Chapter 48: Once upon a time...

Two court sorceresses, one on each side of Dimitry, watched him with alert eyes from under yellow hoods as he trailed behind Saphiria and her mother. They passed through a long hallway on the castle’s third floor. Enchanted stones embedded in the walls, blue like lapis lazuli, emanated a faint light that illuminated every step forward.

Head held high, Queen Amelie Pesce strutted ahead. Not a single maid dared meet her gaze. Instead, they looked down at the glossy marble floor, muttering apologetic words as they fled her path. The queen didn’t acknowledge their presence. Her dignified march continued until she reached the door at the end of the hallway. She glanced at the court sorceresses. "No one gets near—be they an Ontarian Duke or otherwise."

Anelace opened the door and bowed. "As you command, Your Royal Majesty."

Saphiria walked in. The Queen followed, glancing back at Dimitry with an inconvenienced frown that seemed to lament having to accommodate an outsider. "You too."

Although her tone irked Dimitry, now was a bad time to show his displeasure. He joined the mother and daughter sitting around a circular table.

The door slammed shut.

“Now that no one’s pestering us, we may speak freely.” The Queen threw off her gold-embroidered mantle and hung it over the back of her chair. "Tea?"

Dimitry pulled back at the sight of a powerful woman instantly transforming into a hospitable host. Was her royal elegance and arrogance merely a performance to maintain appearances?

"Where is Father?" Saphiria asked.

"Did you forget your manners?" The queen poured crimson liquid into a decorated granite cup. "When your host offers accommodations, you graciously accept. Negotiations proceed smoother once common ground is established."

"I did not come home after all these years just for another lecture!"

The Queen glanced at Dimitry. "How about you? It’s cold now, but I promise the taste is divine.”

Although he had many questions, more than he could ask before tonight, rushing into a confrontation wasn't in his or Saphiria's best interest. "Sure."

"At least one of you speaks with grace."

Saphiria slammed her fist into the table. "That's enough! I'll go look for him myself!"

"Stay," the Queen said, "and I'll tell you everything you want to know. But first, how many are in your escort? What gifts shall I greet them with? Maybe a few passages from the gospel—"

"Escort?"

"After eight bygone years, you must be an archbishop by now. Esteemed clergy never travel alone."

"Mother," Saphiria said, her words carrying the low and murderous undertone Dimitry preferred never to hear from her again. "I do not know what demon has gotten into your head, but all I remember was being kidnapped in the night and awakening in The Holy Empire."

The Queen sipped tea from her cup. "As was part of the plan."

An urge to strangle Her Royal Majesty welled up within Dimitry. What kind of shitty parent would kidnap their daughter and give her away to a bunch of slavers? Now he understood why Saphiria never mentioned her mother.

"P-plan?"

"Early in the Gestalt Wars, I came to an agreement with the Church. You were to be educated in Olsten, and when you returned, you would bless these lands and bring back the Church's protection. Surely you know this much by now."

"You did this to me?" Giving her mother a glare that contained years of pent-up fury, Saphiria's voice cracked. "You fiend!"

"Me? A fiend?!" The Queen scowled. "I did what was best for you! I gave you the means to revitalize this kingdom, to save its people, to banish the corruption, and yet you bare your fangs at me?! Did your holy studies at the Grand Cathedral make you forget not only manners, but gratitude as well?”

“I never so much as saw the Grand Cathedral’s interior!”

“Speak without twisting your words, girl."

"The Church..."

Watching Saphiria relive her enslavement, how she murdered the innocent and trafficked corpses, pained Dimitry. The psychological trauma she suffered would have disabled most children for life.

“When I arrived in Purin Stronghold, they performed a Sinner’s ceremony.”

“They did what?”

"Perhaps this will help you understand." Saphiria glanced at Dimitry's bag.

He opened it.

She rummaged inside for the two halves of her collar and tossed them across the floor.

The steel shards scraped polished marble as they slid to the Queen's side. She glanced down. Her eyes shot open.

“They turned me into a servant!” Saphiria said.

“What?!” The Queen’s foot slammed into a table leg, silverware rattling and clinking with the impact. "Those fucking bastards! To my only daughter, they would, they would—" Her eyes burned with fury.

A long silence passed.

Dimitry said nothing. What could he say about an organization that tricked a mother into selling her child into slavery? The Queen sought to save the lives of her people, and the Church preyed on that weakness. Both parties involved were scum—one infinitely more despicable than the other.

Although her hasty breaths stabilized, the Queen continued to clench her jaw. "What happened next?"

Saphiria stared at her hands, which trembled around a cup. “The Church auctioned me to a man in Estoria who collected slaves. Although he abused the others, he was always kind to me.”

The Queen leaned forward.

“One night, I awoke to discover my friend Alice had left the room. I thought she went to the larder for a drink.” Saphiria took a deep breath. “Then I heard the master call for me. He said that he wanted me to demonstrate my magic, so he escorted me to his room. Alice was tied up on his bed. He grabbed my collar and smiled. I couldn’t run away.” Saphiria looked away. “I killed Alice.”

Dimitry pulled away his collar, which suddenly felt too tight around his throat. He watched Saphiria toss and turn every night. Now he thought he knew why. Poor girl.

“Continue.”

“My master said I was ‘suitable’. He taught me how to kill. Every night, I performed deeds that cannot be taken back.”

“What sort of deeds?”

“Assassination, mostly.”

“I see.” The Queen lifted her teacup with unsteady hands. The granite rattled against the saucer beneath.

“Four years later, on my sixteenth birthday, I was sold off to a woman who ran a brothel.”

“A brothel? You were forced to share a bed with men?!”

“N-no.”

The Queen heaved a relieved sigh and slumped back in her chair. “Zera preserve—No. Fuck Zera.”

“About a month ago, we were in the middle of a binding ceremony. A bishop was reenchanting my collar,” Saphiria said, glancing at Dimitry, “but he assaulted the Church, and we ran away together. Dimitry saved my life.”

The Queen said nothing. Eyes no longer privy to the ongoings of this world, she sipped tea.

“Let me in!” a woman yelled outside.

“Stand back," Anelace said. "Her Royal Majesty demands privacy.”

The Queen recovered from her thoughtful daze. “Let Klaire in.”

“Yes, Your Royal Majesty.”

A woman with disheveled blue hair burst into the room. She pressed a book to her chest. “Your Royal Majesty. I-I visited the merchant’s vessel, and there wasn't a single knight or priestess aboard, s-so I asked the captain, and he said—”

"I know. The Church didn't return. Take a seat, Klaire."

"B-but what should we do about the rumors spreading—"

"Take a seat.” The Queen poured a fresh cup. “Tea?”

Klaire slugged her beverage down, and the queen refilled it once more. “There’s no need for formalities in the planning room. Need I tell you that every time?”

“No, Your Royal Maje—”

The Queen sighed.

"My apologies."

Unlike Klaire, who guzzled her tea like a camel after crossing the Sahara, Saphiria didn’t touch hers. She stared into the milky red mixture instead. “Now, Mother. Answer my question: where is Father? I will meet him without delay.”

"Ah." Klaire's weary countenance became one of regret. She glanced away as if to dodge the conversation, but her gaze found only the two halves of a former slave's collar. Her mouth fell open.

"Before I tell you," the Queen spoke in a somber tone, "would you listen to a story? One about a foolish duchess and her brave husband?"

Saphiria jumped from her chair. "I'm tired of being told to wait!"

"Please."

As if that word shocked her into passivity, all tension left Saphiria's shoulders. She sat down. "Be swift."

“I expect everyone in this room to keep silent about the contents of this conversation. That includes you, surgeon. My daughter trusts you, and rightfully so. I wish to do the same.”

Dimitry nodded. Although the Queen mismanaged her familial affairs, she was hardly a person to upset.

The aging woman stood up and walked over to a window. Wrinkled hands crossed behind her back, her gaze fixed on something distant yet uncertain. Her tale began.

“There was once a duchy. Although the duchy wasn't the largest or the most powerful, it had what many other territories lacked: advanced craftsmanship, raw resources, and access to vital trade routes. Allying with them vastly increased the odds of victory in war. To be their enemy would prove detrimental.

“The neighboring territories allied with the duchy, uniting into a powerful empire. One that could stand alone against heathens and famine. Disease and civil unrest. With full stomachs and bright futures, what used to be a pious people grew less religious by the day. Morning masses had half as many participants. Fewer citizens volunteered to become Zera’s chosen, and fewer still bequeathed their toddlers to the Church. Zeran knights dwindled in number, their combined efforts inadequate to support sprawling monasteries. The Grand Cathedral sent foreign priestesses and bishops to attract new followers, yet they found no success.

“The Church lost its influence over that empire.”

Saphiria and Klaire listened to the Queen’s tale, unfazed.

The story must have been familiar to them, but Dimitry listened intently. Knowledge always paid dividends.

“Then, the Church cut off all support to the empire. They withdrew the knights, bishops, and priestesses that manned the heathen barriers. The united territories, however, did not falter. Their military might allowed them to overcome the beasts unaided. What was a plan to remind the empire and its people that the Church’s assistance was necessary, backfired. Religious institutions closed down. Their presence inside cities, towns, and even villages dwindled. Out of desperation, they concocted another plan—one that worked.

“The empire’s capital lay to the north. There lived the emperor, a man with as many victories as gray hairs in his beard. It was dawn when he and his men retreated from a heathen barrier following a night of repentance. To relay word of their success, he sent forth a messenger carrying orders to prepare a feast. Yet the meal went cold and uneaten. Neither the emperor nor his detachment returned.

“Witnesses, of which there were very few, claimed that a herd of skulking heathens attacked. However, there was no evidence of such a battle. All that remained were several dead crawling devils and over a thousand warrior’s corpses. Can anyone guess what really happened?”

Klaire cleared her throat. “It was the—”

“Not you, Klaire. You already know this story.”

“My apologies, Your Royal Majesty.”

“Was the emperor killed by the Church?” Saphiria asked. “A weary enemy makes for an easy target.” The confidence behind her words was like that of a seasoned assassin.

The Queen exhaled an amused ‘humph’. “Our thoughts exactly. Days later, the empress died of old age and a broken heart. She left behind a single child—a boy too young to grow a beard. Unable to act on his own, he relied on the late emperor’s advisers to rule in his stead. Some were members of the Church. Those that weren’t soon vanished.

“The young emperor took their advice to wage war against the other territories. After months of skirmishes, the prosperous empire was reduced to scattered kingdoms.

“Among them was the duchy. Its duke was a man wise beyond his years. Before anyone else, he realized everything was the doing of the Church. He told his foolish wife, the duchess, that the only way to restore order to the empire was to ally with rebels in the capital and oust the traitors."

"You speak of Father!" Saphiria said. "I recall overhearing your arguments while wandering the castle halls in those last few months."

"It seems we were not as stealthy as we thought."

Dimitry wondered if overhearing sovereign parents quarrel over politics was worse than the ‘arguments’ he often overheard in his parents’ home at night.

The queen continued. “The day the duke and his army would deploy north soon arrived. Before he left, holy emissaries from Olsten arrived in the duchy. They claimed that the growing strife resulted from unblessed land—a disease with a cure only the Church could provide. One they were willing to give for free. Their proposition was simple: bequeath onto them the heiress to the duchy. She would study to become an archbishop and, one day, return to bless the lands and save the people. The duke advised his wife to ignore them. With that warning, he, his army, and their four sons marched north to restore order to the empire.

“Her husband and sons gone, the duchess grew fearful and anxious. Every week the Church returned with the same offer. Remembering her husband’s advice, she ignored their honeyed words. Until one day she didn’t. The bereft and desperate duchess handed over her only daughter, hoping to see the duke once more.

“Eight years came and went,” the Queen said, her words filled with regret. “Although she lived as a slave, the duchess’s daughter eventually returned. Her husband and sons, however, never did.” She turned away from the window. “Do you understand, Saphiria?”

"My brothers...." Saphiria uttered. "And Father?"

The Queen didn't reply.

Saphiria jumped out of her chair. Her cup collapsed with the sudden movement, spilling milky tea across the table. “You’re lying.” She moped her moist, indigo eyes with the cuff of her azure dress. “Please, please tell me you’re lying!”

Klaire looked down at her book, which lay on the table.

Dimitry turned away, too. The sight of a girl who lost everything was too much to bear.

“I’m afraid it’s the truth. Not a day goes by that this foolish duchess doesn’t regret her decision.”

"I… I don’t believe you. I must check.” Saphiria pushed aside her chair and barged out of the room.

When Dimitry stood up to run after her, the Queen held out her arm. “Let the girl process her grief. I’ll rely on you to comfort her afterward. Although that should be my duty, I fear that she’ll despise me for the rest of my life and rightfully so.”

The disgraced mother sat down. “In any case, a reward is in order for returning my heiress.” She looked at Dimitry with tired eyes. “My hands are tied right now, so I can’t offer you too much, but surely there’s something that I can do for you.”