl was some sort of sociopathic master manipulator, transmigrator, or both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and Clara plodded back up to her new room with her head hurting from all the unanswered questions. She'd asked two different sisters about Helena during the afternoon, and both times she was thanked for her concern and told the girl was resting. Clara looked out the window slit. If I were in Westwick now, what would I be doing? Goddess, it hasn't been that long since we parted, but I… What a strange feeling this is.

The sun hadn't fully set, yet she was tempted to turn in for an early night, maybe get some sleep before the owl showed up. Just as she was about to change into her nightgown, there was a soft knock on her door. Clara opened it, and on the other side was Helena Rosewood, holding up a lamp with her right hand. The light fell on the lower half of her face and revealed a wide smile—the same one she'd had in the kitchen and by the laundry basins, as if nothing had happened at all.

Her left hand had been wrapped in a neat bandage.

"Good evening, Clara. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Clara couldn't see Helena's eyes in the dark, but her voice carried the usual warmth.

"Lady Helena. How are you doing? Is your hand better?"

"Oh, yes, that was nothing. Sister Marcia made a fuss, she washed it four times and wrapped it herself, then sat with me through supper to make sure I ate properly." Helena raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers.

"Honestly, I'm just grateful I didn't have to take up a healer's time. They're always so busy helping the people of the village." Clara watched her carefully.

"I see. I'm glad you feel better. What can I do for you?"

"I just… I wanted to apologize, Clara. For pushing you like that. I don't know what came over me. Were you frightened? I do hope you're not hurt."

"I'm fine, and I didn't get hurt or anything. Just startled. You didn't have to come all the way here to apologize when you should be resting."

"All the way? No, we're neighbors now, Clara." Helena pointed to the door on the other side of the hallway.

"See? My room is right there. I was so excited when I heard you'd been moved up."

"In that case, I thank you for checking in on me, Lady Helena." Clara paused. She'd have to keep her voice gentle for the next part.

"Though I have to say I'm more worried about you. Those scars on—""Those little things?" Helena kept smiling.

"I mentioned I was sickly when I was little, right? Well, those marks came from the treatment that cured me. They don't hurt anymore or anything, and nowadays I couldn't be more thankful for the path that the Goddess charted for me."

"What sort of treatment leaves that many scars?"

"It was a long process," said Helena.

"But I'm doing great now, so you really don't need to worry about the distant past. Actually, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone else, either—I wouldn't want to trouble them." Clara wasn't convinced, but it was also clear she wasn't going to get anything else from Helena, at least not for now. Elysia wasn't built in a day, as they say. Probably.

"Alright. If you ever feel like talking about it, or if you just want to get anything else off your chest, my door's right here, neighbor. And you can always come to me in Westwick, too." Helena giggled.

"Thank you, neighbor. Oh! There's also another reason I came. You said you wanted to see the library, and you've finished your tasks for today, right? They didn't give me any more work, either. Do you want to go there now?" Clara glanced back at her bed. I guess I'll sleep when I'm out of here.

"Lead the way." They went down into the lower tiers, past the laundry rooms and through a row of arched columns that led to a clock tower. Helena's lamp swung gently with each step, their shadows stretching and shrinking along the stonework as they went.

"The front seats. Yes. Carry the two here, four there." The raspy voice came from a dark stretch of courtyard to their left.

"That's Mother Radegund!" said Helena. The girl followed the voice, and her lamp soon revealed Mother Radegund, sitting on a bench with a notebook on her lap and a pencil in hand. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. How can she write like this? I don't see a wand or a ring on her, either.

"You shouldn't be out so late, Mother," said Helena, setting the lamp down on the bench. But Radegund didn't look at her, her cloudy eyes fixed on her notebook.

"Oh my, this one will be disappointed! Har har!" Helena took Radegund's hands.

"What shall I do with you, Mother? Always lost in thought. Do you want me to take you back inside?"

"If it isn't Helena." Radegund faced her and sniffed.

"Hmm. It's moved. It's closer to your heart now, dearie. Do you feel any different?" Is this related to the 'line' Radegund mentioned?

"I told you, I feel fine, Mother," said Helena.

"I really miss you. This visit's been so busy we haven't spent time together like we used to."

"None of us are fine if you think about it. The Goddess will come for all of us in Her time." Radegund raised her arm and pointed somewhere.

"You know, you used to hide behind that pillar when you were little. You thought I couldn't find you, then you'd cry when I did." Helena puffed her cheeks.

"I did not!"

"You most certainly did. Now leave me be, child. The list is out, and it is the day of judgement. I have a lot of work to do. We can reminisce when all have paid their dues. And take care of yourself! You need to eat more. But not the porridge." Helena hesitated, but ultimately relented and left the old woman be, and they went into the clock tower. Clara had no problem pushing open the double doors—which meant either the tower was open to anyone, or iron was sufficient.

The library was a long wooden room with two open levels, filled with long desks on the left side and rows of bookshelves on the right. The small slits barely let any moonlight through, but lamps brightened the room to sit down and read. Not that there were many people here—besides the two of them, there were no more than a handful of acolytes. Whatever excitement Clara had at finding the place deflated as she perused the bookshelves.

They were stocked with sermon collections, research journals on agriculture and medicine, histories of Arcadia and the surrounding nations, a small section for fiction… It was the same type of text you'd find at the Claves library. Maybe there's more in a different part. Or maybe this isn't the only library here. Still, Clara didn't want to appear suspicious to Helena, so she pulled down a volume on magical enchantments and took a seat. Helena joined her shortly after, holding a poetry compilation.

After a few chapters, Clara put down her book.

"Lady Helena, this is a wonderful collection, but I was wondering if there was something more detailed. Father Anchieta's lessons got me curious, and I'd love to learn about previous Saintesses, read primary accounts of miracles, that sort of thing. Isn't it intriguing to study our predecessors?"

"Hmm." Helena didn't look up right away. When she did, her eyes went to a narrow door at the far end of the upper floor.

"I think records like that would be in the archives, over there. It's just… Well, I don't think you're allowed inside, Clara. It's mostly for the senior scribes." Clara's eyes lingered on the door, then on the golden key resting against Helena's robe.

"But if there's something specific you're looking for, you could ask Father Anchieta—I've seen him there before, so he might have the answers you're looking for, too. Oh, and I could always go check for you, myself. It's the least I could do for a friend!" So Father Anchieta has access to it. That means silver keys work.

"That's a kind offer, Lady Helena. I'll let you know if I ever want to take you up on it." Helena hummed a hymn as they walked back from the library, the lamp swinging between them. Clara paid close attention to every step, drawing a mental map so that she'd be able to find her way back without Helena, if needed. When they reached the hallway where their rooms were, a sister stood outside Clara's door.

"Dame Casewell," the woman said, "your presence is required." Clara glanced at the pitch-black sky through the narrow window at the end of the hall.

"Now, Sister? I was hoping to get some sleep."

"I'm afraid it's urgent."

"A late-night rendezvous, how thrilling!" Helena gave Clara an encouraging wave.

"Have a good night, neighbor. I'll see you tomorrow." Then she disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her. The sister led Clara up the familiar stairs of the back tower, into the chamber where Father Anchieta held his lessons. At first Clara thought there might be a special night lecture, but the priest was nowhere to be found, and inside the room there was only a pot of tea, two cups, and a platter piled with little golden-brown spheres, still faintly steaming.

Clara sat and waited for what had to have been at least half an hour, but nobody came. Her stomach rumbled at the rich, savory smell coming from the food. No, it's rude to eat before your company gets here, she told herself. But after another ten minutes, she overruled her own objection and tried one. It was good—fried dough on the outside, and molten cheese within. Nothing to write home about, but certainly better than porridge. Bishop Dicton would love these.

She was on her third cheese ball when she heard voices outside.

"Yes, the vessel awaits you inside."

"Thank you, Cornelia. You may go for tonight. Know that I appreciate all you do for us, and I am saddened we could not fulfill your desire. The Council chose to prioritize seniority, you see. Perhaps next time." Then there were footsteps, and the door opened. The woman who came in was old and short, wearing deep charcoal robes with thin white threads along the cuffs. Her cropped hair was sparse and gray, parted carefully at the center, and there were wrinkles around her green eyes.

Hanging from her neck was a golden key, which presumably meant this woman was someone important within the Church's hierarchy. Clara rose.

"Be seated," said the woman, waving a hand as she took the other seat.

"You are the young woman who stood up in a public courtroom and proclaimed the fallibility of the Blessing of Truth to the entire Kingdom, yes?" Clara's hands tightened around the armrest, and she nodded slowly.

"Tell me, what do you think gives you the right to question centuries of tradition? Do you have any idea how many headaches that caused? What do you think the world would come to if every person had their own opinion on the Holy Scriptures, even when it contradicted official doctrine? Is there even one reason the Veiled Keys shouldn't be dispatched to deal with you after the canonization ceremony?"

"I, all I meant was that—" Clara stammered.

"The Blessing can, occasionally—" The woman laughed. It was a dry sound that echoed inside the small room.

"Forgive me for the jest. In my position, one finds amusements where she can." She poured herself tea without offering to pour Clara's.

"The Church must evolve with the times, and I cannot begrudge anyone who does their best to improve it, though the Grand Inquisitor certainly can. It took three full meetings of the Ecumenical Council to calm Valentia down. As if I have that kind of time to spare!" The tension in Clara's shoulders eased, though not fully.

"And you are?"

"I am Aemilia, Cardinal Primate and Head of the Sacred Ministry."

"It's an honor, Your Eminence," said Clara. That's even higher up than I thought—so she's the Grand Inquisitor's peer. I didn't expect that from how modest her robes are.

"Yes, yes. Now, let us enjoy some food—I'm not usually one to mix work and meals, but I haven't eaten since this morning. I don't blame you for starting without me, but it is a pity, since you were missing half the taste." She pulled a small clay pot from within her habit and set it on the table with a thump, then pried the lid off. A sweet, flowery scent spread through the room.

"Is that honey?"

"Indeed. From the hives I keep in the orchard. I'm fond of bees, you see, mostly because they don't write correspondence or petitions." Aemilia dipped one of the cheese balls into the pot and ate it whole. Clara did the same, and the snack was indeed much better thanks to the sweetness of the honey meshing with the salty cheese. The Cardinal Primate ate another one, then licked the honey off her thumb.

"Now," she said, wiping her fingers on a cloth.

"Let us get down to business, since it is late and I have a great many matters to attend to on the morrow. The Ecumenical Council received Father Anchieta's request to reword your statement. In light of how close we are to the canonization, I thought it simpler to come in person and settle this directly, so it doesn't get mired in bureaucracy. You wouldn't believe how much the Council wrestled over the seating arrangements. We only finalized them today, after weeks of squabbling.

The Pope is insisting that everything needs to be perfect." The Cardinal Primate sighed, and Clara sympathized. It turned out that the life of an overworked bureaucrat here sounded about the same as it did back in her world." The Goddess's warmth descended upon me, and I was enveloped in pure bliss as I heard Her words of love and care for me and for the faithful," Aemilia recited.

"That was the wording Her Holiness suggested. Tell me plainly, Dame Casewell: what are the specific issues you have with it? And let's focus on the practical side of it. I'm not here to debate theology." Clara straightened. I can work with that.

"My biggest issue is that I didn't actually hear the Goddess. It felt warm, yes, but She didn't speak to me, and I wouldn't call it a blissful experience. It was honestly a bit melancholic."

"No." Aemilia's rejection was immediate.

"You can never say it was melancholic—that is out of the question. Did you feel any comfort?"

"Yes, I did." That much was true.

"Good enough. Then how about we replace 'pure bliss' with 'comfort', and then change the end to 'I felt Her love and care for me and the faithful'?" Hmm. Clara thought about it. That'd make the whole statement ' The Goddess's warmth descended upon me, and I was enveloped in comfort as I felt Her love and care for me and for the faithful.' It still didn't totally correspond to what she'd felt, but it wasn't untrue, strictly speaking. She could agree here and let the matter be settled.

All things considered, the Cardinal Primate had been much more reasonable than expected. But if Clara did that, she wouldn't be a very good lawyer. The Church of the Goddess was an organization with three branches—the pastoral Sacred Ministry, the military Order of Elowen, and the Holy Inquisition.

The Order of Elowen would likely not care about Clara's planned reforms, and the inquisition would certainly oppose them no matter what, since it was stripping away inquisitors from the courtroom and replacing them with prosecutors. But it wasn't the inquisition that had the ears of the people. It wasn't the inquisition that delivered sermons from every pulpit in Arcadia, which could move the masses—or the Members of Parliament—into action. That was the Sacred Ministry, and all its priests, bishops, and sisters.

And the head of that organization, the Cardinal Primate herself, had come all the way here in the middle of the night to discuss Clara's statement. They need my help to make the miracle seem perfect, which means I can charge them for that. It's about time for the Church to learn that a Senior Counsel's billable hours don't come cheap.