The Fuse

With those various proclamations, the suddenly convened New Year’s greeting ceremony came to an end.

Everyone present—nobles of every rank down to the lowest guard—received a pouch of twenty silver coins from the Lord Deputy as a New Year’s gift.

Though shocked at the vast expense, neither Christoph nor the Duchess minded. After all, it was all their own revenue, taxes collected from the castle’s holdings.

If giving a little back could raise loyalty and secure support for Christoph’s declarations, it was as good as free.

After the ceremony, Christoph invited the delegation to the small banquet hall.

He politely suggested that, having been outdoors long enough, they enjoy refreshments and conversation in warmth. After hearing the announcement of a direct fief, the delegation could hardly refuse.

As they rose and followed Baron Arnesen’s lead, Lyset once more looked at Morten.

But Morten was busy explaining the sudden proclamations to his lined-up knights.

The small banquet hall.

“Sister Lyset?”

The priest beside her prodded.

“Y-yes?”

“The Lord Deputy is asking you.”

“Eh? W-what…?”

While Lyset was lost in thought on how to bring up Roze to Morten, something had been asked. Thomas and the others in the delegation were frowning at her.

“Ah!”

Lyset, face flushed, turned to Christoph.

Christoph smiled warmly.

“I am not used to such occasions either. Naturally, anyone would be nervous. My voice may be softer than I think, so pay it no mind. Once more: my suggestion was that Sister Lyset take up service at the Duchy’s library and archives.”

Lyset’s heart pounded.

This was clearly Christoph’s intentional move to see her more often.

Normally, Lyset should not decide this. But Thomas, still dazzled by Christoph’s promises, and reassured by Kraf’s delegation of minor matters, boldly left the choice to her.

‘This will bring me closer to him. Everything is moving toward the prophecy!’

Caught in this great tide, she bowed her reddened face and opened her even redder lips.

“I am willing to serve wherever I can. And since I adore books, I would like to serve again in the library.”

“Excellent. If Father Thomas permits, the matter is settled.”

The ball was in Thomas’s court.

“Why not? Service is human labor. The joy is greatest when one can do what one does best and loves most.”

Thus Lyset’s place of service was changed then and there.

One more person smiled inwardly: Morten, silent at Christoph’s side.

‘If I cannot ask about Roze here, I can always visit the library and speak with her then.’

Morten stared at her. Unable to withstand his piercing gaze, Lyset lowered her head.

‘I must tell him… but how?’

Yet she could not speak up on her own, and his gaze pressed her uncomfortably as the executor of prophecy.

Then a small miracle happened.

Thomas noticed Morten’s stare and spoke up first.

“Sir Morten seems to have something to ask Sister Lyset?”

Morten froze at the direct hit, while Fynel glanced at him from Christoph’s other side.

Morten cleared his throat and spoke quietly in a deep voice.

“Merely the yearning of a father who gave his daughter to the Lord over ten years ago, and feels it when he sees another Holy Sister.”

It was deeply irreverent for a layman to ask about a Holy Sister’s affairs.

But all here knew Morten was Roze’s father. And the gathering was genial enough.

Thomas smiled, as if to overlook this breach.

“How could one ignore such yearning? Yet we priests know nothing of the convent’s affairs. Sister Lyset can convey Sir Morten’s feelings instead.”

“Sister Lyset, Roze, is she well?”

Morten cut Thomas off with a blunt question. A breach upon breach. Thomas’s face stiffened.

Lyset knew the priests had no idea what had happened to Roze.

All eyes turned to her.

After gathering her thoughts, Lyset looked straight at Morten and spoke.

“Sister Roze has always cared for me and helped me. Recently she has been serving in Mother Cecilia’s office. And…”

Lyset swallowed and whispered.

“Sister Roze is doing very well.”

As she said it, Lyset’s fierce gaze met Morten’s—laden with negation.

Morten, seasoned, instantly grasped the meaning. He also knew why she had spoken at such length before.

‘This Sister is close to Roze. And the prioress has done something to her. The tears yesterday confirm it…’

Fynel too realized something was amiss as he watched between them.

Unaware, Thomas hurried to end the awkward breach.

“As you heard, Sister Roze is doing very well. Please do not worry. Sister Lyset will surely convey your fatherly love.”

“It was impudent, I apologize.”

Morten bowed slightly.

Christoph too recalled the weeping sister, and tilted his head sadly. But he did not pursue it. The time was not right.

‘I must meet her at the library.’

Morten steeled his resolve once more.

After the tea gathering ended, the delegation bid Christoph farewell and returned to the cathedral.

“You are rather late. Much must have been discussed.”

Joachim, greeting them, made the Sign of the Cross and smiled at Thomas.

“Hm. May we see the High Priest at once?”

“He is waiting with Mother Cecilia in the office.”

“Then let us go at once.”

Leaving the flags and bell to other clerics, the delegation went to Kraf’s office.

The office door opened on Kraf and the prioress glaring mid-argument, halting.

Both plastered on forced smiles, praising the delegation and gesturing at them to sit.

“Well done, Father Thomas and all. Now, tell us what occurred.”

Thomas began recounting their experience.

The strange proceedings in the arena, the treatment they received—Kraf tilted his head in disbelief, then his face flushed red with anger.

“Does he take the Cathedral for a mere subordinate? Has that young heir learned no respect or obedience from Duke Yodel?”

The prioress too was outraged.

“See, High Priest Kraf—remember how arrogantly he stormed out before us!”

It was clearly a slight to the Cathedral and convent. For over fifty years, since its founding, they had eradicated native faiths and secured ecclesiastical authority here.

Recognized by the Papacy, they stood above secular powers, wielding divine authority. To be treated so by a mere lord or heir was unthinkable.

But Thomas’s next words silenced Kraf, the prioress, and Joachim: Christoph’s proclamations—his enthronement, coming-of-age, war against Grandelvald, half the fiefs promised to the Cathedral, and his pledge of close cooperation.

Yet Kraf and the prioress were seasoned.

They were not blinded by promises—illusions, for now—of direct fiefs.

‘War with Grandelvald? Without the Cathedral’s sanction or blessing? Against another realm of the same faith?’

The Papacy and its cathedrals were cautious on territorial disputes.

They stemmed from worldly greed, offering no gain to the Papacy among its own flock.

And for Christoph, still only heir, to step forth so boldly—clearly it admitted Duke Yodel’s grave illness.

His proclamation of a combined enthronement and coming-of-age, and the call for a council, was less request than command—yet one they could not refuse.

Still, Kraf was confident he could stand against the council’s three secular voices: Lord, Knight Commander, and Guard Captain.

But if the Cathedral rejected the war and took it to the Papacy?

The Papacy would demand justification, pressuring Nastrand.

Nastrand could face a coalition of Grandelvald, Fjorland, and Bjoern.

Their Cathedrals were secretly networked.

But no grounds to outright reject Christoph’s claim were given.

His arrogance and rashness were flaws—but not sin enough for immediate rejection.

‘How could that youth paint such a scheme…?’

For now, his bold grant of direct fiefs—legally Papal but practically Cathedral’s—plus talk of enthronement, war, and consultation, served as face-saving gestures.

Christoph demanded they follow the horse he already rode.

If things went well, as Thomas thought, their influence in Nordenheim would grow. If not, they’d suffer only moral blame for failing to restrain Christoph—not true loss.

‘Best to quietly inform Grandelvald’s Cathedral, for an escape later. Then watch the boy. If he conquers, we take the fiefs gratefully.’

But if he lost?

‘Then we raise another heir, imprison or kill Christoph. The next generation bound tighter to us. In the long term, a fine outcome.’

Kraf nodded, as if resolved. The others looked at him.

“Let us meet the Lord Deputy’s proclamations with silence. Like a joust of a fiery novice—how much we enjoy watching is up to us.”

All were surprised at the bold metaphor.

“Yet mind: the Cathedral must not stray from its place or legitimacy. Restrain speech and acts, and submit all decisions to me.”

“Yes.”

“And what else?”

The rest were trifles to him.

Renovating the second balcony for more worshippers, lowering tithe from 12% to 10% but supplementing with labor for Cathedral projects, and such.

Kraf waved dismissively.

Thus Thomas never mentioned Lyset’s transfer nor Morten asking after Roze.

“Enough. You may all withdraw. Well done. Joachim, Mother Cecilia—stay.”

The delegation’s report was complete.

And so began the true power struggle between Castle and Cathedral.