Chapter 27:
The Saint Smiles
OH, HOW SHE HAD WAITED for this day.
Once Fermina’s carriage had reached the grand cathedral, she sat and reflected on everything that had brought her to this point. She would never forget the moment the pope called her name and bestowed her with her ivory stole. It had been such an honor; it meant so much to become the saint.
While anyone could become a cardinal, this position was more exclusive. More special. Not even a king or queen could use their power and influence to obtain the title of saint. Only someone acknowledged by the public could earn this right.
The whole process had passed in a blur, and suddenly she was the saint. Thinking about it now, she almost wanted to laugh. It had all gone so smoothly, as if scripted. Fermina was grateful to the Capricious God for affording her this opportunity.
I never thought it would be so simple.
Her thoughts returned to the island. After she started socializing more proactively with the other sisters, someone had snuck her a letter. It had read thus: If you save the boy being threatened with a whipping, I will get you out of this monastery.
She didn’t know who’d sent it, and they didn’t give her any details about where or when this was supposed to take place. Fermina had thought it a prank until she went to the town that day and saw it happening before her very eyes. Out of desperation and still skeptical about the letter, she threw herself in front of the boy.
All she ever had to do was perform a good deed. It had been that simple. By putting herself in front of that boy, she’d earned endless praise. She hadn’t known until she left the monastery, but that one small action of hers had struck a chord everywhere. It had sent a chill of pleasure down her spine when people remarked on how special it was, what she’d done. Nothing could replace the sweet taste of widespread acknowledgment.
Funny how none of them knew that the red-haired sister had been the first to react when the boy was in trouble. If they were going to praise Fermina, then she should’ve been included as well. Fermina had only followed her example.
Though I suppose it’s natural for me to get the credit, since I was the one who shielded him from the whip directly. Encouraged by that success, Fermina had continued to use the red-haired sister as a blueprint for her actions thereafter. She hated the free meal services with every fiber of her being, but she had never forgotten to smile while she attended them. That had helped her gain the attention not only of the townsfolk but of the clergy as well.
When she and the other sisters were waiting for the ship to bring them their mail, Fermina had experienced a delicious sense of superiority over how the other sisters had copied her and started praying.
Ah ha ha! They’re so simple. It boggled her mind that they could be considered delinquents. That was what they were, by the way: Most of the sisters at the monastery where Fermina had stayed were criminals. Granted, they’d either had extenuating circumstances or shown an earnest desire to reform their ways.
The red-haired sister who loved participating in the free meal services was one such example—but there were other sisters who, like Fermina, were noble ladies who’d committed egregious enough wrongs to land them in the monastery. The only exceptions were the senior sisters. They were victims. The younger sisters were perpetrators, and the senior sisters were victims meant to oversee their reformation.
That one senior sister was charged with keeping watch specifically over Fermina. That was something she’d realized during her stay, though she’d only confirmed it once and for all when she initially refused Norris’s invitation. It had been a pain to deceive the older woman and make her escape from the island. It wouldn’t have been possible without the red-haired sister’s assistance, which allowed her to meet Norris again and secure his help.
Norris was the one who’d sent her that letter. The baker and the little boy were in cahoots and had worked together to deceive the crowd—and they’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
Still, didn’t they resent me a little too much, putting me under such strict watch?
Admittedly, Fermina was the one who had landed herself in that situation to begin with, but an aristocratic family normally sent their daughter to whatever monastery and washed their hands of her thereafter. Instead, her family had gone out of their way to send her to the worst place possible.
Fermina’s hands were still calloused and cracked even though she consistently applied cream to her skin. Her fingernails were only now presentable after dedicated filing.
Maybe this is for the best, though. Calloused hands will win me more sympathy than smooth ones. Now that she was the saint, people had the most charitable interpretations of her. People would praise her as the new light of hope when all she did was spew idealism. Life was all too easy. It almost made her nervous, wondering whether this was really all right.
But the best part is that my name will be in the history books. Even if Harland eventually dissolved, the church was the purveyor of history. Living on that island had taught her that there were people and places even royalty couldn’t reach. No matter how much power or money they had, there were people they couldn’t save.
That moment back in town, Fermina was the one who saved that boy. Not Sylvester, not Claudia, but her—the woman people had likened to a saint well before she was officially given the title. Even now, Sylvester couldn’t touch her. It was thrilling.
Hee hee. You’ll regret not picking me when you had the chance.
Fermina had gone about things all wrong in the past. She shouldn’t have tried to oppose Claudia directly. If she’d only done good deeds, she could have had a leg to stand on. There would have been no need to send her to that isolated island.
Then again, I wouldn’t be where I am now without my experiences there.
It had been miserable; she wasn’t even allowed a name, referred to only as “sister,” but it was a small price to pay for being able to stand proudly and present herself as the saint.
No one can hurt me now. Fermina had knights serving her. The faithful regarded her with reverence, heaping flattery upon her. This newfound power made her grin. But the true fun would lie in condemning Claudia.
Fermina conjured Claudia’s image in her mind—that black hair, those blue eyes. She was probably dedicating herself to her final preparations for the festival, ignorant of the hell she would soon be cast into.