She could say that she had some kind of answer… but that was really only half of it. While trying to wrap her head around it on their trip back to Hyasari, she’d simply resolved to possibly talk about it more with Kadol, or even do some research on her own. Though she soon found herself with a new mission after they returned: to find Jesper.
It was then that she realized she didn’t know where she could find him. He had always found her, and she felt like her presence wouldn’t be appreciated at the Raven’s headquarters… never mind the fact she didn’t actually know if she could get in on her own.
Just as suddenly, Kadol came up to her. “I have some matters I need to attend to at the church. Would you like to join me? A guard could come and stay with you, if you want to wander around town.”
Philyra’s first instinct was to decline—she needed to practice for a minor performance next service. But there was something about his knowing expression, one that brought an odd sense of comfort when it usually made her uneasy, that made her nod instead. Somehow, the idea of him being aware of the whole thing wasn’t quite as concerning as what it felt like it should’ve been—as it used to be.
It seemed to be no coincidence that Jesper was not-so-subtly waiting in front of the church. She bid Kadol goodbye—who, after undoubtedly catching sight of the reason, didn’t mention a guard at all—and went to Jesper.
“How was that important trip?” he prompted with a friendly smile.
“Confusing,” was the only word she could think of to describe it accurately. “Did you do anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “Since my mission’s with you, I don’t really have a lot to do when you’re not around. But I did do some thinking… and I want to tell you one more story. I know you’re already aware of the consequences if you decide to join us, so it isn’t really about that. It’s more of just some musing of mine, or maybe some kind of cautionary tale, if you’d like to see it that way.”
Jesper glanced around and, once assured that no one would be listening to them, continued, “I was never visiting family here in Hyasari. I… guess that was probably kind of obvious, though, after I showed you to the base. I was born in the Tylane Coast area, but for most of my life, I’d been at that base. Both of my parents were accused of heresy and, luckily for me, my grandfather had been the one to oversee it.”
“That’s what you consider ‘lucky?’”
“Compared to being a charge of the church, with no one willing to take in a kid who seemed destined for a heretical path? Definitely. My mom’s last request was that my grandfather would take me back to Andrea Province and raise me there. I was raised mostly by the older adults you might’ve seen at the base.” He hesitated for a moment. “That… isn’t exactly what I’ve been thinking of, though. My parents died in what I’ve heard been called the ‘redemptive wildfire.’ For over a year, heretics were found and executed all over Qizar—only half of them deserved it. So, what I was really musing… was that it’s kinda weird, how your mother had ordered the death of so many, yet here we are, talking like we’d always been on the same side.”
Philyra sighed. “I guess that’s just how things are supposed to be, between the faithful and the heretics. Anyone with any ‘true’ faith will point to the ‘traitors’ among them, give them an already biased trial as if to ease their minds, and have them burned at the stake. All those people are sent to die in agony when they do little more than express a difference of belief. And Mother’s almost always been the one to decide if they go to Vriuh…”
“I don’t know if this’ll really help, but if it does, then think of it this way: she doesn’t know. None of them do. They all believe that what they’re doing is what the gods want—that it’s a part of their job to do it. That’s what makes our own mission that much more important. The sooner we can share the truth with them, the less people that need to die by the hands of the ‘righteous.’ Then no one will have to fear dying over what they believe in.”
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She was quiet for a few moments, thinking it all over, before finally daring to ask, “What started it? The ‘redemptive wildfire,’ I mean.”
“Queen Zofie ordered Allen’s execution.”
“You… mentioned him earlier, too. Who was he..?”
“He was the young bishop of the Pasha region, before Lord Ilias took over. That wasn’t why his execution mattered so much, though. He was a lot closer to her than a lot of people realized—they loved each other. When she found out, she didn’t want to believe that she’d given her heart to a heretic. She didn’t even wait to hear his side of the story. Now the only thing she has of him is the child they had together… you.”
Philyra had tried to understand what he said, for a little bit. Then, when still no great revelations hit her, she quietly admitted she was going to go back to Kadol.
She’d heard a few stories surrounding her birth. The Qizarn throne needed an heir, but two things stood in the way of that: concerns for Zofie’s health, and the fact she feared the child reliving her own childhood if she misjudged who the father really was. The first concern was always a problem—really, there was never a time where it wasn’t a problem for one reason or another—but the second just… seemed to disappear. Whenever anyone would recall what happened around that time, there wasn’t so much as a mention of a father. Philyra, once she was old enough to realize there needed to be a father, simply assumed hers had been some nameless individual; one who served his purpose, then disappeared into the masses. The thought that he’d actually been someone Zofie loved was near impossible for Philyra to believe.
That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that he’d apparently been a Raven.
Her mother, undoubtedly one of the most zealous followers of the Commandments anyone in Hyasari knew, fell in love with a Raven. No wonder there’d never been a mention of it. Anyone else would’ve just done what they thought was right, or convinced one or the other to change sides. Zofie must’ve thought it to be dishonorable to have let it go that far—to have not seen through it soon enough. She must’ve erased all traces of his existence out of her life as soon as she knew the truth.
Philyra could picture the whole thing in her head. Yet, for some reason, she still wanted to hear it from Zofie.
So she decided to mention it after dinner, the only time she could guarantee that they would all be together.
“Mother,” Philyra began cautiously, prompting Zofie to stop the quiet conversation she was having with Kadol, “who was Allen?”
Domenique kept reading whatever note was in front of her with the same bored expression. Kadol seemed impressed, for a moment, before returning to his previously serious look. Thero tensed, albeit slightly, his thoughts clearer in the way he glanced at Zofie.
Zofie froze, even paling a little. “Where did you hear that name?”
“I don’t think that matters. Who was he?” Philyra didn’t know where this newfound confidence was coming from. She just hoped that it didn’t get her into serious trouble, or return to its mysterious hiding place the moment she needed it most.
“A heretic,” was Zofie’s first answer, as bitter as she would say the name of her own father.
“But he was more than that, wasn’t he?”
Resolve cracking, also unfamiliar with this confidence, “The previous bishop of the Pasha region, before Lord Ilias took the position.”
“Then why did he stay at the castle?”
“Because I—” Zofie took a deep, calm breath, and rebuilt the walls of indifference. “I was blinded by his charm and failed to see who he really was. When I knew… I did what any true follower would. He was executed for heresy and now resides with Vriuh, where he can be properly punished for the things he and his people have done.” She got up, slowly, still pretending that she didn’t care. “I have a lot of work I need to take care of, and I know you have schoolwork to do, too. Please, don’t talk about heretics—they’re where they belong, as defiers of Orestis’s will.”
Then she left, Thero dutifully following after her.
Domenique only then truly gave her surroundings serious consideration. “Did I miss something, or did literally nothing happen?”
Kadol grew a wistful expression. “Perhaps it’s best if you stay here, too, Domenique. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, though it won’t hurt to tell you. Zofie… tries to forget that portion of her past, I think you both can understand that about her. Still, there’s times for well-intended secrets, and times when all of the facts need to come to light. Seeing as she won’t, I’ll be the one to tell you about Allen, and all that he meant to her.”