Book 2, Chapter 41: Letter and Spirit

“So ‘ut’ is a subordinating conjunction, meaning it can link two clauses of a spell.” The Pope sat on the other side of the rocking carriage, scribbling in her notebook as she spoke. “Are there others that work in the same way?”

For the full three hours since they’d departed Mont Sainte-Michelle, the head of the Church had been bombarding Clara with question after question about types of conjunctions, the nesting of purpose clauses within other clauses, and so on. It was a whole new form of pressure compared to the one the Pope seemed to exert just by existing, but it was no less overwhelming.

The silver lining was that the Pope had, so far, only asked about the content of Clara’s knowledge, and not how she had acquired it in the first place. It wasn’t exactly something Clara was keen on explaining to the Church, even in the watered-down ‘memories of a past life’ version she’d given House von Rhenia. And so she answered, hoping to keep the Pope sufficiently distracted and therefore steer her thoughts away from everything else.

“There should be, Your Holiness,” said Clara. “There’s ‘si,’ then there’s ‘dum,’ and even ‘cum,’ but that last one can express so many different things depending on how you use it that students always complain.” And joke about it, too.

She kept her answers deliberately vague, as she didn’t want to hand the Church any overly dangerous knowledge, even if she had a positive impression of the Pope. Still, the Pope meticulously wrote down every single word.

“Students? Where?” Helena asked. She was seated next to Clara and had been listening attentively to the conversation.

“Er.” Clara turned to the window, the dark trees outside illuminated only by the four swaying lamps attached to the papal carriage. “Anywhere where the Sacred Tongue is studied seriously, I imagine.”

The Pope didn’t comment on the obviously evasive answer—she didn’t react at all, even though her amber eyes were locked on Clara’s. In a way, this was more nerve-wracking, because if the Pope had asked, Clara could have deflected, said something about reading a lot and learning magic from Morris or even Pedro. But the Pope’s silence kept Clara wondering if the woman had already reached some conclusion and just didn’t care to share it.

The conversation shifted back to grammar. Clara tried her best to explain the ablative, and the Pope corrected her pronunciation in ways that Clara wasn’t sure were accurate. Though when it comes to Latin, ‘accurate’ can mean different things, depending on whether it’s classical or ecclesiastical.

Helena watched the exchange, pursing her lips. Eventually, she chimed in, “You two are talking a lot about how to make a spell do something, but would it be possible to make it so a spell knows when to stop? Like making it end if someone says ‘please.’”

“No,” the Pope answered without even taking the time to think. Then she paused and glanced at Clara. “Mayhap.”

They kept at it for another hour, the Pope and Helena exchanging spell ideas and Clara occasionally jumping in to offer a pointer when they strayed too far. With time, the Pope’s sentences grew shorter, and her note-taking slowed. And another half hour after that—which must’ve made it past midnight—her shoulders slumped and her head tipped to the side. Her hat sagged against the padded carriage door, creating a makeshift pillow.

Helena leaned forward and caught the Pope’s notebook before it slid off her lap, placing it on the seat. Then she whispered, “Her Holiness must be really tired—I don’t think she slept at all last night.”

“We should probably follow her example,” said Clara, letting herself relax into the cushions.

She closed her eyes. Between the hooting, the espionage, and how much her limbs ached from the lake incident, she sorely needed a good night’s sleep. A bumpy carriage ride wasn’t going to give her that, but at least she felt more comfortable now that she was back in her summer dress instead of the abbey’s acolyte robes. It was also nice to finally have access to her wand again.

Still, she couldn’t wait to get back to Westwick and spend a night in her new home. It’s such a waste that after I got a place of my own, I had to spend all that time traveling and then in seclusion. Think of all the rent I could’ve saved.

Alas, home wasn’t in the cards for her today. They were set to reach Elysia City before noon, and from there she would part ways with the other two and head straight to the von Rhenia estate.

I want answers about Franz von Rhenia. And I need to share what I found out, warn them about the Veiled Keys and the Warden’s Anchor.

There was a rustle beside her.

She opened one eye and saw Helena, her knees drawn up under her dress, looking straight at Clara.

“Lady Helena? You don’t want to sleep?”

“I…” Helena scooted closer, curling up beside Clara. “Do you hate me, Clara?”

“What?” Clara’s reply was louder than she’d intended, but fortunately the Pope didn’t stir.

“The pinky promise.” Helena was frowning, and her voice was so low it barely qualified as a whisper. “I said I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, but when Her Holiness cut off my power, I couldn’t suppress Mother Cornelia’s pain anymore. So, I didn’t do what I promised.” She looked down at her hands. “You said it was an oath between friends, but I broke it.”

Clara was quiet for a moment.

“You did break our promise. But not for the reason you just said.”

“What do you mean?” Helena asked.

“What did you think the promise was about?” Clara answered with a question of her own. In a situation like this, it was better to make the other party own up to their actions so that they could learn from them. Helena was still a girl, but sixteen was old enough to take responsibility for herself.

“You specifically said I shouldn’t hurt her, and that means pain, and—”

“Do you really think that pain was what I meant by hurt, or is that how you defined it to justify what you already wanted to do?”

Helena fell silent. If not for her uncertain eyes looking out the window, Clara would’ve thought she was sleeping.

“What was going through your mind when you broke her arm?” Clara asked, pushing further.

Helena picked at the hem of her dress. “I was angry. I wanted her to tell me the truth so that we could get justice for Mother Radegund.”

Clara nodded. “Yes. What else?”

“That… That you only said I couldn’t hurt her, so if you think about it as causing pain, I wouldn’t be breaking the promise.”

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“So deep down, you already knew you were trying to work around my wording, right?”

“No!” Helena turned back to Clara, and even the loud denial wasn’t enough to disturb the Pope. “I… I thought I was keeping the promise. Because you specifically said—”

“I know what I said, Lady Helena, and clearly you gave it a lot of thought, too. But that’s the difference between a contract and an ask between friends. Maybe when you’re dealing with the Church, or your father is negotiating with other nobles, what matters is precise wording—trust me, I know all about that. But for two people who care about each other, what matters isn’t the specific terms we use, it’s what each of us really means. And I think you’re smart enough to know what I meant.”

“But I made sure she didn’t feel anything. If Her Holiness hadn’t come in, Mother Cornelia would have been okay.”

“I know,” said Clara. “That still doesn’t make it right.”

“She killed Mother Radegund. The Goddess teaches us that the truth is a virtue, and that killing is a sin. Isn’t it better for everyone if the truth comes out?”

“That’s the tricky part. When you have good intentions, when you’re doing things for the right reasons, that’s exactly when you need to be most careful. Because that’s when your conscience won’t stop you from going overboard, or from doing things others wouldn’t want you to do. That’s when you’ll tell yourself it’s okay to break a promise, or come up with an excuse that lets you go around it. It’s human nature, and it’s the reason why so much tyranny happened ‘for the common good’ throughout the ages.”

“You sound like Professor Harwick.”

Clara chuckled. “Maybe he and I have more in common than I thought.”

“So you’re saying I broke the promise even before Her Holiness came in.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So then you must hate me.”

“No.” Clara nudged the girl’s shoulder. “I don’t hate you, but I do want you to own up to what you did. Learn from this, and the next time a friend asks you for something, think about where they’re coming from before you act.”

“Okay. I’m sorry I broke our pinky promise, Clara.”

“I accept your apology, as long as you don’t take things into your own hands like this in the future, even if you find out someone committed a sin. Rely on the people around you to make things right together, instead of just acting on your own.”

This time, Helena didn’t hesitate. “I can do that.”

Clara answered with a smile.

Helena’s frown eased. “So we’re still friends?”

“We’re still friends. Oh, and while we’re on this, can I ask you something?” It might be the one time I can get a straight answer from her, between the Church’s monitoring and a certain hovering Crown Prince.

“Of course.”

“Do you hate Lady Iris?”

“No, I don’t hate her,” Helena answered. “Honestly, I think she’s impressive.”

“Even though she tried to put laxatives in your tea?”

“That was a misunderstanding, wasn’t it? She only meant to give me a tummy ache, because she felt threatened by how close His Highness and I had become. Before all that happened, I actually wanted to be friends with her. All the other noble ladies look up to her, you know?”

“If you wanted to be friends with Lady Iris, why did you get close to Prince Lochlann, knowing they were engaged?”

“Well, he’s the prince, isn’t he? That’s what everyone says you’re supposed to do.” Helena pulled her knees in tighter. “But Clara… it wasn’t exactly like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I tell you how I feel, you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Clara held up her little finger. “I promise.”

“Okay, then I guess I can tell you. The truth is, when I transferred to Claves, I was so scared, you know? My father and the others had these expectations of me, and I didn’t know if I was going to live up to them. All the other students had already been together for a year when I enrolled, plus they’d all grown up going to the same balls and tea parties in the capital, while I spent most of my childhood at Mont Sainte-Michelle with Mother Radegund.”

Helena paused, half-smiling at the mention of Radegund. Then she sniffled and continued.

“One day, I was eating lunch alone, and His Highness just came over and talked to me. We ended up chatting the whole day, and it was so comforting, as if he’d known me my whole life. He was the first person to reach out to me, and after that, Vivienne and the others started inviting me to things. I knew it was going to hurt Lady Iris if I got too close to the prince, but… if not for him, I don’t think I’d ever have started to feel like part of the class, so I went along with it. All I wanted was to have friends like everyone else did.”

It was the first time Helena had spoken so plainly. Her tone didn’t hold the usual naivety, and she had admitted some degree of fault straight away.

“I see. So you knew Iris might be hurt, but you didn’t intend to steal her fiancé.” Clara weighed the words against what little she’d read of the original story and what Iris had told her. Even if they were the truth, and Helena had never meant to cause a breakup, Iris would not forgive what happened, and Helena seemed to know that.

“Before I knew it, it all turned into a scandal, and the engagement was called off… I felt terrible. I tried to make it up to her where I could after that. Like by convincing His Highness to participate in her play and helping Lord Edward calm him down when he got mad at her.”

“Then what about the midterms? You upstaged her at the magic exam.”

“Upstaged?” Helena looked genuinely puzzled.

Does she really not know what I mean? Goddess, why is it so hard to tell?

“You used Lady Iris’s incantation. She practiced that for days, and you did it better than her in front of the entire class. You weren’t trying to show off at her expense?”

“W-wait…” Helena’s mouth fell open. “No, that’s not it at all. I thought her idea was wonderful—summoning beautiful flowers instead of using magic to fight or duel. As soon as I saw it, I got the idea of adding smell, and I thought that would help Lady Iris make the spell even better. She was smiling, so I thought she enjoyed it. Was that wrong?”

“From where we were standing, Lady Helena, it really did seem like you wanted to make yourself look better than her.”

“Oh no.” The color drained from Helena’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to. Clara, I have to apologize to her. Do you think she’ll speak to me if I go to her? Should I bring her a gift?”

Clara imagined Helena Rosewood presenting herself to Iris with a bouquet. Yeah, no.

“Lady Iris prefers her apologies in writing. The longer, the better.”

The carriage passed through the gates of the Apostolic Palace and rolled to a stop. It turned out that, despite the pomp of Elysia City, the seat of the Pope was nothing more than a very wide mansion, its two wings stretching out on either side of a modest courtyard. One wing apparently held the papal residence, while the other housed the meeting chambers of the Ecumenical Council.

The Pope stepped down from the carriage first, her bearing impressively composed despite her rumpled hat. Then Helena followed, and finally Clara got to stretch her legs.

“Dame Casewell,” said the Pope. “While the Chamber of Lords and the relevant foreign dignitaries have already been informed, I must reiterate that the existence of a new Saintess is not yet official. I intend to announce it to the public tomorrow. However, until the day of the ceremony itself next week, you are to remain silent on the details, and keep up with your studies.”

Clara dipped into a curtsy. “I understand, Your Holiness.”

The Pope turned around, making her way inside as the papal guards swung the mansion’s doors open. Helena lingered behind.

“See you again next week, then?” the girl asked.

“See you next week. Good luck with your training. And if anything happens, or if they… if you need more treatment, you can always call me. That’s what friends are for.”

Helena smiled and followed the Pope inside.

Clara went the other way, toward the street. While she walked, she flexed her right hand, testing it. When no pain came, she pulled at the knot of the cloth, revealing a thin pink line on her palm. That’s not too bad as far as scars go. You can barely see it.

She passed through the gates, ready to call a hackney and make for the von Rhenia estate.Close behind her, a familiar figure stepped out of the Apostolic Palace: Emmet Morris, looking unusually respectable, his coat pressed, his collar straight, and his long blue hair neatly combed.

“Professor Morris?”

“If it isn’t Miss Casewell.” He tucked a leather folder under his arm and approached her. “Or rather, Dame Casewell. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. What brings you here, Professor?”

“I’ve been summoned by Duchess Adelheid, you see, and so I figured I could make a brief stop here to hand over some documents to the Ecumenical Council. I’m headed to see the von Rhenias next. Apparently, they want me to investigate something about memory magic and—” He stopped, blinking at her. “Wait, I thought you were in seclusion. What happened?”

“Professor Morris, we have a lot to talk about.” Clara couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from lifting. “Let’s just say I might have some new avenues for you to explore with the Sacred Tongue. Why don’t we ride to the estate together?”

“Oh, my.” He grinned and pushed his glasses up. “Your words are music to my ears. I can only hope whatever you want to share lives up to the lofty expectations they’ve created.”

She put her left hand on his shoulder. “Knowing how passionate you are, I’m sure it will. Subordinating conjunctions. Nested purpose clauses. I’m going to blow your—”

“You’re going to what?”

Standing by the gate, with a single eyebrow raised, was Warren Righton.