As far as Fiona knew, nothing on the scale of a calamity had occurred in the past decade, and any damage caused by monsters was manageable. Their country wasn’t at war. In fact, it flourished, so she honestly saw no need for a saint.
“Apparently, floods and poor harvests happened every few years in the past. So I guess the fact that there’s been nothing of note these last ten years means things have calmed down.”
When the pontiff nodded in agreement with Linus’ words, it only validated her opinion that their nation wasn’t in dire enough straits for a saint.
“If you understand, then might you ask His Majesty to give up on this project, Your Highness?”
Even though she knew she was complaining and taking out her frustrations at this point, Fiona still couldn’t keep her mouth shut. And since the pontiff didn’t chide her, he almost certainly felt the same way she did.
“I only recently became the crown prince, so it really isn’t in my power to stop my sire’s boyish heart. Not to mention, he has the prime minister’s full backing, which makes it even more difficult. They’re a pain in my hide, you know.”
Despite his aggrieved sigh, Linus continued playing with Fiona’s hair. She wasn’t sure when he started, but he was currently working on a plait. And he was very good at it for a prince, unnecessarily good.
“Your Highness, either be serious or take your leave,” she chided. “Again, why are you even here?”
“Because, Fiona, I wanted to touch your hair. What else?”
The priests in the room sighed with a mixture of exasperation and admiration at the crown prince’s beaming, handsome countenance.
“If it’s hair you seek, I suggest you look to your own. It’s a lovely silver color and the length should be plenty to plait to your heart’s content.”
Seemingly spun from moonlight, Linus’ silver hair was in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. She didn’t understand why he had to fuss with her hair when he could easily run his fingers through his own and braid it however he pleased. She was sure that style would suit his beautiful visage too, so she wished he would leave her be.
The prince remained unfazed by her peevishness. On the contrary, for some strange reason, he had a broad, happy smile.
“Fiona, I am overjoyed that you think me lovely. But I want to touch these beautiful raven strands.” So saying, Linus lifted a hank to his face and pressed his lips softly against it. She stared at him in unwitting fascination, enthralled by the beautiful picture he made. As for the priests around them, they looked more weary than surprised.
And why wouldn’t they? The crown prince doing things like touching Fiona’s hair and kissing had long since become commonplace to them. Not so much for the ordinary clergy members who had never seen him behave like this, but as the pontiff’s aide, Fiona came into constant contact with the high priests in the room, who were used to witnessing such a sight on a daily basis.
She snatched her hair back from Linus’ hand and scowled at him. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but no matter how rare black hair is in this country, you really must do something about this obsession of yours.” Then, her gaze suddenly shifted down to the strands in her grasp. Fiona’s hair was jet-black. An incredibly uncommon hair color in this country, dominated by light shades. “Black hair…it certainly is an unusual color, hm?” she said thoughtfully.
“It is indeed,” Linus agreed. “At the very least, I hardly see it here or in neighboring nations, so I can’t help but be fascinated.”
Is that why Linus was so interested in it? In any case, now wasn’t the time to think about it.
“And the saint this country’s neighbor summoned also has black hair, doesn’t she?” Fiona continued her questioning.
“I believe she does.”
“And as the pontiff, you’re a powerful man, aren’t you, Your Holiness? As well, Your Highness, despite everything, you are the crown prince, aren’t you?”
“Well, that’s putting me in my place… Wait, what are you up to?” Linus had been grinning until halfway through their exchange when Fiona’s serious expression made his own stiffen in suspicion.
She paused before answering. “I propose that I become the saint.”
“Fiona, where is this harebrained idea coming from?” asked the pontiff.
“Consider what’s at stake here, Your Holiness—the energy, stamina, magic, employee benefits, special allowances, and normal duties of the priests and the magic knights. I firmly believe this is the only way to protect all of that. Moreover, the budget we’ll receive for the saint’s summoning can be put to where it’s actually needed.”
The king might not be aware of the priests’ everyday tasks, but in addition to temple maintenance and rituals, they also provided healing magic to the general public. Their ability to heal minor injuries allowed them to accept enough patients to reduce the burden on the physicians in towns and cities. If the doctors had to deal with all the wounded and infirm, they would be quickly overwhelmed. Then, there were the prayers priests offered across the nation as wards against monster invasions. The damage would be unimaginable if they couldn’t perform this task.
Anyhow, on their own, the clergy’s regular duty might seem trivial, but they were surprisingly important. So, calling an indefinite halt to such activities was outrageous. Fiona acknowledged the possibility of nothing bad happening and finishing the invocation unexpectedly fast.
However, the risks were too great in the attempt itself.
“Well, yes, but…”
She understood the pontiff’s hesitation. Going through with her plan meant they would have no rebuttal to offer if anyone accused them of breaching the king’s trust. Even so, she could not obey the royal decree because their ruler was “envious of their neighbor’s bountiful yield.”
“I can maneuver things so that you lot are in charge of the saint-related budget,” Linus offered. “If my father says yes, even the prime minister won’t defy him then.”
“That isn’t what I meant, though… In any case, are you certain about this, Your Highness?”
Linus smiled wryly in response to the pontiff’s question and sifted his fingers through Fiona’s black hair. “It’s a problem we’ll have to face eventually, so we might as well be proactive, don’t you think? Fiona, are you all right with that?”
The unspoken implication of his words was whether or not she was prepared to go through with it. Even if there were extenuating circumstances and even with the crown prince’s approval, they would ultimately be disobeying a direct order from the king.
Fiona stared directly into Linus’ indigo eyes and nodded firmly. “Yes. Should the worst happen, please tell His Majesty I deceived you. I don’t mind if you throw me to the wolves.”
Setting aside the crown prince, it would be a shame if the punishment extended to the rest of the clergy. She wasn’t sure how much of the burden she could shoulder alone, but when the time came, she would be more than happy to be used as a sacrificial pawn. But even that wouldn’t be enough to repay the debt she owed to Linus and the pontiff.
Linus’ eyes widened. He exchanged a meaningful glance with the pontiff, then slumped his shoulders.
“As if I could or would do something like that.”
Just when Fiona thought he was going to pat her gently on the head, his single-minded obsession proved her wrong. Instead, he picked up another lock of her hair and kissed it. The sight should have been familiar to her by now, but for some reason, this particular instance felt like a sacred rite.
She could only be in awe that those with extraordinary beauty could look picturesque no matter what they did.
“I’ll help if that’s what you want, Fiona. The question, however, is what kind of saint to make you.”
A decade ago, their country failed to summon a Saint of Sea Bounty, while their neighbor succeeded recently in invoking a Saint of Abundance. In essence, then, they needed to think of a saint who blessed them with something good.
“I have just the thing, actually. One who cuts waste and protects budgets and working conditions—I’ll become the Saint of Cost Performance!”