Chapter 46: The Grand Duke Attends Church (2)

His eyes widened again.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"But I might choose badly."

"Then I surmise, you will learn very hard not to."

Abi clapped once. "You really have an excellent parenting."

"Quiet."

"I meant it."

"That makes it worse. Don’t make me throw things at your face."

Spiro’s lips twitched. The mood lightened, but only at the surface.

Beneath it, the report remained.

I stood.

"Enough. We leave in half an hour."

"Can I come with you, Father?" Spiro asked immediately.

"No."

He expected that, but disappointment still flickered.

"You will remain here," I said. "William will teach you the familial greeting. You can ask Bernard about things but he will answer only approved questions. You will eat lunch. Then, if the physician agrees the children are steady enough, you may write a greeting note to Mil."

"A note?"

"Yes."

"What should I write?"

"That is for you to decide."

He looked uncertain.

"Just... greet him?"

"If you want, and perhaps tell him that maps are useful."

Spiro smiled. Small, but real.

"I can do that."

"Good."

I turned to William. "See? Productive."

William bowed. "Indeed, Your Excellency."

His tone said far too much again. I ignored it. I’m quite used to doing that. Makes my life so much easier.

The Chapel of Saint Orwen stood three streets behind the House of Gentle Mercy, tucked between an old apothecary and a narrow administrative building belonging to a minor temple office. It was not grand. In fact, it looked subdued and respectable.

Which made it worse.

Large temples attracted scrutiny. Small chapels attracted trust. Probably because they were unsuspecting.

The building was made of pale stone darkened by rain and age. Blue banners hung from the entrance, embroidered with the open hands symbol common to the charitable branch. A modest bell tower rose above the roof. The doors were carved with scenes of saints sheltering the weak, feeding children, healing the sick, and other such imagery designed to make donors feel warm.

I disliked it immediately. Though, it may be a moot point since I disliked all churches.

Abi stepped beside me, looking far too cheerful for someone entering a holy place.

"Will I burst into flames?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Disappointingly. But, yes, I am sure."

He clicked his tongue. "Tsk. What a weak chapel."

"Behave, will you?"

"Define—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

He smiled. Two Sonomi shadows were already positioned nearby. I could not see them, which meant they were doing their job properly. The carriage remained at the corner rather than directly before the chapel. A Grand Duke arriving quietly was still not truly quiet, but this would do. This was enough to shake some people’s nerves.

We entered.

The interior was dim. Rows of plain wooden benches lined the nave. Candles burned before a small altar, their flames steady despite the draft. The air smelled of incense.

Stale incense and a hint of decaying wood.

Abi’s expression shifted.

I noticed.

A young acolyte near the side aisle nearly dropped the tray he was carrying when he saw us. He recovered poorly and bowed too deeply.

"Y-Your Excellency."

"Good morning," I said pleasantly.

His face paled further. Perhaps my pleasantness was too much for him. Alas, I could not help that. I was a naturally pleasant person.

"I wish to speak with Father Caldus."

The acolyte swallowed. "Father Caldus is... in prayer."

"How admirable. Interrupt him."

His eyes widened. "I..."

"Should I do it myself?"

"No, Your Excellency!"

He scrambled away like a frightened rabbit.

Abi looked amused. "I must say, you terrorize children and clergy with equal efficiency."

"That acolyte is at least sixteen."

"He is still young."

"Even better then. He should learn about stress-management early."

We waited near the altar. I studied the space while Abi wandered, hands clasped behind his back in a parody of respectful inspection.

The chapel was simple above ground. A side door led to the sacristy. Another to what looked like an office. A third door near the back was locked with an ordinary iron key.

Everything looked too ordinary. Which meant the true lock was elsewhere.

The incense smoke drifted toward that door despite the air currents moving differently.

Curious.

A few worshippers sat in the back rows. Older women, mostly. There was one man with a cane and two young mothers with sleeping infants. They were ordinary people seeking comfort.

After all, not all rot poisoned the leaves at once. Some remained at the roots.

Father Caldus appeared several minutes later. He was a thin man in his late forties, with ash-brown hair streaked with gray and eyes so gentle they looked rehearsed. His white robe was trimmed in blue. Around his neck hung the symbol of Saint Orwen’s open hands.

There was no visible fear in his face despite the Grand Duke arriving unannounced at his church with possible bad intentions.

A professional, indeed.

"Your Excellency," he greeted, bowing. "This humble servant did not expect such an honor."

"Unexpected honors are the most memorable, are they not?"

"Quite so. How may our chapel serve you?"

"I came regarding a transfer order."

His expression did not change. But his pulse did. If it was any other person, he would have succeeded in hiding that. Unfortunately, I was the Grand Duke and a sword master at the same time. The small thrum in the vein at his neck was telling.

"Transfer order?" he repeated.

"Three children removed from the House of Gentle Mercy before dawn."

"I am afraid I do not manage the charity’s internal arrangements."

"Of course not."

He smiled gently. "Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding."

"Perhaps."

Abi moved behind him. Not close enough to threaten but close enough to be noticed.

Father Caldus’s eyes flickered for the first time.

"Then you will not mind showing me the records," I said.

The priest’s smile remained. "I’m afraid temple records are confidential, Your Excellency."

"How unfortunate."

"This is not out of disrespect. We must protect the privacy of the vulnerable."

"Speaking of that, vulnerable people were in a carriage before dawn with a handler carrying a self-immolation talisman."

The chapel became very quiet. A candle hissed somewhere.

Father Caldus’s gentle mask did not fall. Impressive. But it tightened around the edges.

"That is a grave accusation."

"No. It is a statement. The accusation comes next."

His hands folded inside his sleeves.

"Your Excellency, I fear someone may be using the chapel’s name without authorization."

"Then you should be eager to help me uncover who, no?"

"Naturally."

"Good. Records. Take them all out."

A pause.

"Of course. If Your Excellency would allow me time to gather—"

"No."

His eyes met mine.

"Now. Take them all out now."

Abi laughed softly behind him.

Father Caldus finally understood something important.

I had not come to request or open doors.

"Very well," he said.

He led us toward the office. Not the locked rear door that I found suspicious.

Predictable.

Inside the office, shelves held ledgers, donation records, ceremonial schedules, and correspondence.

Everything was tidy. Too tidy. If the records I wanted were here, Father Caldus was an idiot. He did not strike me as one given his composure.

"Here are our public ledgers," he said.

"Public?"

"Our administrative ledgers," he corrected smoothly.

I picked up the top book and flipped through it. Donations. Blessings. Food distributions. Charity partnerships. Educational sponsorships.

No transfer orders.

No assessment lists.

No symbol.

How useless.

I closed it.

"Abi."

"Yes?"

"Find the door."

Father Caldus stiffened. "Door?"

Abi smiled. The space around us suddenly pulsed.

A soft violet shimmer rippled across the room, brushing over walls, shelves, floorboards, ceiling beams. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, behind a painting of Saint Orwen healing a child, faint lines appeared.

An outline hidden beneath the painting.

Father Caldus moved. So did I.

He reached into his sleeve, but before he could pull out whatever talisman lay hidden there, I caught his wrist and twisted it behind his back. Not enough to break his hand but just enough that the talisman dropped to the floor.

Black paper with silver ink.

A circle split by a descending line and three marks beneath.

My smile cooled.

"This is getting repetitive."

Abi picked it up without touching it directly, suspending it in the air with a curl of violet power. "This one smells worse."

Father Caldus breathed through the pain.

"You do not understand what you are interfering with."

"People always say that when they are caught doing ugly things."

His eyes changed.

For a second, the gentle priest vanished.

Something colder looked through.

"Those children were chosen."

Ah.

Chosen.

Such a beloved word among monsters. I hated the pretentiousness of it.

"By whom exactly?" I asked.

He smiled.

Blood gathered at the corner of his mouth.

I frowned at the sight. I didn’t feel good about it.

"Abi."

"Already on it."

Violet light snapped around the priest’s throat and chest, locking his jaw and body in place.

A second later, a black line surfaced beneath the skin of his neck, writhing like ink.

Poison? Curse? Self-silencing seal?

Annoying. Very annoying.

"Keep him alive," I said.

Abi’s eyes gleamed. "Gladly."

The priest convulsed once, but the violet bindings tightened. The black line struggled, then stilled under Abi’s pressure.

Father Caldus sagged, breathing harshly.

I leaned closer.

"You will find, Father, that dying without my permission is a difficult thing."

His eyes were bloodshot, but conscious. I released his wrist and turned toward the hidden door.

"Open it."

Abi flicked his finger. The painting slid aside, revealing a concealed panel inscribed with temple runes and something older beneath them.

He tilted his head. "Oh. This is not temple work."

"I noticed."

"Want me to break it?"