Serpino proclaimed the doctrine with newfound vigour, his voice firm and confident.

“Our land is filled with the goddess’s grace. Every time we open and close our eyes, morning and night, it is by her blessing.”

His words were not hesitant because he was speaking the truth. His praise did not sound hollow — the lives of the people in the domain had indeed improved beyond recognition.

No matter how much they expressed their thanks, it could never be enough for Serpino. Who relieved the poor by lifting the tax burden last autumn? When a blizzard left the domain cut off, not a single person starved to death. Anyone who had survived to see this spring was bound to praise the goddess.

“We must never forget gratitude. Judgement will befall those who lose all sense of it. But the goddess will forever stand by those who give thanks.”

Serpino’s sermon was full of conviction. Yet throughout the entire service, he did not once utter the name of the old god. Those who, despite seeing for themselves how the domain had been cared for and how their lives had improved, failed to recognize the truth were pitiable creatures.

As a shepherd, Serpino had a duty to dispel their ignorance. However, he cast a harsh, unrelenting gaze upon those who dared to invoke the name of the former god. Fortunately, the people quickly adapted to the new order.

As the service neared its end, a man entered the church. Serpino inclined his head slightly upon noticing him. He wore a round hat and a short cloak — the unmistakable garb of a cleric. He stood quietly in the corner of the sanctuary, waiting for the final hymn to finish.

No sooner had the congregation left than he strode up to the altar.

“Serpino, my brother!”

“You have come a long way. Welcome, Bishop Cassian.”

“Why so formal? It’s enough that we are brothers.”

At Cassian’s exaggerated display of warmth, Serpino answered only with a faint smile. Ever since the bishop had first accepted the silver box he offered as a bribe, Cassian had paid frequent visits to this place. Of course, it was not to cultivate brotherly affection with Serpino. His purpose was to feed from the hand of a powerful patron—the true ruler of these lands.

Leaving Nicholas to tidy up after the service, Serpino stepped out of the church. Together, he and Cassian made their way toward the castle. The bishop stole a sidelong glance at him.

“You know, every time I see you, you look younger still.”

Serpino replied with nothing more than a smile. Avoiding all labor had left his complexion pale, almost luminous, and his hands and feet smooth as a child’s. Yet he bore no excess flesh, and the coarse bulk of muscle he once carried had faded, leaving his frame lean and sculpted like a finely wrought statue.

One truth Serpino had come to realize: Lucrezia despised anything that was not beautiful. To avoid offending her taste, he shaved all the hair from his body save that on his head, and anointed his skin each day with milk.

He inspected himself in the mirror as he removed every trace of hair—even from his fingers, his toes, and his most private parts. Not once did he feel shame in doing so. He was, after all, the chosen disciple. And yet, he could not banish the thought that one day she might desire a younger, more handsome man. To guard against such a day, Serpino tended his body with diligent care.

Cassian, of course, knew nothing of this and only tilted his head in puzzlement.

“Perhaps it’s because you eat and drink so well?”

Serpino did not answer this either. It was true the church coffers were abundant. Not only did Lucrezia provide generously, but now that the faithful enjoyed better lives, each gave offerings of their own. Still, what he ate or drank was never his decision to make.

Before long, they reached the castle gates. The languid guards straightened at once when they caught sight of Serpino. The knights, who had been idly gathered in conversation, scattered without a word.

No one dared treat the priest as a mere peddler anymore. All had seen with their own eyes what became of the young recruit who had mocked him—the savage beating, and the shameful dismissal that followed. Yet, for all that, no knight ventured to greet Serpino with undue familiarity, nor did any seek to grow close to him.

With nothing to obstruct their path, the two clerics passed through the gates and headed straight for the audience chamber. They crossed paths with maids occasionally, each of whom lowered her gaze at once and slipped back out of sight. Everyone within the castle now understood: Serpino was involved in the innermost affairs of the keep, too. He was someone they must neither see nor hear — let alone speak of or think about.

Lucrezia was waiting for them the moment they stepped into the audience chamber. She was sitting on the stolen chair, and immediately held out her hand when she saw them. Cassian hurried forward and dropped to his knees before her.

“It has been too long, my lady.”

“So it has—two months, was it?”

Lucrezia smiled in reply. Cassian took both her hands in his as though she were a queen.

Meanwhile, Serpino moved quietly to stand behind her. This was the posture one would expect from a loyal knight, but Cassian was not such a man. To him, Serpino was the hen that laid golden eggs and Lucrezia was the gold itself. Blinded by greed, the old prelate fawned like a merchant before his patron.

“If only all were as devout as you, Lady Lucrezia, the Church’s worries would be cut in half.”

“You flatter me.”

Lucrezia smiled sweetly. In truth, she had poured vast sums into the Church under every imaginable pretext. But her motive was no different than when she scattered charity among the people: cold calculation.

For an unmarried woman to inherit a title was no simple matter. Precedent existed, but only in fading histories. In the end, only the king could sanction it—but before that, two things were essential: the Church’s blessing and the people’s assent.

Naturally, she had not forgotten to line Cassian’s pockets with bribes and gifts. A bishop’s face was indispensable to sway the Church—and beyond that, she needed his cooperation to see her servant’s prayers fulfilled.

Cassian knew nothing of the second task entrusted to him. It was enough that he heard Lucrezia’s promise: that she would raise him to the loftiest seat of the Church, the papal throne itself. Stripped of even the last shred of shame, he had moved like a puppet on her strings, eliminating Serpino’s enemies one by one—the true powers of the clergy.

Still clasping her delicate hand, Cassian kneaded it slowly between his fingers as he spoke.

“I mean it with all sincerity. Brother Serpino, surely you agree?”

Serpino looked down at Cassian with eyes cold as ice. It had been Serpino himself who had first drawn the bishop into their web. Lucrezia had merely taken the sketch he offered and gilded it with brilliance.

In short, Cassian had done his part. Of those who had slandered Marcelo, half already lay reduced to ashes, and the noose was tightening steadily around the rest. As pretext for the purges, Marcelo had been restored and exalted as a saint. On Solvantis Hill, the most peaceful of lands, a monument now stood in his honor.

No one suspected that the entire affair was nothing more than the handiwork of a minor priest and the lady of a single parish. No one but one man. Having regained his freedom, Father Gregorio quickly discerned that this sudden wave of change was Serpino’s vengeance.

Time and again he wrote, trying to dissuade him. But it did not take long to see the futility. He had never foreseen the rot of the clergy, nor had he prevented his friend’s death. Unable to condemn Serpino, Gregorio withdrew to his quiet monastery and swore himself to eternal silence.

A bishop who moved for no cause but greed and ambition—Cassian was a loathsome kind of man. In concealing his own corruption, he was no different from those who had murdered Marcelo.

Yet what displeased Serpino most, in this very moment, was the sight of Cassian pawing so freely at Lucrezia’s hand.