Once upon a deception

Sacrifices

“Hello, Sister Mathilde.” Lord Vincent returned, saddling off his horse and helping Clarisse of hers. Clarisse gave her most effort put bow but her hard work only earned a frown of disdain from the woman. It made Clarisse nervous. All she wanted to do was make a good impression on these people but if she was already failing to please a middle-aged woman with the simplest of things, Clarisse was certain it would only get worse. Her mind tugged on questions that only worsened her anxiety. The order had demanded a candidate from Lord Vincent’s camp. Clarisse was sure many other refugee camps had been asked to bring forth candidates; people who harbored the same anger for Wohar like she did. Only here did she realized Lord Vincent was right. Anger could not be her only inspiration. Still, Clarisse needed this. For her mother, that kind couple that took her in and suffered the cruelest of fate.

“Is this the slave?” Sister Mathilde queried, studying Clarisse with eyes similar to a kite.

“Her name is Clarisse.” Lord Vincent rebuffed the woman.

Clarisse appreciated it. She had been flustered when the woman gave her such a distasteful title. Clarisse had wanted to impress the woman the moment she realized she was of the order but her foul attitude and brash tongue made Clarisse reconsider. The woman did not seem sympathetic for her actions. Rather, she faced Clarisse and spoke.

“I could not have guessed. She is dressed like a rat. She carries herself with the grace of a dog and her curtsy is nothing short of pathetic. I cannot believe this is what I have to work with before the ball.”

Clarisse was taken aback. If the lord did not hold unto her hand firmly, Clarisse was an inch close to beating up the woman. Not that Lord Vincent’s grasp was enough to stop her if she really wanted to deal with this brat of an elder but Clarisse remembered the words of advice Lord Vincent had spewed into her ears before they arrived. Her tense shoulders relaxed and Clarisse put in everything to curb the urge she had to charge at the woman. She had to play the fool if she stood any chance of getting what she wanted. Clarisse put her head down in submission.

“I am sorry to put in this tight space. I have only the church to thank for regaining my freedom and it is not my intention to be a burden to this great cause.” Clarisse paused, finding it difficult to go on. She hated that she had to swallow every self-respect she had. It reminded her of her time as an indentured. A life where she was wrong every step of the way but Clarisse was tougher than that. She simply refused to let her pride get in the way. “… I will do my best to bring victory to our cause. No matter the cost.” Clarisse was sure to add.

Sister Mathilde scowled. Somehow that seemed to be the only dainty attitude she had shown so far. “You are smart.” The woman commented. “Perhaps this plain-Jane can suffice after all.” Sister Mathilde said to Lord Vincent before proceeding to open forth the doors of the church.

Clarisse caught the scent of incense. The rosemary kind. It was alluring as it was inviting. Clarisse took the woman’s intense glare as a signal for her to get in. Once Clarisse stepped in, she was instantly put in awe by the beauty of the colored glass erected above the altar. It held the image of the great god, a spirit in the form of a man descending and distributing gifts of light to three other beings. The first was being of light, hinted by the bright yellow that cascaded the figure, the second was a being that had a dastardly mix of both yellow and black. The third was a being clear as glass. Clarisse noticed they were all on their knees, hands stretched out as they awaited the floating gifts to land in their hands.

“It is beautiful, isn't it?” Sister Mathilde whispered, urging Clarisse to jerk back to reality.

“It is,” Clarisse answered, her eyes flicking around in search of Lord Vincent. The man was not there. Clarisse had been so distracted that he barely noticed. She refused to believe the lord would just abandon her without saying goodbye. She suspected the weird sister of having a hand in it so she had to ask.

“Where is the Lord?”

The woman continued to stare at the glass, refusing to acknowledge Clarisse’s question. It ripped apart the last shred of patience that Clarisse had left. She was about to shriek a reply out of the woman when the woman suddenly spoke.

“Do you know the story behind this art?”

“No,” Clarisse lied, she refused to be fed those lies all over again. It was a tale the royal had conjured to fit their agenda. It was all lies. “I just think it is very beautiful.”

“Hmm.” The woman chimed. She then turned to face Clarisse, her steel-gray eyes splitting the poor girl in two. “Vincent has other things to attend to Miss. Clarisse. You however have a lot to learn.” With that, the woman marched towards the altar. Clarisse’s attention however remained glued to the glass. She had discovered a being she had not noticed beforehand. A being of darkness ostracized from the believers of the great god. He was the only one without a gift closing in. Clarisse knew who he was, for he was the ancestor of her people. The one who chose darkness.

“Are you coming?” Sister Mathilde snapped.

“Coming.” Clarisse returned, taking a deep breath before running to join the grouchy sister.

***

The forest was no place for a king to be but King Evan was desperate. He had barely been able to sleep since Grand duke Malachi told him he would bringing war upon himself and his family if he did not heed to the demands of the church. They wanted another puppet king and Evan refused to give it to them. Wohar was already in ruins and one more puppet would wreck everything Kings before him had struggled to build.

After a lot of twists and turns, Evan finally heard the river. He stepped out of the blanketed forest and trailed the river banks with a hood slung over his head to hide his identity. It took time but he finally found Gareth, the grandmaster of the church of Corbeau. One would think he would hate the man for suggesting that he put his son through that same ordeal but Evan knew that Gareth was one of the many few that supported him. They could see what the church was doing to Wohar. Evan pulled down the hood and exchanged pleasantries with the man. The old man was gloomy. It only strengthened Evan's suspicions about whatever they were about to discuss.

“What is the church plotting now?” Evan asked.

The grandmaster paused for an uncomfortably long time. He was breaking and the king could not notice. His focus remained on the path where Malachi had passed through. It was dark and that was what frightened the old man more. Malachi could be there waiting for him to slip up. Even so, his daughter’s life was on the line. He had no choice.

“Since you have refused to yield, the higher powers have brought up the option of assassinating you and the entire Dupre house. I know you don’t want another puppet, king Evan but do think about your family and that child you are protecting. He is only alive for this. The house of Dupre can still right its wrongs. Just initiate Esteban.”

No. The king did not wish this sort of life for the first prince. It was cruel and selfish. That child had been his sanctum, his muse. But Evan was also used to tough decisions. This was the right card to play. His only card really.

“Tell them then, that I am ready to initiate my firstborn.”