CH892 · Rewrite
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Chapter 892: Appreciated

Someone was lying — the church or the nuns.

Isabella could think of no reason for the nuns to fabricate an order. They had been discarded; they had nothing left to gain from invention. Looking at them — the pallor, the hollowed faces, the eyes that had stopped expecting — she estimated they had perhaps a fortnight left before starvation finished what abandonment had started.

But if the church had lied, what purpose did it serve? Recalling every formal member to Hermes, leaving the Cloud Ladder unguarded, leaving the Old Holy City open — what was the design in that?

She set the question aside and looked at the leading nun.

“What should I call you?”

“I am called Qiu, Your Holiness.”

“Haven’t you ever considered leaving?”

The nun seemed genuinely startled. “What — why?”

“The walls are high and the gate is thick, but neither is impassable.” Isabella kept her voice even, measuring. “Six weeks is long enough to build a ladder from timber, or stack firewood against the gate and burn through the planks and melt the chain. You had options. If you could send a representative to Hermes, why not simply go together? With the food supply severed, you face a certain death here whether or not the Kingdom of Dawn’s army arrives.”

Qiu was a long time coming back from that silence. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a murmur. “Where… where could we possibly go, if we left?”

Every head in the room went down.

“I’ve never left the cloister…”

“Nor have I.”

“There’s little enough here, but at least there’s something. I don’t think the outside world would be better.” The orphans were joining in now.

“If we start begging, we’ll go back to the lives we had before.”

“The book told us we shouldn’t take begging for granted.”

“I don’t… want to live like that again.”

Isabella looked at their bewildered faces and understood. It was not the church’s order that bound them. They had simply never learned any other shape for a life. The situation composed itself in her mind the way tactical positions always did — clear, cold, immediate. The nuns could be managed easily enough: remove those still loyal to the Holy City and the matter was settled. Whether the orphans posed a problem depended on how deeply they had been formed by what they had been taught. Obstinate loyalty in children would become a thorn for His Majesty.

“One more question.” She drew a breath and kept her voice low. “Why do you call me Supreme Pontiff?”

Qiu looked frightened. She hesitated a long moment before she spoke. “Pope Mayne is dead, as are the three archbishops. With no new nomination declared from Hermes, the institution requires that all subordinates advance to fill the gaps. You are the one closest to the holy temple.”

“Pope Isabella! Please help us!”

“Don’t leave us behind — we’ll accept any punishment you name!”

“Please take us back to Hermes!”

The voices rose and folded over one another. Isabella let them run.

They are not calling me Her Holiness out of conviction. They want the church’s attention restored — an eye turned back toward them. At the bottom of any hierarchy, the institution’s name matters less than its shelter. They will clutch any hand extended downward, even a fragile one, because the alternative is the open water.

The thought arranged itself into something useful.

“I have an important matter to tell you,” Isabella said, raising her voice. “Listen carefully.”

The room stilled.

“The church has changed.” She let the words settle. “Mayne was no true pope. He betrayed Lord O’Brien and stole the throne. There was another successor — the one Lord O’Brien intended to receive his power.”

The ripples spread visibly through the crowd — whispers breaking into exclamations, heads turning, someone releasing a long breath.

“The successor was his first Pure Witch, Zero.” She did not know precisely what His Majesty would think of these words; she had started, and she would finish. “Graycastle is not our enemy. Lord O’Brien himself sought an alliance with Graycastle — to face the real enemy together.”

“Do you mean… the demonic beasts?” someone ventured.

“More fearful than the demonic beasts.” She shook her head. “They are recorded in the canon — canon that only a few senior figures of the church have ever been permitted to read. Mayne refused to let a Pure Witch hold power. So he arranged a secret revolt, framed Zero as she prepared to leave for Graycastle as a messenger, and that deception became the cause of the battle of Coldwind Ridge.” She paused. “Fortunately, his scheme failed. I survived that battle. The men who initiated the rebellion died within the month after it — punished, without question, by the deities.”

“There is no so-called last battle,” she continued. “You are not required to hold this cloister to the last moment alone.” Another pause, smaller than the first. “You are safe now.”

Nuns and orphans alike looked as though they could not trust their own ears.

“What about… our punishment… for killing the priests?”

“They had dishonored their names and surrendered all claim to their positions. I have pardoned each of you.”

A beat of silence. Then the hall broke open.

“Thank you, Your Merciful Holiness!”

“Long live Pope Isabella!”

“Long live Your Holiness!”

Isabella pressed both palms downward until the noise receded. “As I said — I am not the pope. The institution does not actually confer that role on me. I am the executor of the Supreme Pontiff, as I was before.”

“But you still represent the Church of Hermes!” Qiu said, her voice bright with something like relief.

“I have a mission for you.” Isabella let the words land clean. “After you have eaten your fill.”

The nuns and orphans lurched to their feet and knelt again. As one voice: “At your service.”

Isabella understood exactly what she was looking at. They were not choosing her out of conviction. They had been forsaken and left for dead; now a hand had been extended. They would take it with everything they had, even knowing the hand belonged to something that was no longer — perhaps had never been — the church they thought they knew. And that was fine. By the time the First Army arrived, what she had told them would be made true enough that the distinction would not matter. The old beliefs had to be cracked open first; the new story could take root in what remained. King Roland would then hold this territory not by force alone, but by something older and more durable — the need people have to believe they have been saved by the right side.

Simple. Effective. Slightly repellent. Do it anyway.

“Qiu — gather the residents of the other two cloisters and repeat what I told you. Make certain every child receives a full portion before nightfall. The First Army of Graycastle will answer your call and assist you. Now that they know it was Mayne and his men who committed the betrayal, they will not make things difficult for you.” She spoke steadily, without theatrics. “After that, go out into the city. Visit every household. Record the names of those who remain and those who have left. If you encounter any priests who turned traitor or believers who resist, report to me directly.”

The nuns moved before she finished the sentence.

When the gate was torn down and the girls were being led out in an orderly line, one of them stopped. She turned and bowed low — not a trained courtesy but something that had cost her something to perform.

“Thank you, Lady Isabella.”

The others followed, one after another down the line.

“You’re so kind, My Lady.”

“I’ll remember you forever.”

Isabella stood and received it.

She had gathered every variety of hatred and imprecation since the day she had become a Pure Witch. This — this was the first time the tide had run the other direction. She had not done it for gratitude. Her purpose was her purpose, and she would have sent every one of these people to their deaths without a pause if that purpose had required it. Gratitude, then, was a surplus — irrelevant, even inconvenient.

And yet.

Something was happening in her chest that she did not have a prior record of — a softness under pressure, a warmth she could not quite locate the source of. She had braced for it to be intolerable. It was not.

Was this what he had intended?

Isabella let out a slow breath. She followed the last of the line out toward the camp.

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