Book 3, Chapter 3: Priestly Uncoupling
When I first arrived in this universe, the grand magister, Wizard Tye, and I were prisoners in an enemy camp. I helped him escape but his hands were bound by perseidian iron. These nullified his magic. My chainmail suit was made from the stuff. It had protected me against magical attacks from several mages, their powers simply ineffective against the oddly colored iron.
It glinted gold in the light while the charcoal undertones created a scintillating pattern bringing the armor to life as I moved, eerie and wonderous in the mirror. Mainly, I was happy that no energy appeared around my hands. The armor successfully dampened whatever emerging powers I had.
“Don’t you agree, Princess Cayce?” The archbishop of Castle Bechalle raised his eyebrow, I felt, at me. Me in particular.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Lost in thought there for a moment. Uhm,” I turned away from the mirror to face him, trying to present an apologetic smile. “Please, please, have a seat. Where are my manners?”
I turned to sit at a large and bright oak desk, my back to the wall. As he sat his rotund frame down, I asked, “If you don’t mind, could you repeat that?” The archbishop would have made for a good Santa Claus, jowls and all, if only I could get him to change costumes, grow a beard and bleach it.
He smiled with all the patience in the world, a man used to dealing with troubled believers and wayward children, of which I probably fell more strongly in the latter category, “It’s no trouble at all. I was explaining that, given your troubles with the eastern part of your kingdom, you might consider decoupling your throne from the Seclazrin.”
“The who?” To me, that sounded like a drug name with a hundred side effects that I’d be prescribed for some non-existent condition big pharma decided to cure. Or maybe a tranquillizer. Yeah, doc, I’d like some seclazrin. Can’t sleep. You know how it is. ‘If your kidneys fail, call us,’ he says. I feel better already.
“-across the north, perhaps with a hundred parishes.”
“Ok, so they have a hundred parishes?”
“Not so, my lady. Our church has that many. The Seclazrins have three, perhaps four times that many. And a considerable military backing their church. You’re courting war with them in spring when you ride on the Barclay Duchy.”
“Ah! Yes, I see.” He was talking about the church that aligned itself with the Barclays. Of whom, I killed one of their high-ranking inquisitors. His fault, he deserved it, but their order probably didn’t see it that way. “We should break off relations with them and have your order represent the crown. Provided you take a firm stance against their pedophilic practices and abuses against women.”
“It would be our pleasure. Our order privileges education above all else.”
“I wonder then, Archbishop, uh, Your Excellency, if you might answer me a question,” I waved my hand in the air, “educate me on a troubling matter.”
“Whatever I can do for you, my lady.”
“Do you know why the late Duke Bechalle thought he could gain magical powers by carving up the skin of teenage girls? Of Laemacian descent, specifically.”
He sat back in his chair, an inquisitorial look on his face, “The duke did not discuss his . . . mad obsessions with me, I’m afraid.”
“Can you make a guess? It’s important to me.”
“I am truly sorry you suffered through that, Your Highness, I truly am. Perhaps the ministrations of Mass could provide some comfort. We have, I must say, been praying for your speedy recovery during morning sermons.”
Prickles on my skin, hair rising on the back of my neck, so wrong such sentiments felt to me. “Oh?”
“Of course, your subjects are ever concerned for your well-being.”
“That’s, uh, grand.” My knees shook as I held back from shuddering but could not figure out why such things as prayers bothered me. “Back to the late duke. He didn’t, ever, mention his strange and obsessive desires?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Yet he enabled your order to break away from the, ah, Seclazrin Church?”
“The late duke was never one for sexual perversion. He distinctly disliked their order for this reason.”
“He was an oddly compelling, if unbelievably horrible person.”
“It is very easy for me to say that I find endless joy and comfort in your rule over the kingdom. But I fear you lack a clerical administrant to offer you advice and ministration.”
“I do not lack for those.” I rose. It looked like we were finished and, well, I couldn’t concentrate. “Thank you for your time, Your Excellency, I am glad your order is on my side.”
“A pleasure, my lady.”
He was walking out when I suddenly remembered my medieval history of beer, “Oh! One last thing. Do your orders produce ale? Mead? Wine?”
His large frame paused, he turned to face me, wide smile on his lips, “We definitely do. Mostly ale, but also mead and wine. It’s our most profitable undertaking.”
“You sell these for profit?”
“And a good profit, certainly.”
“Do you supply this duchy with your products?”
“It would be our pleasure to continue to do so, my lady. We’ve just reaffirmed our contracts through Lady Brin, who has taken over the quartermaster’s position.”
“Well, that’s news to me. And excellent. Thank you.” I would have to speak with Brin, given my plans regarding the ale.
After he left, I stood, paced a bit, then put my hands up, examining them for any hints of energy. None, no sparks, not even a trickle. The perseidian iron worked. That was good, it would allow me to exit my rooms, talk to people. But it meant I’d be fighting Brin to keep her away. Annoyingly, that young girl had won every argument we ever had. She’d do her best to get back into my chambers and bring her, well my, ladies in waiting. And they’d try to get me into dresses.
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