Isabella had been expecting that the investigations for signs of pregnancy from the nuns would be very invasive, but it turns out that had been a mistake to assume. They’d been rather intrusive at first, but as time wore on, they lightened their interrogations and examinations. The reason for that was sitting on the end of her bed.

  “I’m sorry about the nuns.” Gaspar shook his head. “Evidently there’s someone in the church that holds a deep grudge against you. I’ve talked to them. They’ll know to be far gentler with you going forward, or they’ll face my wrath.”

  Isabella studied Gaspar. His handsome face, his gently curling blonde locks, his blue eyes… many young girls tripped over themselves to earn the favor of this man, and perhaps Isabella had once been one of them. She honestly didn’t remember. Once she knew what he was really like, however, she had immediately turned her back on that idea. Gaspar was as much a power player as anyone else when she had known him.

  She couldn’t tell if Gaspar was feigning his friendliness, but her experience with Bernadetta had taught her a great deal. He had no reason to be so kind. If she operated on an assumption of ulterior motive, that meant that he was spying on her, likely at Albert’s direction. Isabella had spurned Bernadetta, and by consequence lost the ability to exploit her ties to strike at Duke Albert. That wasn’t a mistake that Isabella wanted to make again. Her emotions had gotten the better of her in that case, but this time was vastly different.

  Still, she didn’t want to rouse his suspicion by being unduly accepting.

  Isabella studied Gaspar and said, “And how can I be sure that you’re not one of them? What reason does the knight-commander himself have to involve himself in my Inquisition?”

  Gaspar looked a little hurt. “You’re understandably wary, but I simply wanted to do what I can to make up for the fact that I laid the tragedy of Count Faust at your feet.” He shook his head. “Perhaps if I had done something more… if I had protested, perhaps, even argued with the king… you wouldn’t have to live with that hanging over your head. This is my amends.”

  Looking at him, Isabella honestly didn’t think he was lying. Was she such a bad judge of character? If she was this terrible at reading faces to believe the words of a man she knew to be a power player, perhaps she deserved to be smothered by a pillow.

  “And you believe that you can make amends by personally taking charge of my Inquisition?” Isabella asked pointedly.

  Gaspar straightened. “I can, at the very least, ensure that it’s a fair Inquisition. I will do my duty, and nothing more.”

  “And why would the archbishop allow fairness if this is political?” Isabella pointed out.

  Gaspar smiled. “Because the archbishop believes that I’m loyal. And… I believe that he doesn’t genuinely wish you any ill-will. He’s doing this on behalf on someone else—someone powerful within the church.”

  Isabella tried to look convinced, but that was the only thing that she knew was a lie. There were no other factions within the church of yet. Everything was solidly controlled by the archbishop, and control would soon pass over to Gaspar when Pius disappeared.

  “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me for my morning sermon,” Isabella said.

  Gaspar brightened. “I’d love to. Does your fiancé attend?”

  “Seldomly. But I think in this case, he most certainly will,” she said.

  ***

  Isabella, Valerio, and Randolph stood in the middle of a decrepit slum where a great crowd had congregated. There must’ve been thousands here, and the three of them wore humble clothes with their features concealed by a cowl to blend in. They were all assembled to listen to a man who wore dirty white robes. The crowd was absolutely enraptured, and it wasn’t difficult to see why. Alistair of Veymont commanded attention. Black skin, taller than even Valerio, and a robust mane of braided hair… even in dirtied robes, he looked very holy.

  "Brothers and sisters, do you think the gods peer kindly upon the man who sways like a reed in the wind of coin and comfort?” Alistair shouted. His voice had a certain timbre to it that made it sound emotional, while still commanding the square. “No. The divine gaze is fixed upon the unbending, the unbribed, the unseduced."

  People clapped and hooted in appreciation. The contents of his sermon were quite pertinent to what they were dealing with. That wasn’t a coincidence. Alistair had been struggling with the corruption of the church for a long period of time. He absolutely hated it, being a very godly man himself.

  “Oh, people…” Alistair continued. “We must be diligent in our pursuit of incorruptibility! Diligence is the prayer of the body. It is the liturgy of the hands, the devotion of rising before dawn, of finishing when others rest. The slothful wait for miracles. The diligent become them," he declared boldly.

  More clapping. Randolph looked back to where Gaspar watched from a distance. He didn’t seem to want to disturb the crowd, and he wore his holy paladin get-up.

  “Eugh,” Randolph made an ungodly noise once she turned back.

  “What’s the problem?” Isabella asked.

  “The problem? Your knight-commander,” he sneered.

  “Not my knight-commander. The knight-commander.” Isabella reminded him. “But why? Do you get a bad sensation from him?”

  “I find myself instinctively skeptical of those whose facial symmetry grants them undue social currency,” Randolph said, then gestured toward her. “The aesthetically blessed rarely suffer the burden of self-awareness. Beauty, much like inherited wealth, often absolves its bearer of the need for personality development. I take it upon myself to treat them like ugly people so that they know the feeling.”

  “I see,” Isabella responded. “You’re quite nice to me. Does that mean something?”

  “Not particularly,” Randolph said. “Well… fine, perhaps it means a little. That isn’t to say you aren’t beautiful, just that you’re a bloody rare exception, dear. Your personality is quite developed.”

  Isabella smiled as she watched the sermon continue.

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  "Every brick laid in silence, every task done unseen, is a hymn sung in labor. The gods hear it. They always hear it!” He shouted grandly, and the crowd came alive. “Do not seek ease, my brothers and sisters. Seek worth. The path of the indolent is smooth, but it leads to the pit. The path of the diligent is steep, but it ascends to the light!"

  As the crowd embraced the impassioned words of the bishop, the gathering slowly came to a close. Isabella turned toward Valerio and asked a favor of him. “Could you ensure that Gaspar doesn’t see me talking to Alistair? I don’t want anything to lead back to us.”

  Valerio looked back, and then gave a quick nod. “Good luck,” he said.

  Once the sermon had finished, the bishop left and went inside a small and humble church. He was preaching only to those in the slums of the capital while he was here, even though his principal territory was far from the capital. He had taken it upon himself to provide high-quality sermons for those who wouldn’t often get them, providing solace with faith in this time of unrest.

  Isabella went inside the cramped church, only now reminded of how much the luxuries in her life had afforded her. Even when she was being humiliated and degraded, it was in the royal court. But these people? These people, who no one was looking after? Sometimes, this small church was all the comfort they had. They needed someone to look out for their interests. Alistair was one of those people. Now more than ever, Isabella was glad that she had refused Valerio’s offer and stayed and to try and make a difference.

  Many people were talking with the bishop, but Isabella waited patiently in the church, trusting in Valerio’s ability to keep Gaspar distracted. When Alistair was finally alone, she approached.

  “Father. Could I have a moment of your time?” Isabella asked.

  Alistair greeted her with a warm and wide smile, none of his energy lost despite the lengthy sermon he’d already put himself through. “Of course. How can I help you, my child?” he asked.

  After today, Isabella was certain that Alistair had more than enough capability to stand up to the church. He had the charisma, he had the flair, and he had the theological arguments. He was every bit the man that he was reputed to be, even now.

  “I’ve heard that you’re here in the capital on a temporary stay,” Isabella said.

  Alistair’s smile faded somewhat. “Yes, I am. I tend to the needs of the faithful here while those in the archbishopric review the thesis that I submitted. When the Archbishop finishes reviewing my thesis, I will return to my beautiful home of Veymont. Why do you ask?”

  Isabella innocently asked, “How has your thesis been received?”

  Alistair looked off to the side somewhat bitterly. “Rather less positively than I would have liked.” He gestured outside. “I merely wrote what I feel resonated with the people. The dissatisfaction, the…” he stopped. “Well, never mind. If my words cannot change the minds of the cardinals and the archbishop, I firmly believe the gods will. All are eventually judged… in this life, or the next. It’s a shame I’ve proven inadequate to open their eyes.”

  Isabella made up her mind, then. “Do you think I could have a copy of your thesis?”

  Alistair raised his brows in surprise. “I’m afraid that the thesis is in Elestian, the language of the gods. It may be difficult for you to read without a translator.”

  “élara vesin ar selin.” Isabella held his gaze plainly.

  “You speak and read it?” Alistair’s eyes showed sincere respect. “That’s a rare and unusual talent for a lady. Why do you have it?”

  “I believe there’s some merit in reviewing the scriptures personally before they’ve been translated into the common tongue,” Isabella said, repeating something Alistair himself believed.

  “That’s an uncommon opinion in the church. They believe that only the clergy can interpret the words of the gods.” Alistair looked around. “I’ll get you a copy, my child. You must come from a well-educated family. I’m flattered you came to hear the words of this humble priest,” he finished, dipping his head in respect.

  Isabella watched Alistair walk back into the makeshift church, each step creaking the floors. If all went well, soon enough this man would be going toe-to-toe with the church. He seemed more than capable for the task. Perhaps it wasn’t her place… but she needed to show him just how much his words resonated with the people.

  ***

  Isabella watched as various paladins, clergymen, and other such clerical roles walked around Valerio’s estate. The Inquisition had progressed, and part of that was ensuring they couldn’t mount any adequate resistance.

  “They’re going to make it very hard to get anything done.” Valerio shook his head. “Perhaps we have some recourse in bringing this to the crown. I’m still on the council as Lord Admiral. My attendance isn’t mandatory as we’re not at war, but I could appear at council meetings if I wish.”

  “No need.” Isabella looked at him. “Do you think you could ask Igraine to meet me tonight? I’ve little doubt she can be discreet, and the paladins can’t well stay inside my room at all hours.” She looked back. “I believe I can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Which birds might those be?” He asked.

  “Fun and practicality,” Isabella said. she shook her head with an amused smile as she continued, “If it’s not going to cause you trouble, I’d like to use your bird, Captain, as the model for my familiar.”

  “Familiar?” Valerio shifted in his chair. “I’m a bit ignorant. What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Familiars are magic given form,” Isabella explained. “They’re linked to a mage’s soul. You’re intended to choose an animal to model them after. I can think of many uses for the spell, and I’d especially like it to be Captain I imitate, but… I don’t want to cause you trouble.”

  “Could it harm her, somehow?” Valerio asked. “If so… I’ll have to refuse. I don’t want to take chances with Captain.”

  “Not directly. But if my familiar is flying to and from your estate, people might… seek her out, perhaps. She is a very beautiful bird. If you want to keep her existence quiet, then…”

  “Isabella,” he said as if she’d said something cute. “If I didn’t care about you thinking I was some deranged killer, I’d tell you how many intruders into my mansion I’ve put down. Feel free to draw as much attention as you want."

  “I… see,” Isabella said with a nod. “Still, I’ll be cautious.”

  ***

  “You want to make a familiar already?” Igraine asked. “Hmph. Not days after recovering from your illness, and you’re already begging me to teach you new things.”

  “I’m sorry,” Isabella said. “But I just enjoy—”

  “Did I say I was displeased?” Igraine said. “Just a remark, young lady. A remark. And… here.” She held out a package. “I happened to find some excess books in my home. You mentioned wanting some spells of a certain quality, and so I thought of you.”

  Isabella took the package with a bright smile on her face. “Thank you, Igraine.”

  “You’ll call me ‘teacher,’” Igraine said. “I won’t back down on this issue. I’ve agreed to be your teacher, and that means I’m entitled to some degree of respect—don’t care who your father is. I had my own son call me ‘teacher.’”

  Isabella blinked. She couldn’t recall Igraine agreeing to be her teacher beyond forming her mana lock, but…

  “Yes, teacher,” Isabella said.

  “Good good,” Igraine said, giving a curt nod. “Now… familiars, is it? It’s been some time… some time indeed. That’s not a bad thing, though. Why do you want to learn about familiars?”

  “Well… it would be fun to explore the city through different eyes. Perhaps I could deliver things,” she said, looking toward the translation of the Six Errors on her desk.