Chapter Text
The sun hangs low in the sky when Zelophehad leads Eva out of the markets and back to the cathedral entrance where Modestus waits.
The child is the perfect picture of piety as the priest thanks them for their work. His hand rests on their shoulder as he speaks and if Eva was any less of a witch than she is she would never know of the simmering contempt they hid behind their flat-toothed smile.
Eva follows him into the building. He remarks upon much of the same history that Zelophehad had the day before but somehow it feels hollow in his words.
“And so the Lord Sparda sealed the Temen-Ni-Gru, though it cost him a great deal of his might.” Which he could only do with the assistance of the Priestess Miriam, and the cooperation of a Star-Crowned devil to seal its anchor on the infernal plane. “Blessed were our isles that he chose to reign here for a time, shielding us from the lingering incursion of Mundus’ devils-” several of whom settled with the humans when given the freedom to choose- “and demons who had gone to chaos at the loss of their leader.” well, she’ll grant him that one, but still his words leave a bitter taste in her mouth. He places all glory at the altar of Sparda, with no crumb of acknowledgement left to the witches, devils, hybrids, and brave ordinary humans that built the nation with him.
Though now she thinks on it, other than little Zelophehad she’s seen no hybrids on the streets of Fortuna. And even they plastered childish humanity over their true form. She isn’t given time to linger on the implications of that thought as they’ve arrived at the dinner hall. The Vicar is here.
“Madonna Luce, how pleasant to meet you.” His hungry mouth and eyes smile at her through the shield of her veil.
“The same to you Vicar Sanctus. I am honored by your invitation.”
“And we are in turn honored by your presence. It has been too long since Fortuna was graced with the presence of a mainland Strega. Not that we have no scholars of our own of course, may I introduce you to maiden Aseneth” He gestures for a young woman to come forward. She’s a thin thing, and makes Eva think of the days when she’d forget to eat in favour of pursuing her own studies. There were certainly many nights when her husband had to lure her out of the library with promises of some new ‘artifact’ he’d found only for him to guide her towards the dinner table.
The young witch approaches and gives a firm bow – dominant leg back, dominant arm in front palm up – the other tucked behind. It would be a good start if Eva couldn’t taste the lie of such well professed good intent. As it is, she returns the bow with her own seated one, both palms facing up in her lap.
The Vicar looks very satisfied with the exchange and gestures at them all to surround the dining table as he claims his place at the head of it. Eva takes the chair-less place three spaces down from his right side and is greeted with Aseneth’s flaccidly pleasant smile across from her. A courtesy she of course reciprocates.
“Let us take a moment of prayer before we begin.” The Vicar nods at the man at his left, who rises and begins to recite from the embellished book kept at the table’s end.
Eva closes her eyes and her ears to the prayers as the deep voice drones. She focuses instead on the thrumming resonance of the group as they speak the words in unison. The Vicar has a strong presence full of conviction and pride, shared by the men around him. Aseneth on the other hand oscillates between boredom and curiosity.
She opens her eyes at the prayer’s end, and politely accepts a toast from the Vicar. A silent swarm of servants deliver delicate plates of appetisers. The food she eats goes untasted as she waits for the other shoe to drop. Aseneth’s eyes bore into her, the boredom of the prayers burned away by an eagerness only barely restrained by propriety. Well, if she’s in a trap – she may as well spring it before the anticipation dulls her mind.
“If it is not an intrusion, may I ask what it is the good Maiden studies?”
“It is no intrusion at all Maddona. This one’s studies have been in the weave of the great pillars left from the time of our Lordship’s residence. The infernal threads they draw from hell have long been a part of the power that defends our isles from demonic invasion yet there is much about them that we do not know.”
“There are no records left from their construction?” Sapphira certainly wrote enough on her constructs to fill a wall of shelving even after Lucrezia finished editing.
“No, it is one of the many mysteries left to us by Lord Sparda.” Hah! As if her husband’s mischief would extend to something so integral to his people’s protection. Those books have been hidden or burned then. At least the Maiden has the good sense to be more sceptical about of the ‘mystery’ than the priests flanking the two of them.
“Well, a mystery allows for new perspectives without the bias of authoritative knowledge. Perhaps you will be able to learn something not even the original weavers knew of their creation.” And now doesn’t Aseneth just glow with the implication of that.
“Maiden Aseneth is certainly a very talented Strega,” the Vicar interjects “but I doubt any of us would be able to surpass our Lordship’s knowledge.”
Eva barely manages to choke the laugh before it can bubble from her lips, though her lips still curve into what she hopes is not too obviously a mocking smile. They think Sparda was the one to build those? Now she knows the books were burned.
“Your Lord Sparda must be quite the talented Devil indeed to be so wise in so many disparate fields.”
“Truly, we are humbled by our Saviour’s grace.” Aseneth’s dry smile is only a shade away from the sarcasm Eva can feel like salt on her skin.
The rest of the dinner passes much the same, and with no shortage of flattery – some of it even sincere. But as the evening wanes she begins to feel an undercurrent of desperation in some of the lower priests. She asks after the isle’s other witches. Their answer is no less disappointing for not being a surprise.
There aren’t many. And their last senior witch, while implied alive, is swiftly talked around. There’s a joyful mention of some juniors apprenticing on the mainland. Good, she thinks, perhaps some of them will learn enough to stay there. She almost asks why Aseneth is not among them, but that therein is likely the trap of this dinner. A young talented strega. A night of flattery, and no doubt an invitation for more on the morrow. She’s being recruited. The attempt is almost charming, but even without other matters to take care of she knows she will not be giving any acceptance - feigned or otherwise.
She makes her excuses at the end of the night, and is escorted home most courteously by the maiden witch. She feigns a tiredness so false that none of her mainland sisters would have even pretend to believe it. But here, on this once promising isle, it is accepted. And so there is no invitation to let Aseneth in. The girl will have no chances to see Eva’s creations. And no chance to catch the sneaky little grin waiting for her at the kitchen table, steaming hot chocolate already set out for them both.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any more stories tonight Luce?”
“Only a few Zelo. Your Vicar has kept me talking all night.”