“‘Divinity’? ‘Blessed child of God’? I beg your pardon?”
“One thing’s for certain—Princess Carolina’s power is beyond the ordinary. Whether it is Divinity remains to be seen, but, at the very least, it is not arcane magic.”
Speculative murmurs filled the air as baffled dignitaries darted glances between me and Flora. Despite the high pontiff’s public recognition of my power, the room seemed caught in a state of limbo, unable to accept such a miraculous display but equally unable to discount what they had witnessed with their own eyes. It was a lot to take in, after all, but I was confident that they would come to believe it in time.
A slight smirk still tugging on my lips, I surveyed the audience—and caught the gaze of a certain fiery-haired prince. He had leaped from his seat and now stood just in front of the stage, his golden zircon eyes radiating concern and that familiar, comforting love. Are you okay? his beseeching expression seemed to ask, to which I responded with a reassuring smile.
“I’m all right,” I said aloud. “Feeling drained, but all right.”
“Are you sure?” he replied. “Do you need to lie down?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m fine, really. Worrywart.”
Finally, he relented, his features softening into relief. After giving me one final nod, he turned and retreated, evidently not wanting to disrupt the proceedings now that he had been assured everything was under control.
Watching his broad figure recede, I silently thanked him. I felt grateful from the depths of my heart for his presence in my life, an encounter of political expediency that now seemed like fate. If he hadn’t become my dearest love, if my thoughts hadn’t drifted to him in my moment of crisis, I might have let Flora die. Perhaps I would have even relished in the opportunity to be free of my sister. For not letting me become a victim of my own hatred, Ed, I owe you my gratitude.
It was at that moment that the high pontiff snapped out of his trance, his expression one of genuine astonishment. He surveyed the scene around him as if seeing it all for the first time: the awestruck crowd, the mystical remnants of divine power still lingering in the air, and finally an awareness that he himself was kneeling on the floor in a most unseemly manner. Regaining his composure, he rose and cleared his throat. Turning to the pair of paladins beside him, he issued a command. “Take Candidate Flora Sanchez to the infirmary immediately. Have her examined and treated.”
The paladins replied in unison. “At once, Your Holiness!” They moved swiftly, calling for a stretcher. Medical staff appeared within moments.
“Hold that side,” one directed.
“You there, take a step back,” another instructed.
“Careful now,” cautioned a third.
They were there in a flash, and then, abruptly, they weren’t. In one efficient motion, they placed the stretcher down, gently transferred Flora onto it, and disappeared down the hall with their precious charge. Part of me wanted to chase after them, to ensure Flora’s well-being for myself, but with my divine powers depleted, I knew I would be more of a hindrance than a help. I had done what I could; the rest I had to entrust to the skilled hands of the church’s physicians and healers.
Restless once more, my gaze started to wander, and this time, I caught the eye of a certain blond-haired lord signaling discreetly for my attention. He pointed at himself, then the door, then smiled. I gathered that he meant to go check on Flora on my behalf. Certainly, it would be an immense comfort for the empire’s greatest mage to be by her side. I nodded my approval, and he quickly whispered something into Ed’s ear before slipping out of the venue.
Finally, the host resumed control of the situation, addressing the audience with a hint of unease. “Um, ladies and gentlemen, we extend our apologies for this unexpected...medical incident. However, the third trial shall now resume without further delay. To account for the interruption, the trial will be extended by fifteen minutes. I kindly request all candidates to promptly return to their positions onstage so we may begin.”
I supposed there wasn’t enough time for a reprise of the trial in its entirety. Onstage, a few nuns hurried to erase any evidence of the earlier chaos, mopping up traces of Flora’s blood from the floor and her water tank. Slowly, I stood up, held out my hands, and looked down. Both my hands and my robe were a grim sight, stained with dark crimson patches from my close contact with my dying sister.
This wouldn’t be grounds for a point deduction, would it? I frowned, contemplating the possibility. Though I wouldn’t protest or regret it if that were the case. It was a badge of honor, I decided. As I resolutely made my way back to my designated spot, a hand gently grasped my wrist.
“Beg your pardon, Your Highness,” a kind, motherly voice said.
“Allow us to assist you out of your robe,” another added.
“Pardon us while we work,” said a third. And “Rest assured, Your Highness, you won’t be deducted points,” said the last.
I turned to find a small group of nuns behind me, equipped with wet towels and a spare robe. In a flurry of efficient motions, they removed my bloodied robe, cleaned my hands, and dressed me in the fresh garment, for which I was grateful (despite the fact that it was slightly too large).
“There we go. Good as new.”
“Our apologies for the delay.”
“Best of luck in the third trial.”
Their ministrations complete and their well-wishes extended, the small assembly of nuns offered me a modest bow and withdrew backstage.