Not long after the Lady Monica debacle had concluded, I found myself in the Garnet Palace engaged in a meeting of the minds in preparation for the upcoming Saintly Trials. Though the purpose of the gathering was ostensibly formal in nature, it felt anything but thanks to the familiar company. Ed and Teodore, my constant companions, were present, although the coziness was admittedly somewhat deflated with the slightly awkward addition of Prince Gilbert.
The first prince, his slender fingers delicately curled around the handle of his teacup, let out a theatrical sigh. “What a taxing week this has been,” he lamented, somehow managing a melodramatic flounce while yet remaining seated. “I daresay I’m so spent I could collapse on the spot.”
“Yes, we’ve all had to make sacrifices to ensure everything is ready by Noel,” Teodore said, his voice betraying only a modicum of impatience with Prince Gilbert’s affectation. “Even with the church relieving us of the task of running the actual trials, the endless negotiations with the participating nations and the drafting of budget proposals have kept me busy enough.”
“Every day seems to present a new challenge,” Ed complained. “One day it’s the chosen venue causing us grief, the next it’s monetary constraints.”
“And don’t get me started on those who are clamoring for special regalia for the candidates!” I added. “The idea of a full Saintly ensemble for every candidate to wear might have been rejected, but with the tight schedule, producing even just the robe we agreed upon will be a challenge.”
Our meeting devolved with remarkable alacrity into a collective airing of grievances. We each took it in turn to vent our frustrations, finding comfort and camaraderie in our shared commitment to surmount the difficulties and see our tasks through.
That being said, I wasn’t sure I had quite the same degree of justification to complain as the others. As the Malcosian Saintly candidate, I was privileged enough to be guaranteed a period of proper rest each night—a luxury that, I suspected, many of my companions had been denied. The guilt of being singled out for special treatment weighed on me, but I recognized that as an official representative of the empire, I had a duty to look my best. The slightest imperfection, even a mere blemish on my skin (to say nothing of bags under my eyes!) would reflect poorly on the dignity of the empire itself.
Reflecting on the meticulous efforts that I—that is to say, that Marisa—had been making in order to maintain my pristine appearance, I absently traced patterns over my skin, delighting in the flawlessly smooth sensation beneath my fingertips, a tangible reminder of her tireless care.
“Now then,” Teodore declared, clearing his throat. “If we’ve all said our piece, I propose we commence with today’s agenda.” He adjusted his spectacles and looked significantly at the nearby clock. Its hands read half past four, indicating there were only two hours left until supper.
I’m sure Teodore sees the value in maintaining a daily routine, I thought. I glanced sidelong towards Ed, seated beside me. And Ed appears to be utterly exhausted. I’m sure everyone here is looking forward to a much-needed good night’s rest.
I nodded silently, and Teodore picked up the materials on the table before him. “On the matter of venue for the trials, the church has graciously offered the halls of the central cathedral. Unlike the preliminary trials, these final trials will feature a stage built expressly for the event. Spectator seating will be necessarily limited, but we shall endeavor nonetheless to accommodate all attendees, prioritizing monarchs and distinguished nobility.” He languidly turned the page. “Moving on, the trials shall be broadcast live across the realm via magical instruments. Although we have precious few of these instruments in our possession, we will ensure that they will be strategically placed for the general populace to observe. After all, this event is, in essence, a contest of national significance.”
Magical instruments? He must be referring to the ones that were used to broadcast our wedding. I’d heard those instruments were only employed for the most prestigious imperial events, so to be under their lens for the second time in such a short while was frankly startling. Not to mention mortifying! I thought, picturing all of the people who would soon come to know my face. When will I get a chance to observe one of these broadcasts for myself instead of being the subject of them? I wondered wistfully.
Teodore’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “As previously mentioned, the church alone shall oversee the trials. We—that is to say, the royal family—shall abstain from any involvement in order to preempt potential grievances. It is imperative that we avoid any accusations of favoritism or foul play; thus we will only intervene if absolutely necessary.” He paused a moment before adding, “Furthermore, it is the high pontiff himself who will be presiding over the trials as arbiter.”
A relieved “Oh!” escaped my lips. My heart leaped at the news.
Prince Gilbert looked surprised by this revelation, as did his brother. “Why bother His Holiness with such tedium?” the first prince grumbled. “The results are as good as fixed. Anyone with a pulse could surely adjudicate.”
“But you can’t deny that his presence would be invaluable in aiding the legitimacy of the trials,” Ed pointed out. “This is a good development.”
Despite the certain inconvenience to His Holiness, the reassurance that his involvement brought was undeniable. I was sure we were all tired of the legitimacy of the Faith Council of Saints being challenged at every turn.
“As Prince Gilbert so eloquently put it, the results are as good as fixed,” Teodore said. “Nevertheless, we have solicited His Holiness to perform his role justly and without bias. This ties back to my earlier comment regarding favoritism. Let us continue on, shall we? With regards to the announcement of Her Highness’s Divinity, it shall be declared by the high pontiff himself at the award ceremony.” He lifted his gaze from his documents and fixed it on me. “The narrative that we intend to construct will state that he only recognized Her Highness’s powers upon seeing her performance during the trials.”
Teodore hesitated not a whit in his willingness to bend the truth. Yet what could I say, being entirely complicit myself in this duplicity? It pained me to have to involve His Holiness in such schemes, but the backlash that would arise if he stated he’d long known about my power was easily imaginable. It would expose our rationale for establishing the Faith Council in an instant. We had no choice but to pretend it was a coincidence.
“Yes, His Holiness’s proclamation should silence any would-be detractors,” Prince Gilbert agreed. “At least, those who might dare to voice their skepticism publicly.”
Teodore seemed to accept the inevitability of whispered criticism with a pragmatic shrug. “That is a problem that will resolve itself. Her Highness’s powers surpass even those of the high pontiff. A firm demonstration or two should suffice to dispel any doubts. Now, I am eager to move on, so let us proceed.” He adjusted his glasses once more, his peridot eyes narrowing as they moved down the page. “Next, it has come to our attention through a recent dispatch that Celestia has chosen Lady Flora Sanchez as their representative in the trials.”
My body tensed immediately. While I may have escaped my sister’s shadow thanks to my Malcosian companions, any utterance of her name still served to paralyze me as well as any toxin. I gingerly worked my tense jaw open to speak. “Flora is an exceptional holy mage,” I managed to say. “The news doesn’t surprise me in the least. In fact, I rather expected it.” My words rang hollow, even I could tell—but I had truly expected this.
Flora was the premier healer in all of Celestia. I had witnessed her erase countless injuries with my own eyes. As I rationalized the choice, I willed the anxieties to retreat back into the depths of my consciousness. It isn’t your place to throw a tantrum, I told myself. Clenching my fists tightly, I fought to keep my emotions in check...and then a larger, more reassuring hand unexpectedly gripped mine.
“Lina, it’s all right.” Ed gently caressed my hand with his thumb. “You are wife to the second prince of Malcosias, a bearer of Divinity. You needn’t fear your sister.”
“His Highness is correct,” Teodore concurred. “In truth, this is the greatest opportunity you could ever have to enact revenge upon your dreadful sister. Show her what true power looks like; take delight in her defeat.”
Prince Gilbert looked a little confused. “I feel as if I’m missing important context, but no matter—you’ll be all right, my mistress. Never forget who you are, beloved child of God.”
I surveyed the trio of men before me. Each sported a defiant grin, as if to say show her what for! Teodore, ever the sadist, had a particularly wicked twist to his smile that clearly conveyed I won’t be satisfied until you humiliate her thoroughly. He could certainly be a bit...cold-blooded at times, and yet, in moments like these, that unrepentant ferocity was the greatest reassurance. Heartened by their words, encouraging rather than consoling, I formed a fist and curled it against my heart. “You’re right—all of you,” I said. “This is a chance to finally confront her, to prove I am no longer the sister she once overshadowed. I won’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers. I will aim to defeat her, thoroughly and completely!”