Chapter 29: Salvation

Clara had been brushing Iris’s hair on and off for nearly two hours.

Under normal circumstances, this would be excessive even by Iris von Rhenia’s exacting standards of personal grooming. But these were far from normal circumstances. Iris had just experienced one of the greatest traumas a pampered teenage girl could experience—being publicly upstaged by someone she hates. Faced with such incredible hardship, there was really no way anyone could be calm, of course.

“She stole it, Clara.” Iris sat rigidly, staring at the window. “She watched my demonstration, memorized my incantation on the spot, and then—then she just—”

I know it’s not what Iris means, but this raises some interesting questions about whether copyright would be applicable to magical incantations. Though you could also make the argument that casting a spell is more of a process, so it’d be subject to patent protection, not copyright.

“—added tactile projection! As if it were nothing!”

“I saw it, my lady.”

“And the worst part—the absolute worst part—” Iris’s voice cracked. “Is that she curtsied and said, ‘I hope that was adequate’. Adequate! If that was adequate, then what was mine? Inadequate? Subadequate? Is that even a word?”

“I don’t believe so, my lady.”

“Well, it should be, because that’s precisely what she made me look like!”

In truth, Clara shared some of Iris’s frustration. She had an unsettling feeling about Helena Rosewood. If she were truly as foolish as her general bearing implied, how was it possible that she was capable of feats of magic that astounded even Professor Morris and Viscount Vainglory?

Iris continued. “Who does Helena think she is? The next Aurelia?”

“Who?”

“Aurelia! The Pope!” Iris let out a bitter laugh. “Papa said that during their exams, Aurelia would string together longer and longer sentences in the Sacred Tongue, creating spells with dozens upon dozens of effects. And look at where she is now! The most powerful spellcaster in all of history, they call her.”

Clara’s brush strokes slowed. The Pope had already left a powerful impression on her during the trial at the High Court, having casually silenced a whole room with hundreds of people, but to hear that not only was she the strongest spellcaster in history but that Helena might share a fraction of that aptitude was unsettling.

And there was something else that piqued Clara’s curiosity. “How does Duke von Rhenia know about the Pope’s exam performance?”

“They were in the same year at Claves. All three of them—Papa, Mama, and Aurelia.”

“The same year?” Based on how they looked, Clara would have put the von Rhenias in their mid-forties, and the Pope around a decade younger than that.

Iris nodded. “They’re the same age. From how Papa speaks, I think they were friends back then. They said I even met her before, when I was very young, and she wasn’t Pope yet. But enough about her! My problem is with Helena.”

Clara filed away that information to ask more about it later. She had to admit she was very curious about how Duke von Rhenia’s childhood friend eventually became Pope.

Iris managed to keep ranting for a while longer before running out of steam. Clara had listened along, nodding indulgently until the girl finally tired herself out. Then Clara left the suite and made her way down the stairs towards the servant’s quarters.

The dormitory was quiet at this hour, and when she reached her room, she pushed the door open softly. Emma was already in bed, her breathing soft and steady, one arm hanging off the side with her pen and notebook dropped on the floor underneath it. Clara picked them up off the floor, smiling softly at Emma’s practice notes—lately, she’d begun copying Iris’s shopping lists, learning how to write ‘essential’ words like apricots and satin.

After that, Clara changed into her nightgown and lay down on her bed. She shifted to her left side and put her right arm under the cold pillow, as usual.

And that was when she felt something underneath.

It was… paper? She took the sheet from under the pillow, opened the curtains slightly, and held it against the moonlight.

There were bold, black capital letters.

‘THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT REPENT.’

Clara’s stomach dropped. She went to the back compartment of her closet and retrieved the first letter. On comparison, they both bore the same handwriting, and had been written on the same type of textured paper.

The only difference was that the new one hadn’t come in an envelope.

Did this mean the sender had come here? Inside her room?

Stella, what did you get yourself into?

“Clara, we need to tell Papa about this,” said Iris, sitting at her suite’s tea table and holding the newfound letter.

It was the next morning, and Clara had decided there was no point in keeping this secret from Iris. Whatever had happened, it was clearly not something Clara could deal with alone. But going as far as telling the duke… If whatever Stella had done was against the interests of House von Rhenia, as she suspected it might, wouldn’t it be in the duke’s best interests to get rid of her?

“My lady, I’m not sure it’s prudent to trouble the duke with a maid’s personal business. Perhaps we could go to Major Ricardo instead? He’s in town, and he owes me a favor. Do you think he can be trusted?”

Iris frowned, not entirely convinced. But in the end, she didn’t oppose it. “Sir Ricardo has been in House von Rhenia’s service for nearly a decade now. My father trusts him implicitly, and so do I.”

“I will go to the garrison and speak to him, then,” said Clara.

“You mean we will, of course.” Iris was already standing up. Before Clara could speak up, the girl continued. “It’s Sunday, and the midterms are over. It would be improper for a vassal to object to their liege’s concern for her safety.”

Clara smiled, and they left Ashford Hall together. After a brief walk—which would have been briefer if Iris hadn’t insisted on stopping at the confectioner for ‘breakfast macarons’—the pair arrived at the garrison. It was a large, rectangular stone complex with towers on each corner of the walls and a single, gated entrance. The guards let them in when Iris introduced herself and said she was there to see Ricardo.

The inside of the complex was bustling like a city all of its own. Armored men moved from one building to another, boys fed and cleaned horses, and smoke rose from the chimney where smiths worked on weapons and armor. There was a pleasant mix of hues, too: most of the knights wore the Church’s white-and-gold, but there were many wearing the Royal Army’s red, and even a few in the various colors of specific noble family militias.

Ricardo was sitting in front of one of the running tracks and tying his boots, probably getting ready for some morning exercise. When he saw them, he stood up immediately.

“Lady Iris. Miss Casewell. Is something wrong?”

“We need to speak with you, Major,” said Clara. “It’s a subject that requires some discretion, so I have a place in mind. Can you come with us?”

He nodded seriously, and Clara let them through the side streets towards Albrecht’s. Given the time, most people were probably attending a church service, and the ones who weren’t were probably tea drinkers, anyway. And, as expected, the coffeehouse was nearly empty when they arrived, with just one elderly man reading a newspaper and the owner wiping down the counter.

Clara took a table at the back, far from the other patron. Ricardo pulled out a chair for Iris, whose eyes were already scrutinizing every detail of the establishment.

“What is this place?” Iris asked. “It smells like someone burnt a forest.”

“It’s a coffeehouse, my lady. They serve a drink called coffee, which—”

“I know what coffee is, Clara. I simply didn’t realize enough people drank it voluntarily for there to be an entire establishment catering to them.”

Ricardo, for his part, looked around with mild curiosity. “My cousin mentioned that coffee is becoming popular in Elysia City, but I didn’t know there was a place for that here.”

Clara ordered three cups, with a glass of milk on the side in case either of them needed it. When the owner brought them over, Ricardo picked his up first, took a careful sip, and raised his eyebrows.

“That’s quite good, actually. Bitter, but it has depth to it.”

Iris lifted her cup and sniffed it, then she took the smallest sip Clara had ever seen a person take. Her face contorted through several distinct stages of displeasure.

“That,” said Iris, setting the cup down, “is an abomination. I would rather drink the tea that Emma spilled on my dress.”

“It’s an acquired taste, my lady,” said Clara, enjoying her own cup.

“No, Clara. Foie gras is an acquired taste. This is punishment.” She pushed the cup to the side. “Now, if we’re quite finished torturing my palate, perhaps we can discuss the actual reason we’re here.”

“Major, if you could take a look at these.” Clara reached into her satchel and produced both letters, handing them to Ricardo. He leaned forward and took them with a soldier’s attention.

“The first one was delivered to me in an envelope at the von Rhenia estate, with no stamp or return address, the day before the trial at the High Court,” Clara explained. “The second one was placed directly under my pillow last night, at Ashford Hall.”

“So whoever delivered them went inside the servant’s quarters,” he said.

Clara nodded.

Ricardo read both carefully, his thick brows drawing together. “Based on the handwriting, the same person definitely wrote them both. Do you know of anyone who holds a grudge against you? And what is the ‘deal’ they mention in the first letter?”

“Therein lies the problem, Major,” said Iris. “She doesn’t remember.”

Ricardo raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Clara took another sip of her coffee before answering. “Major, the day before the High Court trial, I awoke in my bedroom surrounded by blood and pills. The head maid believes it was a suicide attempt,” said Clara, and Ricardo’s eyes widened the more she spoke. “Truthfully, I don’t know what it was. But as a consequence of that, my memory from before the incident became… foggy. There’s much I don’t remember.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re being threatened because of something that may be connected to your past, but you don’t remember it,” said Ricardo.

Clara nodded cautiously, holding her breath. Was he going to believe her?

He took another sip of his coffee. “Then we have two leads to start with.”

She exhaled.

“Two?” asked Iris, with her arms crossed.

“Look at the language on the second letter. ‘Repent’ and ‘salvation’ suggest a connection with the Church. Miss Casewell, if I recall, you were raised in a Church orphanage?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you remember which one?”

She shook her head.

“Then that’s one place to start with. If these letters are connected to the Church, the orphanage may be related. Perhaps there are records on the von Rhenia estate from the time you were hired that can point us in the right direction.”

“And what’s the second lead?” Clara asked.

“The pills,” said Ricardo. “If it was indeed an… attempted suicide, the pills for that would not be trivial to acquire. We may be able to discover from which apothecary they came. Did you keep them?”

“N-no.” I can’t believe I didn’t think of this; he’s quick. “The head maid was the one who had my room cleaned that day.”

He took another sip of the coffee—by now, he’d already drunk half the cup. “I’ll write to Priscilla asking her to send me the pills and to check your hiring paperwork. And I’ll ask my cousin to look into it from Elysia’s city hall, as well.”

“Thank you, Major,” said Clara.

“Make sure you’re discreet about this, Sir Ricardo,” said Iris.

“Of course, my lady.”

After they left the coffeehouse, Ricardo led them to a locksmith so they could order a better lock for Clara and Emma’s bedroom. Iris took this time to go to a jewelry boutique, and Ricardo pulled Clara aside.

“Miss Casewell.”

Clara met his eyes. His expression was careful, but not unkind.

“There’s something I want you to understand. My loyalty is to House von Rhenia, first and always. If what we discover here poses a threat to Lady Iris or her family, I will have to inform the duke. However… I have watched the way you acted after your incident. Your kindness to Lady Iris. Your drive to defend the innocent professor in court. And I firmly believe that past actions do not define a person’s future.”

The tension in her shoulders eased a bit. “Thank you, Major.”

I just hope that whatever we find doesn’t end up changing your opinion of me.