Every year, after the royal progress left their region, Duke Albrecht Norvain hosted his private regional gathering at Norvain Hall.
It was never called a "banquet" in public - merely a "modest assembly of concerned peers."
In truth, it was where real regional decisions were made: alliances sealed with handshakes, betrayals whispered over wine and gossip told between courses.
The great hall was everything the nobility prided itself on - with high vaulted ceilings, old tapestries, and long tables laden with silver and crystal.
Bishop Jorvia Elina Sancta was present.
Her position required her to attend all important events throughout the year.
The robes she wore were immaculate as always.
She smiled politely at the other guests, but there was a certain… sternness in her gaze.
Walking through the crowd, she exchanged reserved greetings and exuded a calm self-assurance.
Until she saw something that made her face pale.
On the other side of the hall, squeezing her way between barons, viscounts, guild representatives and high-ranking church officials - was sister Fanática in her modest nun's habit.
She smiled at everyone as if they were old friends.
Flanking her were her two usual "royal guards": Thrain and Gorzod.
Both already started to collect the drinks from startled servants, with eagerness of men who had been on the road far too long.
And one very embarrassed Erian trailing behind them.
Faná spotted Lady Bishop and beamed.
"Your Grace!" she exclaimed, waving enthusiastically. Thrain said something to her that Jorvia couldn't hear, and gestured toward the tables.
The nun made an apologetic face. "I'll see you later!"
Before Jorvia could respond, Faná was already rushing toward the tables laden with food, like a woman on a divine mission.
Jorvia's gaze immediately snapped to the host.
Duke Albrecht Norvain stood near the central hearth, radiating calm air of authority.
She approached him as quickly as her dignity would allow.
When he spotted the lady bishop, he dismissed the group of lesser nobles with a gracious nod and turned toward her.
"Your Grace," he said warmly, bowing just enough.
"Lord Duke," Jorvia replied, voice low and tight.
They stared at each other for a moment.
"Why, in the Goddess's name, was Sister Fanática invited? This is not a place for… rash people like her."
Albrecht's smile was small. And serpentine.
"Oh, it was young Clemont's idea. He seems quite taken with the… young lady."
Jorvia's expression froze.
---
They both stood at a long table laden with cakes and glazed meats.
The crowd around them looked curiously at the young nobleman and the simple nun talking so passionately.
Faná was gesturing with a chicken leg.
"Canto XII clearly states that just governments must temper justice with mercy. 'Law unsoftened by compassion hardens into tyranny'."
Clemont immediately nodded and replied:
"And yet Canto IX reminds us: 'Order is the foundation upon which mercy can safely rest'. As without structure, compassion risks dissolving into favoritism."
"Yes! But mercy isn't mere indulgence - it exists to guide, not as an excuse."
Clemont looks at her for a moment.
"So you interpret mercy as a transformative force?"
"Of course," she replies simply. "If it does not turn someone toward the Light, it must at least inspire others."
Clement smiles slightly.
"That's an… ambitious interpretation."
She tilts her head. "Why do you think so?"
"Because transformation always disrupts equilibrium. Families must adjust. Guilds adapt. Power always shifts."
He raised the goblet, but didn't drink from it.
And continued, "Canto IV: 'The Goddess shapes all things with patience, as rivers carve stone.'
Would you not say that divine work favors patience over sudden upheaval?"
Faná shakes her head gently.
"Canto XXI: _'To wait while harm grows is not patience - it is permission.'
_So then acting quickly is an act of mercy."
Clemont's gaze grew sharper, though his tone remained friendly.
"So you believe intervention is preferable to inaction?"
"When suffering is preventable? Yes."
"Even if it unsettles established systems?"
She frowns slightly, confused by the phrasing.
"If a system requires suffering to remain stable, perhaps it was never a stable to begin with."
He inclines his head in acknowledgment.
"And Canto XV tells us: _'Blessed are those who mend what is broken.'
_I do not disagree."
Faná's eyes sparkled.
"You truly know the scriptures! How wonderful to meet a noble who studies them so diligently."
Clemont smiled, in a perfectly charming way.
"It would be irresponsible not to. If governance claims divine legitimacy, it must understand divine teaching," he replied smoothly.
The conversation continued like this for the last twenty minutes.
A group of aristocratic women stood around, looking at Faná with barely concealed hostility.
And with barely concealed hunger for the young aristocrat.
But when a group of his friends called out to Clemont, he politely excused himself.
Faná returned to her companions, practically glowing.
"Did you hear that? Lord Clemont is so pious! He quoted verses perfectly. I think he might become a great force for good in the kingdom!"
Gorzod, mouth full of roasted quail, grunted.
"Sure. Real saintly."
Thrain washed down a massive slice of venison with ale.
In the room where the nobility sipped only sparkling wine and light champagne, no one had any idea where he had found it.
"Kid's got manners, I'll give him that."
The nobles sitting nearby whispered behind their fans and goblets, staring at the two adventurers who were devouring their food as if they'd been raised by wolves.
Or perhaps, they muttered, there was a troll among their ancestors.
The feast was interrupted when the speeches began, much to the dissatisfaction of our brave party.
Because they stopped serving snacks.
The speakers touched on various topics, with politics dominating the discussion.
Thrain and Erian listened with interest. Faná yawned.
There was a small round of applause after a particularly boring - and long - speech on proposals for extremely complicated changes to the region's trade laws.
"Next speaker: Lord Clemont Faraway. Let's welcome him with a round of applause," announced the master of ceremonies.
Clemont spoke with measured intelligence:
"Nobles exist to maintain the divine order granted by the Goddess, through the Crown.
As such, loyalty to the throne itself is a sacred act.
Yet we must also guard against unchecked forces that destabilize economies and local governance… even - or perhaps especially - when those forces believe they act in the name of the divine."
His gaze drifted, ever so politely, toward Faná.
A moment later, the entire room turned to see what the young nobleman was looking at.
Faná's smile froze.
Seeing the eyes of the entire room turned toward her, she paused for a moment.
She stood up and then cited Canto XXVII: "Power that fears the light seeks to cage it," she said with a clear voice.
Then added with genuine hurt:
"I thought you understood the Cantos, I didn't know you were such a petty man, Lord Clemont!"
Dead silence.
Clemont's expression remained perfectly composed.
"I would never presume to reach for what belongs to the Goddess, Sister."
As if this wasn't enough, he added,
"Long have I observed that even the most well-intentioned miracles can have… unintended consequences."
He smiled.
"Thankfully, the Church itself has always understood the need for careful stewardship of such great gifts."
Bishop Jorvia's face was like stone.
Duke Albrecht allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.
---
After the banquet, as the party walked back through the moonlit gardens, Faná was unusually quiet.
"He believes I'm reckless," she said quietly.
Then her face brightened.
"But he hasn't seen, first-hand, how much good the Goddess does through me. Once he witnesses it properly… I'm sure he'll understand."
A pause.
"He will. Right?"
Gorzod, Thrain, and Erian exchanged uneasy glances.
---
Late at night at Faraway Manor, Clemont was training with his personal bodyguard in the training room.
The Shadow Guard easily parried the rapier's quick blows, deflecting them with a long knife.
"Was that safe, sir?" asked the bodyguard.
"It looked like you were almost declaring open war on her."
A swing, a cut, another swing.
"She's destabilizing our plans."
Sweat dripped from the young nobleman's temples.
"So she must disappear.
And the best way to do that is to make the people she is trying to save turn against her."
Clemont delivered an extremely quick thrust. The rapier thudded loudly as it flew from his hand to the ground.
His guardian calmly placed a long knife to his neck.
He looked at the weapon lying on the ground.
He stared at it for a moment, clenched his hand slightly, and repeated, "Yes, she must disappear."