The cathedral had lost none of its beauty since her last visit. That was not to say she had expected it to, this building vastly different in its purpose than either the academies or the library. Indeed, while the scale of the cathedral gave it its grandeur, the stained glass windows and carved detailing and paintings, they all remained as beautiful regardless of size.

  “Bishop of Augsburg.” She greeted his arrival with a curtsey, a polite smile.

  “My child, it is good to see you again,” he said, a warmth to his voice, smile amicable, and he held his hands behind his back. Much like herself, he was someone who consciously held himself to his image.

  There could be no power without politics.

  “I should apologise, that I thought I would be staying in the capital and so went to Confession there,” she said, her voice a touch softer, hands clasped.

  He gave a gentle chuckle. “There is no need to apologise for that,” he said, then hummed. “I am curious what made my child return sooner. Oh, but that’s merely idle talk.”

  She gave a note of laughter. “It is that I received word my husband is returning, that is all. Perhaps it is silly of me to want to see him a few days earlier….”

  While she looked to the side, somewhat abashed, his smile softened. “How can it be silly to be devoted to one’s husband? No, it is quite encouraging. My child sets a good example for her subjects to follow.”

  Her lips wanted to curl, already clear to her the direction the bishop wished to take this conversation. That did not mean she intended to make it easy.

  She turned back to face him and tilted her head as she asked, “How are the new churches progressing? From the last letter Mr Schmitt sent, everything is on schedule.”

  Although subtle, his smile thinned, a few chuckles falling out as he brought one hand around to touch his chin. “I dare say my child knows more than me. Deacon Schmitt has proven capable overseeing these matters, so I try not to interfere.”

  “Then pray allow this one to reassure sir that these matters are going well. For the city and my personal lands, it need not be said that I contributed appropriately to the costs, while for those growing villages elsewhere in the county I have personally encouraged those local lords and ladies to appropriately contribute. I have also arranged for the communities to help with the constructions, and I have had one of my master architects handle where best to acquire the stone for these buildings and such.”

  Her words lacked pride, a statement of facts and nothing more. That it was only natural she did this much.

  She brought her hands together, a warm smile on her lips. “If there should be any significant shortfalls, I shall be dedicating the bazaar this year to this, shall we say, renewal of faith? Whatever excess is raised shall naturally be otherwise donated to these churches.”

  He listened to that all with his amicable smile, eyes a touch pinched, not a flicker of emotion upsetting his tranquillity. “My, that is wonderful to hear.”

  “I suppose that, as it related to the new churches, Mr Schmitt did not specifically mention it to sir.” She paused there, showing a contrite smile. “Not that one should speak on these matters. Do pardon my overstep,” she said.

  For a moment, he said nothing, simply regarded her. Once that moment passed, he turned to the side in a few unhurried steps. “My child certainly has been busy.”

  “One must use those blessings bestowed by our Lord,” she simply said, said no more.

  He gave a gentle nod at that, then his mouth thinned. “I confess, there is a worry in my heart that my child intends well…” he said, trailing into an inviting silence.

  One she had no intention to be invited to and so flatly said, “That is a strange worry.”

  “I suppose it is,” he said lightly, and he brought his hands together. “When someone knows they are doing something wrong, it is easy to guide them back on to the right path. When someone is convinced they are doing good, it is much more difficult.”

  “Is that so?” she said, her tone interested, yet otherwise lacking emotion.

  This time, he did chuckle. “It is.”

  Her lack of interest in entertaining him on this topic continued, that she was content to let silence settle this time. In that silence, she raised her hands to the rosary beads around her neck, and she took the first between her finger and thumb, the cross in her other hand.

  A long, quiet silence, which eventually ended in a tinkling as she tucked the rosary beads and cross under her collar. “If there is nothing else, it ill-suits the cathedral to be so empty.”

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  “My child… I have heard of your library,” he said.

  “Indeed, I rather like it. My father’s study will always belong to him in my heart, so to have a place of my own where I may read, it is rather nice. There is much space to entertain guests for less formal occasions too. Without my husband here, I have been quite lonely.”

  Once she finished speaking, he let out a sigh, not overly heavy or deep, yet enough to leave a mark in the vast space of the cathedral. “That is not the library I speak of.”

  “Then I am at a loss as that is the only library I know of that is mine,” she said. There was no humour to her voice, no knowing smirk on her lips, nor even a feigned innocence.

  Indeed, when he turned to her, he found her entirely willing to meet his gaze. “My child….” With it rather clear she would not co-operate, he could only continue. “The extravagant library by the new academy.”

  “Oh, that one is not mine,” she said.

  “Forgive me for misunderstanding when my child has worked so hard to raise funds for its construction,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face which did not reach his eyes.

  She tilted her head to the side. “Sir is of course forgiven,” she said, then bowed her head. “If there is nothing else….”

  “It is not like my child to be disingenuous,” he said, a hint of exasperation reaching his tone.

  “Indeed, it is not.”

  His hands came together, clasped, these minutes likes years with how heavy his face now sat, no longer held up by his amicable smile, the lines of his face unmistakably wrinkles. However, his voice still carried warmth, firm, his eyes clear.

  “There are concerning rumours about this library, and it is concerning that no one seems to object to such an immoderate building.”

  Those words were not even a breeze upon a lake, no ripple of emotion on her face, simply her polite smile and nothing more. “I do not understand why sir is telling me this.”

  “It is my duty to provide guidance,” he replied.

  “And what guidance do I require? Sir now knows that is not my library, so there is no reason to discuss it further.”

  A breath left his mouth in a silent, yet heavy, sigh. “Please do not think me naive.”

  “Pray do not think me so either. If the Church has something to say to This Lady, then let it be said. If not, then I trust sir to know better than to try to intervene in secular matters, just as I hope sir trusts I to not let others interfere with his matters.”

  There was a chill to the silence that followed, not that either had spoken harshly, rather it was precisely because they had spoken without heat that the cold could settle.

  In the end, he broke the silence and not with warmth. “Need I write to Rome of this matter?”

  “It is natural for a bishop to write to Rome,” she said, unflinching.

  His frustration finally showed, a wrinkle between his eyes and a heaviness in his voice. “It is not like my child to be difficult.”

  “Sir said it well, that a person convinced they are doing good is difficult to convince otherwise.”

  He gestured at her. “So my child thinks she is doing good?” he asked.

  “Does sir not think he is doing good?”

  The weight that had piled up on his face was swept away by that question, his eyes wider, and he gave no answer for a long few seconds. “My child thinks a man of the cloth needs to be asked that question?” he asked, a fatherly firmness to his tone.

  She still regarded him without hesitation. “Sir has made it clear he wishes to maintain a clean separation between the Church and the county, so it should not come as a surprise that I respect this.”

  “Ah, so this is my punishment, is it?” he said, a lightness to his words that did not reach his voice.

  To that, she took a step towards him. Her gaze, although no different than the moment before, became all the more intense. “Tell me plainly what issue the Church has with the library so I may plainly tell the Church to take up the issue with the academies’ council. If that is not satisfactory, then sir needs to reconsider his position. I know sir has good intentions, but sir knows that I rightly hold sacred my subjects’ oaths.”

  She paused there, her expression cracking as her fingers found the outline of her rosary beads through her clothes, a silent prayer on her lips.

  “Otherwise… you are the one punishing me, are you not? Every time I sought guidance, you reassured me the Lord knows my heart. Now that I question your guidance, you threaten to write to Rome? Has everything else I have done mattered so little? The people I have helped, the good works I have funded, does the Lord weigh these less than your opinion?

  “Bully me if you must”—in an instant, whatever emotion had touched her face disappeared—“however, the Countess of Augstadt will not be bullied.”

  As stern as she now looked, it held a hollowness with how she had looked the moment before. That a house could only be so sturdy when built on marshy ground.

  He held her gaze, then turned away, his own expression as closed as before her speech. “I think it would be best if we ended things here and took some time to reflect on this matter.”

  “If that is what sir thinks.” She said that and no more, her quiet footsteps lost to the massive silence of the cathedral on her way out into the early morning.

  Meanwhile, he stayed where he was, his gaze high as it drifted among the stained glass depictions. The silence did not last, though.

  “Father.”

  “Ah, my child has been busy, has he not?”

  Although the bishop did not look over, the deacon still bowed his head. “Lady Augstadt is a rarity.”

  The bishop chuckled, his hands once more behind his back. “So even you are charmed.”

  For a moment, the deacon said nothing with his mouth set in a thin line, then he lifted his head. “Father, I don’t mean to sound like I am choosing sides, but she really hasn’t… meddled.”

  Again, the bishop chuckled. “Of course not. She takes after her father, after all.”

  The deacon hesitated, then said, “I don’t know what Father means by that.”

  “Indeed, I can’t rightly say what that means either. When you have lived as long as I have, you have the benefit of looking back at who a person was once their moment passes,” he said, his voice quieting towards the end. “The late Lord Augstadt was as generous and pious as they come. For his daughter to be even more so, well, I advise you to take a step back when handling her matters.”

  To that, the deacon had no answer to give. Perhaps more than the bishop, he understood how true those words were, yet, more than the bishop, he was the one who had watched her these years. The one who feared her.

  “Thank you, Father. I will keep that in mind,” he said, bowing his head again.

  This time, the bishop did not laugh. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, seemingly shrinking as he did. “It is the duty of us old men to pass on our wisdom to the next generation. Lady Augstadt… the Church prospered before her, and it will prosper after her. All I ask is that you remember that.”

  “I will, Father.”

  This time, the bishop did chuckle, a single note of amusement. “Then I can retire without a worry.”