Chapter 30
The title of Duke Ryze indeed held considerable weight.
Unlike other citizens of the empire waiting their turn, I was able to meet the cleric without delay.
It was my first time at the temple, and everything felt both unfamiliar and wondrous.
The softly resonating hymns, the portraits of past popes hanging in neat rows.
The faint scent of herbs drifting through the air was enough to soothe the spirit.
“Lady.”
As I turned toward the voice in the drawing room, I recognized the man I had seen at the temple last night.
With long lavender hair reminiscent of hydrangeas, he had a delicate, almost ethereal appearance.
Though I felt somewhat tense, it was only my late mother’s face that he seemed to recognize, so I reassured myself it would be fine.
“Sir Bernice.”
But how could a cleric know my late mother’s name?
The mystery deepened, especially since I’d never heard anything about her passing. The last image I held of my mother was a simple, unmarked grave, with no name, merely “Bernice Devine.”
And then, the memory of my father, struggling to suppress his tears.
“Have you been waiting long? I am Tamitarte.”
“I am April Hill Ryze.”
Bowing my head lightly out of courtesy, I offered my hand.
It was natural to show respect, for even if this cleric knew something of my late mother, I couldn’t simply probe for answers outright.
“To be honest, I didn’t expect you to come to the temple yourself, my lady. If you were injured, you could have summoned a cleric.”
It seemed my request for a salve for a torn wound had been interpreted as an indication that I was hurt.
“I heard it was a tear. If you don’t mind, may I have a look?”
“No, it’s not me who is injured.”
“Then…?”
“A friend of mine was hurt, so I wanted to offer them some healing salve as a gift.”
“Ah, I see.”
As a knight, such a gift would be beneficial for any injuries, not only those within the mouth.
“My apologies for troubling you when you are surely busy.”
“No need to worry.”
Though his lips curved smoothly upward, his eyes remained unmoved. If I looked only at his eyes, it would seem he was silently asking why I was causing him this inconvenience.
When I’d asked Patrick about this cleric, Tamitarte, he had said only one thing: Tamitarte was the strongest in spiritual power among the clerics in the capital’s grand temple.
And the only one there who held any spiritual power at all.
“By the way, how is the Duke’s health?”
A question I hadn’t anticipated as a mere formality. He glanced subtly my way, sensing my silence, and asked curiously.
“You recall he collapsed the day before the engagement ceremony, do you not?”
I had never heard of this. Not even after joining the household had anyone mentioned it.
The butler’s assurance that he was fine was, it seemed, nothing but a lie.
“He might feel better if he visited the cleric.”
From the butler’s and Tamitarte’s words, I gathered two things.
The Duke was indeed unwell, and he was intent on concealing it from others.
“He is well.”
“Are you certain? It seems your household often acquires relaxation aids of some kind.”
“It appears, sir, that you have a particular interest in my father.”
“It’s not so much an interest in the Duke, as in those burdened by illness.”
He chuckled lightly.
As I watched his back while he retrieved the salve from a glass case in the parlor, he cautiously asked,
“And are your own injuries healing well, my lady?”
His sidelong glance, scrutinizing and full of curiosity, made me flinch involuntarily.
It wasn’t as if I had anything to hide, yet his gaze brought an inexplicable discomfort.
“Yes, I am fine,” I managed to respond, hesitating.
“I heard it was quite a severe incident, yet you seem fully recovered, suggesting the cleric’s spiritual power was exceptional.”
There was an odd probing tone in his voice.
In fact, it was openly probing, attempting to discern who had treated me.
When words risked tying me down, silence was often the wisest choice.
“With fewer born possessing spiritual power, one wants to keep talents close by.”
He offered me the requested salve.
“Might you know the name of the cleric who treated you, my lady?”
As Tamitarte mentioned, fewer were born with spiritual power.
It would hardly benefit him if a cleric with stronger power returned to the temple.
In the capital—or indeed the empire—Tamitarte was the only cleric who wielded such power.
“…Why do you ask?”
“I saw the news article on the incident myself, yet I know of no cleric capable of healing such a grave wound at once.”
“….”
“Pure curiosity, I assure you.”
The serene beauty closed his eyes in a faint smile. Though meant to reassure, it only deepened my suspicion.
In that moment, I longed to ask him outright how he knew my mother’s name.
“…How much spiritual power do you possess, sir?”
Tamitarte, favored by Rogian for his gift, freely entered and exited the imperial palace, yet his power was not especially remarkable.
Though his strength was relatively minor, in the temple, he was honored as a high cleric because, by comparison, he was among the strongest there.
Among all the clerics, only Tamitarte held any spiritual power.
It seemed he thought my question mocked his modest abilities, for his gentle smile faltered ever so slightly.
“Sir, do you possess enough spiritual power to mend a bone that has pierced through the skin?”
“….”
“Or to reattach a torn tendon?”
“That question implies the one who healed you possesses such power.”
Indeed, they did, for I had witnessed it firsthand.
“Regrettably, I do not, but I am acquainted with someone who does.”
“Who?”
“You didn’t answer my question either, my lady.”
So he refused to tell me. I clicked my tongue softly and cast a sidelong glance his way.
I had expected him to harbor some inferiority over his limited spiritual power, yet he seemed entirely at peace, free from any envy or self-doubt, as he continued to speak.
“The one I know has aided many with their gift.”
Though his smile was fixed, there was something skewed about it.
“So has that person… passed?”
“No.”
His answer made me pause.
If such a powerful cleric hadn’t passed, did that mean they were still here at the temple?
As if listening to a folktale my grandmother might tell, I looked at him, wide-eyed, as Tamitarte continued.
“They have departed.”
Had this person retired from the clerical position? Could that even be possible?
“From the temple.”
His words made little sense, and yet Tamitarte offered no further clarification.
“They have departed from the temple.”
The phrase did not suggest a cleric relocating to a remote region to serve the people.
“Then perhaps the one who healed me might have been that person.”
When I mentioned this possibility, Tamitarte merely replied, “Perhaps.”
If my father had any connection to the temple, I could understand, but what could my mother have had to do with it—a place effectively forbidden to women? Questions floated in my mind, taunting me.
And even if I asked Alicia, I doubted she would answer.
Clicking my tongue in frustration, the carriage finally came to a halt in front of the count’s estate.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s April Hill Ryze. I’m here to meet Sir Betrice.”
“Sir Betrice?”
The guard flinched, clearly confused, as there were several men with that title in the estate.
It wasn’t easy to guess whom I had come to meet, as there were three who were called “Sir Betrice” here.
The Count of Betrice, the eldest daughter Adonis Betrice, and the youngest son, Adolf Betrice.
It seemed he hadn’t realized I was here for Adonis Betrice, so I smiled brightly and clarified.
“I’m here to see Sir Adonis.”
“Ah, yes.”
At last, the gates swung open, and the carriage proceeded inside.
One of the guards had likely gone ahead to announce my arrival, so someone would come out shortly.
When the carriage halted in the courtyard of the Betrice estate, I carefully stepped out.
“Lady Ryze?”
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