“Who did you say is making demands????”

Butler Franco repeated his previous announcement:

“Priest Suerte of the Baja Church, hailing from Mora County, has demanded an audience in regards to the execution of several priests and deacons within County and March.”

Felicia's face visibly twitched as she tried to control her emotions.

She hadn’t gone to church once since coming here, mostly because of her host’s antagonism towards it. Not attending religious functions, along with all her other behavior, was why her host had such a poor reputation. While the church had very little legal power over the state, their social power was huge. Not attending church for the big holidays to keep up appearances was a big faux pas in noble circles.

The hatred her host had for the church could be directly linked back to Priest Suerte. He was the church witness to her marriage with Marquess Fresa. If he had not agreed to be a witness, the marriage would be only semi-legal and likely never happened as a result.

As to why this was such an offense to Calle, the whole point of a church witness was to prevent unethical marriages between nobles. A Priest was needed to be a witness by law because Nobles couldn’t be trusted to keep the rules governing marriage. Whether it was underage marriages or forced marriages, or morally dubious marriages like what happened with Calle (a very young woman marrying a very old man “willingly”), they were all supposed to be stopped by Priests.

If a Priest didn’t sign, the noble’s marriage was only recognized locally. This meant that the children of such a marriage would not be recognized by the king. And without that, they couldn’t inherit title, land, or money from their parents. Not being able to inherit titles was a huge deterrent for most nobles and thus every noble had a Priest sign their marriage certificates.

To further push nobles in the right direction, the king who originally put this practice into law had spread stories of heroic priests stopping wicked nobles from forced and underage marriages. These thrilling stories were put to song and spread through out the entire kingdom. This made sure that everyone, no matter how low in status, knew about the law, adding social pressure on top of legal obligation. Those stories were still around today.

Calle had heard these songs too, even singing a particularly catchy one as a child. She, and every other young lady, took comfort in knowing their marriages were protected by the church. No one, not even the King, could force them to marry someone they didn’t like because they had confidence a Priest would stand up for them.

But Priest Suerte had not stood up for Calle. He proved that there was no perfect system and the weakest link in any law would always be the human one. Priest Suerte had been bribed and would do whatever noble’s asked of him for a price, without the tiniest shred of guilt. He’d even quote scripture while blatantly disregarding the law of the God he supposedly followed.

Felicia understood Priest Suerte’s actions weren’t indicative of the church as a whole, but the same wasn’t true for Calle. In her mind, Priest Suerte represented the entire church. His failure was the church’s failure. She would never forgive him for betraying her trust, and that meant she’d also never forgive the church. This hatred was deeply entrenched in Calle’s mind and no matter how Felicia tried to reason with her host, couldn’t be dislodged.

Eventually Felicia just gave up. Of all the things she had to worry about with her host, this particular aspect was low on her list.

The mention of Priest Suerte, who the host hadn’t thought of in years, stirred up all kinds of powerful and negative emotions. Felicia felt like she was being repeatedly punched in the proverbial gut and was having a terrible time controlling the broiling emotions going on inside her.

It’d been a long time since her host had been this upset.

After taking some deep breaths, she managed to tell the Butler, “Put him in a tea room somewhere, keep him occupied. I will see him when I’m ready.”

Once he was gone, her shoulders slumped and her head lowered onto her paper covered desk with an audible thump. Tie, who had been with her, looked alarmed.

“Marchioness, are you alright?!”

With her face on the desk, she sighed.

“I will be fine, just give me a moment.”

Or a week. A month. Truthfully, no amount of time would be enough to prepare her for this meeting.

Tie anxiously rung her hands together. It was rare to see the Marchioness like this. After thinking a bit about it, she asked, “Do you know that Priest? Is there something wrong with him?”

“He’s alive.”

“What?”

“You asked me if there’s something wrong with him. It’s that he’s still alive.”

“O-oh….” The young woman looked troubled. “If he’s that bad, shouldn’t we just send him away?”

Felicia’s lips rose slightly. Tie had no idea what that Priest had done, and being raised in this land, respected the church. Despite that, she’d automatically assumed the worst of the Priest and the best of her host. That was loyalty and trust you couldn’t buy.

“Unfortunately it’s not an option.” She straightened her spine, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how he escaped the purge and I don’t know if he has plans to cause problems and what kinds of problems he might cause. There’s too many things I don’t know, so I must at least talk to him first...” She added in a dark mutter, “...such a shame he didn’t die during the fighting… I’m disappointed… life is really unfair to me...”

Tie face froze for a moment. It’s not like she wasn’t aware of the Marchioness’ antipathy towards the church. She rarely spoke of the church, never participated in holidays, and tended to frown a lot at the mention of it. Even while teaching it during their history courses, she’d scowled the whole time and spoken in a wooden tone.

But that was the Marchioness' personal feelings and separate from her general view of religion in relation to life and governing. She staunchly supported everyone having the freedom to believe what they wanted and celebrate as they liked, as long as it didn’t go against the King’s Law. When speaking of religion as a whole, the overtly negative tone disappeared.

She and her siblings understood the Marchioness had something against the church but didn’t dare ask about it. If the Marchioness had wanted to explain herself, she had lots of opportunities to do so. Instead she spoke in short annoyed sentences or avoided the topic all together. They could tell she didn’t want to talk about it and, out of respect and love for her, they didn’t inquire further.

Tie now had some inkling of where the Marchioness’ hatred for the church came from with the arrival of this Priest. The Marchioness response wasn’t distant or annoyed, but clearly vindictive and personal. How she talked about this Priest was the same as Barrera.

Exactly how evil was this Priest, that the Marchioness thought of him on the same level as Barrera?

A particularly nasty thought came to Tie, but she set it aside and decided to wait and see if the Priest was as bad as she suspected. If he was that bad, then she would talk to her brothers and see what they could do on the Marchioness’ behalf.

Felicia had no idea her cute, innocent looking Tie was thinking something brutal. She was too busy trying to calm her host down. It took her 15 minutes and there was still some negotiating that had to be done before she dared see the Priest.

Finally, she straightened herself up, called for the Butler, and went to see Priest Suerte.

Priest Suerte was the opposite of Barrera. He was tall and sickly thin, face covered in wrinkles. If Barrera looked piggish and evil, Priest Suerte looked wane and benevolent. His entire being exuded a pious, gentle grandpa aura.

When he saw Felicia enter the room, he stood up and clasped his hands in front of him, bowing slightly and gave a standard priestly greeting of: “May God bless you and keep you healthy.”

Priests were exempt from having to wait for the Noble to speak first.

Felicia’s eyebrow twitched at his politeness. How nice of him to act so polite when he was clearly here to cause trouble.

“Sit.”

There was no chance of her host speaking politely in return. He was lucky Felicia was in control, otherwise the host would have had her most deadly whip out and used it on him already...

Priest Suerte froze at her disrespectful tone, frowning, before sitting down.

Once both were seated, Felicia spit out, “What do you want?”

Priest Suerte coughed lightly, and began in a gentle voice, “Thank you for taking time to see me, Calle—”

Felicia’s eyes narrowed.

“Marchioness Fresa.”

“Calle, don’t be like that, I have known you since you were a child…”

“I’m not a child anymore, you will address me as befits my station.”

He looked unhappy but conceded with his next words:

“Marchioness Fresa, I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to see me.”

“Since you know I’m busy, skip with the pleasantries and get to the point.”

Priest Suerte’s mask slipped slightly and anger flashed across his face.

“I come here to discuss the deaths of several notable priests and deacons within Mora County and Fresa March.”

“What is there to discuss?”

“Cal— Marchioness! How you deal with the nobles and commoners is up to you, but to hang and behead servants of God! Are you not afraid of suffering divine wrath?”

Felicia gave a low chuckle, placed an elbow on her knee and propped up her chin with her knuckles and smiling wickedly.

“Doesn’t your holy book say God uses leaders in high places to strike down the wicked?”

“Are you implying those clergy were wicked?!”

“Oh… I’m not implying anything.” She straightened her posture. “I’m telling you they were exactly that.”

“That…” Priest Suerte frowned. “How could you say that? They were all righteous men and women who served God and their community…”

“Is that right?” She raised an eyebrow, “I had no idea God encouraged bribery, embezzling the tithe, adultery, and sex with children. To name just a few things.”

The Priest’s whole body stiffened at her accusations. For several seconds he was too stunned to speak.

Finally, he countered, “Where have you heard such slander?”

“The community those servants of God were supposedly serving.”

His face lost what little color it had at her words. Every now and then someone would try to complain about the clergy’s conduct. But a single person was easy to suppress with a little gossip and shunning. However, if the entire community of believers came forward with accusations, that was an entirely different matter.

Priests and churches depended heavily on their reputation among the people to live a good life. Whether it was money or power, it all depended on looking pious, righteous, and wise. If people lost faith in them, they lost their influence and became no better than a beggar.

“This is…” He shifted uncomfortably. “There must be some mistake. With all the chaos, perhaps there was some confusion somewhere… Cal— Marchioness, you must trust me, they would never do such terrible things...”

“Trust you?” Felicia burst out in a giggle, eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you, of all people?”

“What do you mean?” Priest Suerte cast her expression of perplexed hurt. “I have served your family all these years, how am I not trustworthy?”

“Yes, you served the Mora Family so well… so very well…” Another wave of giggles hit her and for a while she couldn’t speak. Then, just as suddenly, the mirth vanished and all that was left was coldness. “I remember what a good little servant you were to my father, Count Mora. How you exchanged money to sign my wedding certificate, abandoning your duties as a witness.”

“Daughter of God, what are you saying? It has been some time and you were so young, naturally you might have forgotten... It was you who insisted on marrying Marquess Fresa. I even asked you whether you were sure and you said that you wanted to marry him. As for the money… that was simply your father giving a donation to Baja Church.”

Felicia watched him act flustered and concerned, as if it was really all just a big misunderstanding, and couldn’t help feeling impressed by the show he was putting on. He’d have made a great actor! Anyone who had no understanding of the situation might think he was being sincere.

But of course Felicia knew better. She had her host's memories.

How was Calle supposed to say no after being told her family would fall into ruin if she didn’t marry? There was no enthusiasm in her agreeing to marry and anyone with eyes could tell she was being forced into it.

When Priest Suerte had gone through procedure and asked if she’d been willing, young-Calle had expressed some doubts. It was the teenager's last attempt at freeing herself from a marriage she didn’t want. Instead of putting a halt to the marriage and inquiring further as he should have, the Priest had waxed on about the benefits and “encouraged” her to agree.

“I know your marriage was not what you were expecting. You were a new mother and your husband had died. It must have been both shocking and grieving. Truly, Marchiones, I sympathize. Being a widow at that age must have been hard on you.” He looked at her sadly for a moment before putting on a strict expression. “But, and I hope you understand, your later regret is no reason to accuse me of misconduct. I have always been scrupulous in my priestly duties.”

Felicia clapped after he’d finished, mockingly saying with laughter in her voice, “Good sir, do it again! I will throw you a coin for the show!”

Priest Suerte looked honestly dumbfounded by her response.

“Sir Suetre do you take me for an idiot?” She grinned at his stiffened expression, knowing he was mad because she hadn’t called him Priest but Sir. His priorities had never been in the right place. “Spin things however you like, but I’m very clear on what happened that day. Agreement under duress is not, after all, agreement. You know that too, even if you refuse to admit it.”

“That is—”

“What’s more, do you really think serving the Mora Family loyally is a good thing to me?” She gave a short chuckle. “Have you not thought about how I, the only daughter of Count Mora, haven’t visited my family in over 10 years and they, in turn, haven’t visited me? Did your pea-sized mind never consider that an indication of how well we’ve been getting along lately?”

Priest Suerte originally concerned fatherly expression had vanished. It had been replaced with a condescending sneer.

“Have you considered how I have lived this long serving a family such as yours? Do you think I don’t know why so few baby boys live to adulthood in your family?”

Felicia’s breath caught in her throat, her hands twitching slightly from shock.

‘Fri———ick, he knows! DARS he knows!’ Felicia mentally fell to her knees. ‘He knows how the Mora women poison everyone they don’t want or like! I’m screwed!!!!! If this gets out, I—’

[No, he suspects.] DARS said after scanning the Priest. [He has no proof, only conjecture. And he couldn’t accuse you of anything publicly without dragging the entire Mora Family down with you. They wouldn’t let him live if he did that. And he values his life dearly.]

Felicia felt her heart go back into her chest. ‘So he’s bluffing?’

[Yes.]

‘....thank God. I think I lost a few years of my life just then….’

While she was busily being internally relieved, outworldly she forced her body to relax. Luckily she’d been tightly controlling her facial expression because her host was currently in a state of distress and couldn’t be trusted. Thus, she didn’t give away through her body language that his guess was correct.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say? Everyone knows Mora children are often born sickly, boys AND girls. If anything, the fact that I was a healthy child was unusual.” She paused and lied with a straight face, “Look at my son. His health was extremely poor as a babe, forcing me to isolate him from everyone because of it. Only after years of constant care was he healthy enough to join society. Perhaps if my forefathers had done as I had done, their children would have survived.”

She gave the Priest a smug smile.

Priest Suerte frowned at her smooth rebuttal. She had used the same verbal tactic he’d just used with her marriage. He’d been thinking this since about the middle of their conversation but…

….when had Calle Mora gotten this smart?

She’d always been a selfish, spoiled brat who couldn’t think further than the next pretty toy. Her spoiled behavior had turned into debauchery and violence as an adult. Her flaws made her easy to manipulate and control, which is why it’d been easy to get her married off to someone like Marquess Fresa and, later, for Viscount Barrera to take over the fief.

He had thought he was dealing with that sort of person.

So who was this woman sitting in front of him?

She looked like Calle Mora but her temperament and intelligence were completely different. Had age and circumstance really matured her? Could it be the perennial sinner had reformed? It was shocking but he could think of no other reason for the change.

He’d originally thought that someone within the Fresa Mansion had tricked Calle into betraying the Viscount. As to who it was, he had some suspicions. The crippled lover of her’s who recently got promoted to Viscount or Baronet Escudo, the only remaining heir of the late Baron Escudo, who appeared out of the blue. Both men had ample cause to hate the Viscount and to go for his head.

Technically, Priest Suerte didn’t have any direct ties to Viscount Barrera. His lifestyle had been paid by the Mora Family and that meant his “loyalties” were with them. However, he and his people often worked in tandem with Barrera’s people, allowing Barrera’s influence to spread into Mora County unchecked. Thus, when the conflict spread into the County, many of Priest Suerte’s people died.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Truthfully he should have died too. But he’d survived this long by knowing when to run and hide. He’d done just that and survived the worst of it. He remained in hiding until the dust settled and the worst of the killings had stopped.

He’d immediately noted that the Mora Family and wealth had remained largely untouched during the fighting. This, connected with the Marchioness and Heir being alive and well, made him conclude that Calle was still a central figure in the new order.

Not that he believed she was the “real boss”. Just like Viscount Barrera had done, he assumed the emerging power had used the Marchioness as a figurehead. There was no way around needing an easy-to-control higher noble to rule the land. Calle had always been perfect in that regard. That being the case, he intended on using her in the same way as insurance for his life.

It never occurred to him she might have gotten smarter over the years. If that was the case, it was extremely bad for him.

It was clear she still held a grudge over what happened all those years ago. Though….

He cleared his throat and tried a different tactic, “Speaking of children and families, I seem to recall you wanting to marry a wealthy man. Your parents found the richest man that lived nearby for you to marry. Even if you ended up a widow, you’re a very wealthy widow. You have everything a person could want in life. Surely you don’t resent your parents and I for wanting to give you the best life we could offer, right?”

Felicia couldn’t help squinting at him, wondering if he had a screw loose. Why did he keep bringing up the one thing that made her host hate his guts? Did he want his head chopped off right here and now?

“I am grateful.” She said in a flat, insincere voice. “Now then, getting back to the point, what did you want to tell me regarding those criminals in your church?”

Seeing she hadn’t been moved by his words, Priest Suerte stared at her with a complicated expression, “It is tradition that Bishops judge the clergy under them for wrongdoing against their congregations.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Ever since the King and the Church of Dios came to an understanding, it has been that way. In over 100 years there’s not been a case of a Noble executing either a priest or deacon.”

“I see.”

“The last King didn’t dare do such a thing! If there were any problems, he would simply hand them over to the Bishop!”

“Mmmhmmm.”

Frustrated at her lack of response, he yelled, “Are you not afraid of having the Church pull out of Fresa March because of this?!”

Felicia pretended to ponder.

“No, not particularly.”

Priest Suerte’s mouth fell open and he was at a loss on how to continue further.

Everyone knew that the Church of Dios brought a special blessing to the country they were in. Health and harvest were greatly improved by accepting the Church of Dios into a country. However, if it pulled itself out or was forced out, natural disasters and plagues followed. This was called the “Curse of Dios” and every country in the region feared it to some degree.

This didn’t mean Priest Suerte believed in the Curse, or that everyone in the Church did either. People of Priest Suerte sort made sure to implicity support the notion while the more honest elements within the church at least questioned it. Either way, the notion was thoroughly entrenched in this region of the world.

Even the stupidest noble knew not to go head-to-head with the Church, instead going through the proper channels when there was conflict. This way everyone was treated with respect and no one died, whether through a Curse or a hanging.

“Now that you mention it,” Felicia quirked her lips up, “perhaps I should contact the Bishop of Salvias.”

Priest Suerte froze.

“C-C-Contact?”

“You are right that a large portion of the Church’s leadership within March and County died. I would not be surprised if some local churches were unable to hold services at the moment.” She pursed her lips. “The more empty the better, in my opinion. But I know my view isn’t the majority. To get new priests, I suppose I ought to contact the Bishop and ask for more—”

“No! No, no, no!” He quickly shook his head. “Those that are left will, er, will do what’s necessary to fill the gaps.”

Priest Suerte lost too many people already. It was fortunate the Bishop hadn’t done more than some light investigation after hearing what happened. If the Bishop got anymore involved, he’d lose what little power he had left.

“Oh?”

“Right.” He nodded, a trickle of sweat running down his back. “In fact, I am sure they have already contacted the Bishop, so there’s no reason for you to do so.”

She leaned back in her chair, watching his behavior with a slight smile. She looked like a black cat watching a mouse scramble for it’s life.

“Priest Suerte, have you contacted the Bishop?”

“It’s, er, a matter of procedure to do, er, something like that… in, er, cases such as these. So. Y-y-yes?”

“Mmmmm. And did you do God proud, Priest Suerte?”

“Do God… proud?”

She narrowed her eyes, smiling wider.

“Did you tell the Bishop the truth?”

***

Priest Suerte left Fresa Mansion as soon as possible. Though he was not a noble and thus there were no strict social obligations for how a noble treated him, the traditional ones—such as being fed and giving a small donation—were skipped.

His instincts told him his life was on the line. If he didn’t leave Fresa March as quickly as possible, he might not live to see a new day. He trusted his survival instinct more than God or money and always listened to it.

***

“He really said all that?”

Tie nodded grimly to her two brothers, Valor and Fijo. She’d heard the entire exchange between the Priest and Marchioness.

“I don’t get it,” Fijo scratched his head. “Why does it sound like her marrying the Marquess was a bad thing?”

It’s not that Fijo was being insensitive, it was just that he didn’t know much about the Marquess.

There were two paintings of Marquess Fresa in the mansion, a big one and a small one. The big one was of him as a young man with his first wife and child. The small one was just of him when he was a little older. He always envisioned the Marquess as a strapping man with flaming red hair and eyes, and thought it was a bit of a shame that Rido had inherited the Marchioness’ black colors.

As for his reputation, he was known for being a decent ruler but a terrible husband. Apparently he treated his first wife poorly for not giving him sons and then spoiled his second wife rotten for her beauty. Many old servants blamed him directly for the Marchioness behavior being so terrible when she was young.

Valor frowned at Fijo, “Don’t you remember how old he was when he died?”

Fijo stared blankly at Valor. He didn’t pay attention to the King’s age, much less some guy who’d died before he was born!

“He was in his 70s!”

“O...okay?”

Valor fisted his hand and smacked Fijo on the head with it.

“Do the math you idiot! Rido is turning 17 soon and the Marchioness isn’t 50 yet. She was in her 20s when she had him and she’d already been married to the Marquess for years by then… how old do you think she was when she married him?!”

Fijo held his head, eyes watering from pain but also wide with astonishment.

“Wasn’t he super old to be marrying her?!”

Both Valor and Tie said: “Yes!!!”

Tie crossed her arms over her chest. “Who would be grateful to marry a man that old, even if he was filthy rich? It’s disgusting!”

“But a Priest wouldn’t allow— oh.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Tie nodded, “It seems she didn’t want to marry the Marquess but because her parents were pushing for it and this Priest didn’t stand up for her. She didn’t have a choice.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Marchioness at all….” Fijo muttered.

Tie frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know, other than Barrera, is there anyone who can tell her what to do?”

All three went silent.

Valor cleared his throat, “We’ve only known her when she was older. She was a lot different when she was young.”

“Yeah!” Tie bobbed her head in agreement. “Everyone says she was mean and violent when she was younger! Remember her whip collection? Supposedly she used it on servants all the time! But when has she ever been like that since we’ve known her?”

“That’s true….”

“Maybe she was like that because she felt trapped.” Tie looked sad. “If you guys told me to marry a grandpa for money, I’d be really angry and lash out too.”

Valor pat her gently on the head, “That won’t ever happen.”

She giggled cutely at his protectiveness.

“I know.”

“Okay, I agree that the Priest is scum.” Fijo said thoughtfully, “But Rido wouldn’t be here without him and neither would we. I don’t like him, but I don’t know if we should go so far as to…. You know… especially if we’re doing it on our own...”

“So what if good came out of it?” Tie scowled. “That doesn’t stop him from being a horrible person! You didn’t see how much his presence affected her. If we let him go, it’s like letting another Barrera roam around Salvias. It’s not safe, for her or Rido or us. Plus, I just don’t like him. I really don’t like him. We couldn’t do anything about Barrera but we can do something about him!”

Fijo furrowed his brow at her words. Finally he shrugged and turned to Valor, “It’s up to you.”

Valor lowered his head in thought.

***

Priest Suerte had ridden by horse to Fresa Mansion. His horse was getting on in years but was still quicker to ride than walk. Usually he would show off his position as a Priest but this time he didn’t dare and wore a plain brown cloak. He subconsciously felt like he needed to lay low and be as unremarkable as possible.

He came up to a shallow, narrow spot of a river he needed to cross. There used to be a bridge in this area but it’d gotten destroyed in the fighting. As of yet a replacement hadn’t been built so he had to resort to this method or take the long way around. He wasn’t the only one who chose cutting directly through the river, and therefore didn’t feel surprised when he saw someone else coming from the opposite direction.

It was only when they got closer that he had a growing sense that something wasn’t right.

This person was completely cloaked, despite the weather being unusually nice for autumn. This meant they were trying to hide something, just like him. The stranger’s horse was exceptionally well groomed and equipped, not like a commoner’s horse. And the stranger was steadily getting close to him, when the shallow space should be wide enough to allow them to pass each other at a distance….

When he was a horse length away every fiber of his body screamed: run. He gripped his reins, intending to have his horse surge forward but the other person moved first.

The stranger’s horse sped up, as if it was walking through grass instead of water, and then the man swiveled around on his saddle, lifting his foot, and kicked the Priest so hard he fell sideways. The Priest’s horse gave a frightened whiney and left the Priest stranded in the water, running to the opposite shore for safety.

Priest Suerte had only a moment to realize what had happened when the man leapt down from his horse and pressed him under the water. While he was panicking, trying to come up for air, another pair of hands reached out and pushed him down.

Vaguely, some part of his mind noted the hands were a bronze color that sparkled in the light.

Bronze, shimmering skin…

Didn’t that brat Calle keep three orphaned foreigners at her side as servants?

That was the last clear thought he had before he died.

***

Some time later, a bloated body was found downstream by a poor villager woman going to wash her laundry. The clothes on the corpse indicated the man was a priest, but without some further identification they didn’t know who he was and asking around didn’t help either. Eventually they could only scratch their heads and give him a quick burial.

Because he was a priest, they buried him in the town burial grounds and gave him a stone header. It read: Here Lies A Priest.

***

Without realizing someone the host hated had died an ignoble death, Felicia had sat down and written a letter to the Bishop of Salvias. Whatever the host felt about that Priest, he’d reminded Felicia of something: it was important for Church leadership to hear her side of the story.

Part of the reason she’d been so busy these last few months wasn’t just because her fief’s infrastructure was a disaster, it was also because she was gathering evidence. Fijo sent messages for her and also wrote down the eye-witness accounts of what happened and why. Everything was recorded, down to who spoke and when they said what they said. Those who could write, signed their names to verify statements.

This was Felicia's long-term plan of self-preservation. Just in case someone got any ideas about giving her son problems later over how she, Felicia, dealt with Barrera and the nobles underneath her. Her reputation being a disaster was one thing, but she needed Rido to start off with as little baggage from her as possible.

Many of these accounts involving the corruption in the Fresa and Mora churches were hand copied by Tie and Montana and bundled with Felicia’s letter to the Bishop. She felt a little bad for Montana, who came from a good fief that had decent churches. The poor girl had no idea how evil priests and deacons could be when they had no one to keep them accountable…

After sending the hefty letter off, Felicia said to DARS, ‘I just realized… why haven’t I already heard anything from the Bishop?.’

[While it’s true no noble has executed anyone in the church for over 100 years, it doesn’t mean they can’t do so legally.]

‘It’s socially unacceptable but legally permissible, right?’

[Yes. If the crime is especially heinous against the community, your wanting to carry out swift judgement would be considered justified. It would prevent a mob from forming. Mobs tend to make everything worse, so killing a clergy member is better than having a mob burn down a whole church.]

‘Oooooh.’

[I also theorize that the Bishop has already sent people to inquire through the locals about what happened. If he did even a little investigating, he would know that many of the churches—particularly in Fresa March—were hopelessly corrupt. You probably did him a favor executing them, as he’d had to have done it himself.]

‘If all he needed to do was investigate, why didn’t he do that before?’

[Because before the people covering it up were alive and doing a good job keeping him in the dark.]

‘....oh. Right.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘He agrees with what I did then? Why not say as much to me?’

[Have you forgotten your host’s terrible reputation?]

‘Of course not. But so what?’

[If he praises your actions publically, he’s siding with a person who shows no respect to the church and ruthlessly executes clergy members—]

‘But you said he thinks I’m right!’

[You might be right, but do you think he wants nobles being praised for killing church clergy?]

Considering how bad some of the nobles were in this country, Felicia understood why the Bishop might hesitate.

[There’s also the PR aspect. If he heard even a small portion of the crimes that got the clergy strung up by the neck, he definitely doesn’t want that spread around. It would look bad on him and on the Church as a whole. Reputation matters in this world.]

‘Ah, that’s true. It’d be really bad if word got out that things were so bad here under his watch, huh?’

[Correct. Unlike nobility, Church leadership needs to be pious. If they lie to cover up sins, that itself is a bigger sin. Lying makes it worse and is punished more harshly than just admitting things went wrong. He can’t lie and he can’t praise, so he’s just—]

‘Saying nothing at all.’

[Yes. Fortunately between your awful reputation and the uncertainty surrounding the rebellion, not many people will notice the details. They’ll just hear clergy got caught in the fighting and assume it’s your fault.]

‘.....your welcome, I guess?’ She pursed her lips. ‘I feel like I wasted a lot effort on explaining things to a guy who wants to sweep everything that happened here under a rug.’

[I don’t think so. With your reputation being what it is, he likely doesn’t know how to approach you about what happened here without making matters worse. Perhaps by reaching out, you are giving him a chance to make things right.]

She couldn’t help sneering. ‘How optimistic of you.’

[Optimistic? Not at all. I’m just not clouded by a host’s hatred.]

***

When the weather turned deathly cold and it started to snow, Count Marron summoned his daughter to return. She refused to leave.

It’s not that she didn’t love her Papa. He did spoil her constantly after all. But he also never expected anything of her. He often treated her like a little child instead of a Young Lady.

Her Mother constantly scolded her for not living up to the standards set by her sisters and brother. This was on top of her brother’s biting remarks too. She felt a constant pressure to perform and, on the flip side, depression at never meeting the standards set for her.

But it was different in Fresa Mansion.

The Marchioness let people learn from failure as well as success. She introduced new tasks to Montana slowly, allowing her to build up confidence to do bigger, more complicated jobs. To Montana’s surprise, she was good at all kinds of things when she was allowed to do them slowly, at her own pace, without feeling rushed.

The way the Mansion was run was really interesting too.

It was completely different from her home. At home servants were expected to be quiet at all times, almost invisible, and what happened in their private lives was their own business. They worked long hours and if they took time off she never heard about it. Despite knowing many of the Marron servants her whole life, she barely knew anything about them. But they did smile at her and had plenty to eat and decent clothing, so she thought that meant they were treated well.

Until living in Fresa Mansion.

The servants here were noisy. They laughed, joked, and talked about their lives where anyone could hear. Within two weeks she knew more about Fresa Mansion servants lives than she did about the servants she’d lived with her whole life. Despite their chatter, they knew when to be professional and never let talking get in the way of working or allow it to interfere with their masters lives.

They didn’t work very long hours either and instead divided the work by shifts. Despite the shorter hours, the quality of the work never suffered. She’d never seen a speck of dust or dirt anywhere in the Mansion. Instead of waiting for things to break, they replaced or patched them in advance. Everything in the Mansion felt clean and new and fresh.

They had more than two uniforms, and the uniforms they had were in styles that allowed them to “mix and match”. They could add accessories as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. Though everyone looked somewhat similar, there was a strong streak of individuality with each servant making them easy to distinguish and remember.

At first Montana had a severe culture shock at how different everyone was in Fresa Mansion. But after adapting, she found she really liked it. She liked knowing that Liso had a crush on the hallboy or that Sir Zacate was nervous because his wife was going to give birth soon. She liked how the servants didn’t look tired, but had genuine smiles on their faces. And it was fun to see what new thing they’d wear for work and watch trends come and go.

It felt like Fresa Mansion was alive.

Most importantly, her handsome Rido was here.

One day he’d asked:

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That I lost my hand.”

“Oh.” She had already thought a lot about this topic and had an answer prepared. “Not really. It’s not like it’s your hand I want to spend time with or talk to… I feel sad you lost it, of course, because I know it hurt and it’s annoying to be forced to live without it. But you’re not your hand after all.”

This had apparently been the right thing to say, because he stopped being sharp and grumpy with her. In fact, it was like he completely changed his mind about her.

He began doing all kinds of nice things for her.

They took walks in the garden or road horses around the estate grounds. He would go out of his way to talk to her and compliment her appearance, even when she hadn’t done anything special that day. He’d listen to her talk for hours and never seem to get bored. During dinner, when they sat at the big table, he would have her sit with him. Sometimes he and the Marchioness would argue over who she was to sit next to.

Montana felt like she was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to leave! It was fun here! People appreciated her and she was sure her crush liked her back! She purposefully ignored the letters her Father sent, then later the ones her Mother sent. Because she was handling the Marchioness’ mail as well, she made sure any letters sent to her from the Marron’s “disappeared”.

Then, one day, Serio showed up.

Her brother was a sour-puss on the best of days, but he was in a thundering rage from having to come in person to pick up his sister.

Perhaps it was her bad luck, but she met her older brother while horse riding with Rido. Serio had come by horseback, as it was faster, and rode right up to them.

“Very nicely done, Heir Fresa!”

Rido had not expected hostility from a guest who he usually got along with. He was taken off guard and sat on his horse with a stupid expression on his face.

“While my Mother is on her deathbed with worry, you dare flirt out in the open!” His face was flushed with anger. “I should really like to hear what excuses you have for keeping my sister here that won’t earn you a punch in the face!”

“What?”

“Don’t act innocent! You think I’m unaware of what your Mother has planned between my family and yours? Well, you Fresa can just forget it! To take things this far is to abuse the trust our family had in you!”

“Heir Serio—”

“Don’t you dare use my name!”

“Er, I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding! Dare you say those letters didn’t reach here? We made sure that they did!”

Rido blinked and seemed to have thought of something. He turned to Montana, his eyebrow going up.

Montana had lowered her head into her neck, wishing she could run and hide. She couldn’t even blame it on her impulsiveness. Hiding those letters was clearly premeditated.

“Before you brother wallops me,” Rido spoke to Montana calmly, “You should properly explain things to him.”

“Explain what to me?!”

Serio turned his glare towards his sister.

“Er…” She couldn’t meet her brother's eyes. “The letters might… have… um… disappeared… because… of…. me…...”

Her voice dwindled into barely a whisper near the end.

Serio, who really had been ready to throw a glove in Rido’s face and break all ties with him, froze. His cold flushed face paled noticeably. His mouth opened and closed several times in complete shock.

“YOU BRAT! DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED YOU HAVE MADE EVERYONE!?”

He screamed so loudly that people in the mansion could hear it.

***

Later that night at dinner, Felicia poked at her vegetables sadly.

“It’s such a shame Montana had to go back.”

Rido kept his face carefully neutral.

“Mother, if she stayed any longer she’d get snowed in and not be able to go home until next year.”

“It’s not like it snows much here anyway.” She muttered, still looking forlorn.

Salvias had mild weather for this region, with the worst of the snow happening in the north. In their area they might get an inch or two. It was mostly the freezing nights that were dangerous rather than the snow.

“It’s not that the snow is deep but the roads get messy and dangerous.”

Plowing roads was a foreign idea in this place. That, paired with them mostly being dirt, caused a lot of problems for wood wheels.

Felicia pouted, “Alright, I know, I know. I just miss her sweet, smiling face and youthful conversation.”

“I can converse and smile.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s not the same! You are a boy— no, now a man! That’s even worse!”

“Well, if you don’t want me I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He then proceeded to look down and eat, ignoring her completely.

Felicia gaped at him.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t talk to me!”

“...”

“Honestly, you— you— incorrigible boy! Is this really something to fight me over?”

She caught him glance up, a slight smirk visible on his face. Her lips puckered when she realized he’d been teasing her.

Really, teenagers were impossible to deal with!