As Serpino walked through the castle, he would occasionally pass knights and servants. Although they worked in the castle, they were still residents of the domain and, as such, members of the Church. Each of them acknowledged him in their own way, showing him respect. None of them wanted to estrange themselves from their priest — and, by extension, God.

At last, Serpino arrived at the doors of the audience chamber. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard. Was it reluctance? Or was it merely the weight of the moment itself? The same tension returned to coil in his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

There sat Valterio Cardini, lord of the manor, on a chair far more lavish than his station merited. As Serpino approached, the count raised one hand in a casual greeting.

“So, the priest has come.”

The moment he entered, Serpino was met with a sharp gaze that pierced him like a blade. Although Count Valterio’s face wore a mask of courtesy, his eyes regarded the priest as though he were a beggar asking for charity.

Yet it was not the arrogant lord who most unsettled Serpino. It was the woman standing at his side:

Lucrezia Cardini. She was a vision of arresting beauty. Her black, satiny hair framed a face as pale as marble. Her eyes glimmered like rubies, and her lips were an even deeper red. It was said that her late mother had been renowned for her beauty, which had enabled her to become the Count’s second wife despite her lowly birth.

Lucrezia tilted her head ever so slightly, her expression impossible to read. Her crimson eyes seemed to pierce straight through him, exposing the thoughts he was trying to hide. Serpino lowered his gaze beneath the veil of courtesy, unwilling or unable to meet her stare. He could not explain why the daughter disturbed him more than her imperious father did.

At last, he slowly stepped forward and knelt before Valterio.

“May the blessing of Justina rest upon my lord.”

“My thanks.”

After the customary greeting, a silence fell. Serpino forced out words from a voice that did not wish to rise.

“I pray that through your lordship’s hand, God’s grace may reach even those who thirst for it most.”

“Hm…”

When Serpino openly pleaded for charity, Valterio’s face fell. It was the same weary tug-of-war that played out every time. The Count would offer the barest fraction of a tithe, as if it were a personal favor. Yet he never once donated a coin to improve his people’s lives.

Serpino did not flinch. He took no joy in begging for alms in this way. But without money, there was nothing he could do. No matter how carefully he managed the church’s meagre coffers, once the share owed to the central diocese had been sent, there was nothing left.

In truth, forcing virtue upon another went against doctrine. Yet Serpino believed that it was the Lord’s sacred duty to care for his people. Today, more than ever, he prayed for a change of heart and some flicker of mercy.

Instead, Valterio turned to his daughter.

“We must show due honor to the goddess who grants us her blessing, Lucrezia.”

“Yes, Father.”

The woman stepped forward. Still on his knees, Serpino flinched at the movement. Lucrezia lowered herself down to sit directly in front of him.

“Will you pray for me?”

“…Of course.”

She held out her hands, palms facing upwards. Swallowing his unease, Serpino gently took them in his own. Lucrezia closed her eyes, adopting an almost reverent demeanor. Serpino began to murmur the words of the prayer.

From time to time, his gaze flickered to her face. With her blood-red eyes hidden, she resembled an exquisitely crafted porcelain doll. Yet her beauty unsettled him. The only signs of life he could discern were the faint tremor of her lashes and the warmth of her skin beneath his touch.

She had a beautiful face, yet it was devoid of vitality. Suddenly, Serpino saw the face of the woman who had died that morning overlaying hers. His stomach lurched and bile burned in his throat. He bit down hard on his lip and forced himself to continue the prayer.

As he did so, the Count idly tapped his fingers against the armrest. Serpino’s eyes drifted towards Valterio’s hand. Though they were lined with age, there was no trace of labor or hardened calluses. Instead, every finger glittered with expensive rings.

There was no sign of reverence on the Count’s face, only boredom. However little piety he might possess, he could not spurn the priest’s visit outright. To do so would risk excommunication — banishment, even in death. This would mean that his body would be denied a burial in consecrated ground, and his soul would be condemned to wander without peace.

At last, the prayer ended. Lucrezia took a small bundle out of a hidden pocket in her gown and put it in Serpino’s hand. She fixed her gaze on him, as if testing him.

Serpino could not hide his disappointment. Its weight and size remained unchanged. Once again, there was nothing for the people. But he was in no position to complain.

“Thank you. May Justina ever be with you, Lady Lucrezia.”

“I hope she will answer my prayers.”

The words carried an edge of irreverence. Lucrezia rose lightly to her feet, followed more slowly by Serpino. She turned to her father.

“I will see the priest out.”

“Alright.”

Valterio gave his consent readily. To him, nothing mattered more than dismissing the troublesome priest as quickly as possible.

And so, once again, Serpino left the audience chamber as though driven out. Following behind, Lucrezia gave a faint, knowing smile.

“You truly never give up, do you?”

Serpino’s brow twitched at her words. The meaning was unmistakable. Since his appointment, he had spent every day pleading for the Count’s mercy.

It had never been for his own gain. Any priest — indeed, any man of conscience — could not have turned a blind eye to such suffering. And yet, a faint sense of shame stirred within him. Her smile seemed to mock him.

He knew it was just his wounded pride talking. His resentment towards the Count, who had once again ignored the people’s suffering, clouded his vision. Forcing down his turmoil, he answered calmly.

“I believe the lord too will one day hear Justina’s voice.”

“And not your own, Father?”

Her question, spoken with childlike innocence, made his eyes rise almost against his will. Their gazes locked instantly.

As though she had been waiting for that moment, her crimson eyes narrowed, touched with arrogance. Perhaps it was their uncommon color, but Serpino found himself utterly unable to read her thoughts.

He drew his priestly mantle tighter around him, hiding the man within, and replied evenly,

“Because Justina taught us to show mercy.”

“But she is the goddess of judgment, is she not?”

Serpino faltered at her quiet challenge. After all, Justina was no merciful goddess. Although her doctrine urged charity, it never demanded it. Her sermons on the punishment of greed had always emphasized this far more than mercy.

Yet Serpino had never expected to be corrected on doctrine, least of all by her. What did she truly know, living as she did in her father’s wealth, only hearing prayers when they were recited for her by others?

The pride he held as a priest cracked ever so slightly. He felt as though Lucrezia were testing him, like the witches of old who were said to lure countless souls astray from Justina herself.

When he did not answer, Lucrezia tilted her chin even higher.

“Surely you, Father, know the will of God better than I. That is why I would rather follow your voice. To reach out to those who thirst… is that not so?”

Her meaning was unmistakable. She had alluded to such things before.

‘If it were me, I could do it. So ask for mercy from me, not from my father.’

It could not be dismissed as the reckless confidence of a spoilt young woman. However miserly the count might be, he must surely have left some money to his only daughter. Moreover, word had already spread through the villages that her fiancé was the mining developer who had brought fortune and renown to the Cardini name.

Nor was it mere rumor. Serpino himself had seen the man when he officiated at Lucrezia’s coming-of-age ceremony. Why else would a middle-aged man, with grey streaks in his hair, trouble himself to attend the ceremony and bring gifts in person?

In an instant, his muddled thoughts cleared. His gaze drifted over her attire and ornaments. Heavy golden bangles glittered on her arms, several at once. The cost of just one of these could support a physician in this land for a whole year.

Serpino allowed the faintest of smiles to touch his lips, as though offering her an answer in kind.

“Thank you.”