For nearly a month, Selena had had the privilege of sleeping as late as she pleased.
When Pintor had welcomed old Father Wesley into Paradise, the Great Protector had not only taken Castle Nelesti’s chaplain, but also robbed the family of their tutor. Without her daily lessons, Selena had no reason to get up early.
Two days ago, Selena had been roused at the crack of dawn to begin getting prepared for her fiasco of a birthday party. Today, she was again visited by the servant whose name she did not know.
“Good mor—”
The woman closed her mouth mid-sentiment, looked away, and swallowed noisily. Probably, this was because Selena had fixed upon her a look so unkind that Pintor himself would have withered beneath it.
“Sorry, milady,” said the woman breathlessly. “Your mother wanted me to deliver this. I let you sleep as late as I could.”
Wiping a few strands of hair out of her face, Selena snatched the piece of paper out of the woman’s hand. She almost felt guilty about treating the servant so badly. After all, the woman was only doing her job. But Selena had actually been having a good dream only seconds before…something about Lucas…
Selena scanned the note.
“You are to resume your schooling today. Be at the chapel at eight of the clock.”
The writing was undoubtedly her mother’s. Selena recognized the tall, sharply angled letters that Charlotte employed when writing everything from a pages-long missive to some faraway noblewomen to a list detailing what the Nelesti family was to have for dinner.
But who was to replace Father Wesley as her tutor? It hardly mattered. The old priest had been more than a little senile before the end, so anyone was bound to provide more mental stimulation than her old teacher.
Selena swung her legs over the side of her bed, took a deep breath, and greeted the new day—and the freezing floor—with a curse that caused the servant to jump. She dismissed the woman and dressed herself in comfortable slacks, a fancy red shirt that her father had bought last spring, and a simple ribbon to tie her hair back.
She could not quite repress a smile as she made her way to the chapel. At long last, there was another intellectual to converse with at Castle Nelesti!
* * *
“You!”
Selena uttered the word like an accusation, speaking much louder than she had intended. She had not meant to say it at all.
“And good morning to you, Lady Selena,” Father Briarbridge replied.
There was no trace of emotion in the priest’s voice, which sounded too low to fit the man’s gaunt frame. He wore the same black robe and bronze pendant he had had on at Selena’s birthday party. This morning the white hood was up, concealing all but the fringes of his light blond hair.
Father Briarbridge turned his back towards her and intoned a chant that sounded a bit more melodious than Father Wesley’s had, if less heartfelt. Selena considered making a tactical retreat. For the time being, she could only gape at the man’s long, straight back.
This must be a mistake, she thought.
But of course it was not. If Vivian and Cecil Briarbridge had departed two nights ago, then the only reason Father Briarbridge would have to remain was to stay on as the new chaplain of Castle Nelesti.
Why replace Father Wesley with a priest and a tutor, when the Nelestis could pay the same man to play both roles?
Selena was only aware that Father Briarbridge had stopped chanting when she saw him fall to one knee, lift his hands heavenward, and look up at the ceiling. A full minute of silence passed, during which Selena tried to think of a lie that would get her out of her lessons.
At last Father Briarbridge turned to face her once more.
“Would you like to start off with a confession?”
Selena, at a loss for words, blinked at him.
“Surely you know about confession.” The priest’s dark eyes bored into hers like a hawk surveying a field full of rodents.
Father Wesley had been the family’s confessor since before Selena was born. Vivian, Daphene, and Graeme had all undergone the holy rite of First Confession, but by the time the twins were at that age—Selena thought it was somewhere around ten—the Nelestis had forsaken the archaic ritual.
“We do not confess through a priest in this house,” Selena told him.
A single eyebrow arched above Briarbridge’s left eye. So light were the hairs that Selena probably would not have noticed the movement, except for the slight ripple of pale skin that accompanied it.
“Indeed?” Briarbridge said. “You mother confessed just last night.
The comment caught Selena off guard. Charlotte had never had much use for Father Wesley outside of his capacity to provide her children an education. It had always been Godfrey who insisted the family observe the more important rituals associated with the Church of Pintor.
If Selena’s mother had confessed, it had been her first time.
“Very well,” Selena said. “I do not confess through a priest. I believe every man and woman can ask the gods for forgiveness on his or her own behalf.”
“And with which of the gods do you commune?” Briarbridge asked, the slightest tremor in his deep voice.
“What? Oh, Pintor of course,” she said hurriedly.
“So,” Briarbridge said after another long pause. “You believe that the Great Protector would humble himself to honor your requests?”
“I do not make requests,” Selena shot back.
“Ah, but asking for forgiveness is a request.” He crossed his arms, which caused the billowing sleeves to pull back and reveal his lanky arms.
There were two people whose forgiveness she wanted just then, her father’s and Vivian’s. She wondered if a god really cared that a young noblewoman in Superius got drunk on her fourteenth birthday and was about to ask Briarbridge that very thing.
But then it dawned on her that Father Briarbridge was not really looking for an apology to Pintor.
“Father,” Selena began, bowing her head, “I am sorry for mistreating you the other night. It was quite accidental, and if you would like me to replace the robe that I…ah…”
Briarbridge pursed his lips, causing what little color was in them to fade to a pallor matching the rest of his pale countenance.
“If you want to seek forgiveness on this plane before the heavenly plane, then I would suggest you begin with your mother,” he said at length.
“Thank you for the suggestion,” Selena snapped. “Can we get on with my lesson now? I did not come here to learn religion…unless my mother would rather I become a priestess than a princess.”
Briarbridge’s ashen lips folded into a tight frown. “First of all, you will address me as ‘Father.’ Second, you will speak only in reply to a question. Third, you are not the one who decides the curriculum, which will, in fact, include any aspects of religion I deem important. Do you understand, Lady Selena?”
She decided then and there that she hated Father Briarbridge. And she hated her mother for bringing the priest into her life.
“Yes, Father,” she said between clenched teeth.
“We will spend most of today reviewing Superian history,” Briarbridge announced.
Selena groaned, causing the priest to spin around and fix upon her a perfectly expressionless stare. He seemed all the more threatening for his carefully concealed anger.
“I suppose you believe history to be as insignificant as religion?”
“On the contrary, Father, I believe history is very important. As a matter of fact, it is my favorite subject. However, Father Wesley already spent so much time on Superian history. There are so many other places and time periods about which I should like learn,” Selena said in as pleasant a voice she could muster.
Briarbridge crossed his arms. “Name the two powers that vied for the territory of modern-day Superius immediately preceding the kingdom’s inception.”
“Midcanth and Estcanth fought over this land before the eventual establishment of Superius. Before that, Canth was plagued by civil war. Two would-be emperors, Doran and Borodyn, fought for absolute control over the empire. At the same time, some of the refugees from Nebronem made claims to the land, but the majority backed Doran or Borodyn. Prior to the Three Kings War and the Wars of Sundering, half of the land that currently comprises Superius was ruled by Vast Yehlorm and the other half, Canth.”
Briarbridge did not look impressed.
“Who were the eighth King and Queen of Superius?” he asked.
“Aldrake III,” Selena answered. “Aldrake Feldagne had neither a wife nor child, which is why the crown went to Archibald Borrom IV in 913 E.A.”
“How long was the war with Glenning, and who was the victor?” Briarbridge demanded, his voice noticeably louder than before.
Not missing a beat, Selena answered, “The Superius-Glenning War began in 748 and ended in 751, so its duration was roughly three years. Some would say that King Memndrake surrendered”—this earned her a glare from Briarbridge—“but most Superian texts claim that Memndrake, sometimes called the Gambler King, negotiated an end to the war by purchasing the Island of Capricon from Prince Caedmon of Glenning.”
“By what name did the Glenningers refer to Capricon?”
Selena opened her mouth to answer, only to find that the knowledge was not forthcoming. She had read about it somewhere. She knew she knew it. Frantically, she searched every nook and cranny of her mind. She would be damned if Briarbridge was going to defeat her with this obscure reference!
The priest’s lips curled into a smile. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Novislond!” she shouted at last, feeling very much like she had executed a fatal counterattack upon her opponent.
But Briarbridge was not finished yet.
“After which ancient order were the Knights of Superius modeled?”
“The Knights Exemplar.”
“What did King Aldrake promise the Great Protector in exchange for victory over the armies of Canth?”
“He promised Pintor that he would forge a nation that valued honor and justice above greed and power, although such a covenant has been cast into doubt by some modern schol—”
“Who was the first Superian saint recognized by the Church of Pintor?”
Selena’s stomach lurched. She feared the battle had come to an end. The only saints she knew were Saint Sid, Saint Cedrych, and Sinner the Saint—who was not even a true saint.
“Saint Sid?” Selena said resignedly, wincing when she saw Briarbridge smile.
“I am afraid Saint Sid was born in Senwaed, not Superius,” Briarbridge told her. “The correct answer was King Aldrake I.”
“Of course it was Eldrake,” she groaned.
“Aldrake is the preferred pronunciation for the first King of Superius, not the colloquial ‘Eldrake.’” he corrected.
Eldrake or Aldrake—Selena did not care which version Briarbridge liked better. She should have come up with the right answer.
“It would seem you do not know everything,” Briarbridge said. “Now, if there are no more interruptions, I should like to begin the lesson in earnest.”
Selena sighed in defeat. This round, at least, was over.