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Chapter 13
“ I heard you often go to the garden.”
At the Pope’s words, Orte opened her closed eyes.
Orte did not have particularly strong faith in the main god. However, since she had come to the temple, she couldn’t avoid being seen in the prayer room, so she came—and unexpectedly met the Pope.
“Yes. I like the temple’s garden.”
“The temple must feel boring, so it’s a relief that you found something to enjoy.”
Orte turned to look at the Pope.
The Pope still had his eyes closed, with a faint smile on his lips.
“I have something I would like to ask.”
“Please, go ahead.”
Orte answered calmly, thinking that she was finally being asked this question.
It had already been four days since she came to the temple.
Tomorrow, she would return to the Duke of Weekend’s house, so she did not have much time left to ask him this.
He will ask about the mark of the main god.
Just as Orte was repeating the answer she had prepared in her mind—
“Does the Duke of Weekend or his sons treat you well?”
The Pope’s question completely broke her expectation.
“…What?”
Orte missed the timing to answer and asked back.
“I have always wanted to ask.”
“…I lack nothing.”
Apart from hating Orte, the Duke of Weekend never cut off financial support.
Because of that, Orte bought dresses and jewelry all year round, and replaced all her furniture whenever the time came.
She thought it was a way of showing love. She thought it was attention.
Not knowing it was indifference.
The Duke of Weekend was so extremely indifferent to Orte that he did not care how much money she spent.
The past Orte, not knowing this, only tried to save as much as possible, afraid that if she spent too much, the Duke would hate her.
Even though he already hated her enough.
Anyway, because of that, Orte’s words “I lack nothing” were not a lie at all—though the true meaning was different.
“I’m glad. As I get older, I end up having many unnecessary worries.”
The Pope spoke playfully and opened his eyes.
“The temple is always open for you, Lady Orte.”
“Thank you.”
The Pope gave a small laugh.
“You are taking my words as a lie.”
“No, Pope. Truly—”
“Someone asked me to deliver this message to you.”
The Pope turned to look at Orte.
“Small changes will change you, Lady Orte.”
“…Small changes? Like what?”
“Whatever they are, it is your will.”
The Pope stood up from his seat.
“This is certain. That person cares for you more than you can imagine.”
With those words, the Pope left the prayer room.
Orte sat there blankly for a long time, then closed her eyes and shook her head.
It was the first time the Pope had shown such kindness toward her. Shaking off the strange feeling, Orte stood up.
He just said that to make me come to the temple again. He needs to check if I have the mark of the main god.
Calming her thoughts, Orte left the prayer room.
On her way to her room, she saw the garden and instinctively stopped. Manni, who was behind her, asked:
“Are you going again today?”
Orte had gone to the garden every single day. But since the first day, she had not seen the dragon even once.
Tomorrow morning, she would return to the Duke of Weekend’s house, so today was her last chance. If she missed today, the next chance would be at least months later.
“Lady Orte?”
Orte looked away from the garden.
“Today, I should rest.”
“You’ll be traveling by carriage tomorrow, so resting is good. I’ll help you bathe early and rest.”
That night, Orte could not fall asleep easily.
“Even though it was only for a few days, it was a pleasure to serve you, Lady Orte.”
At Manni’s words, Orte looked at her through the mirror.
“Manni.”
“Yes, Lady Orte.”
Why do you like me?
It was a question Orte wanted to ask the people of the temple.
She found it strange that the temple treated her so well just because she was the Saint’s daughter.
Especially since she was hated in her own family, the Duke of Weekend’s house.
It’s not like Yones, who hates me.
They loved the Saint, and at the same time, they loved Orte—the one who caused the Saint’s death.
Orte realized something.
It was simply because their love for the Saint was greater than their hatred toward her.
Instead of asking the question that had always lingered in her mouth, Orte swallowed it again.
“See you next time.”
At those words, promising a future meeting, Manni smiled brightly.
Orte, escorted by Yohan, headed toward the carriage. To avoid making Orte uncomfortable with too much attention, the hallway had been cleared for her, allowing her to move comfortably.
“Lady Orte.”
“Your Holiness.”
The Cardinal, who had come to see her off, approached her.
“I have brought a gift for you.”
What he handed over was holy water.
“I made this holy water myself.”
Holy water made by someone with strong divine power like the Cardinal or the Pope was several times more effective than that made by ordinary priests.
However, they had many other uses for their divine power, so holy water made by them was very rare and valuable.
“Use it when you need it. But do not use it on others—please use it for yourself.”
The Cardinal’s words were very strange.
In the past, Orte often received holy water from them. But she never used it herself—she gave most of it to the Duke of Weekend.
Even though it was not something the Duke’s house couldn’t obtain, she wanted to help them even a little.
So Orte had never once used holy water on herself.
And the Cardinal’s words felt as if he had long noticed that.
“…Thank you, Your Holiness.”
The Cardinal lightly patted Orte’s shoulder and stepped back.
Holding the holy water, Orte took Yohan’s hand and got into the carriage. As she looked outside, the Cardinal met her eyes, smiled, and bowed his head.
The carriage began to move.
Before she closed her eyes, a blue light lingered in her vision—but Orte did not open her eyes again.
Orte opened her eyes.
Seeing that it was not a pure white ceiling, she narrowed them.
Ah.
She had returned from the temple yesterday.
Rubbing her slightly swollen eyes, Orte sat up.
“…I’m hungry.”
She put on a shawl, wore her slippers, and opened the door. As she headed toward the dining room, the butler appeared.
“The Duke has called for you, Miss.”
A familiar situation repeated itself.
“I’ll eat first and go see him myself.”
“He said to come now.”
The butler showed no sign of backing down.
Orte stared at him. More precisely, at the slightly lowered neck of the butler.
After staring at it for a long time, Orte gave no reply and walked toward the study. When she knocked, permission was given.
The Duke of Weekend, who had been looking at documents, paused for a moment, as if he did not expect it to be Orte.
“Sit for a moment.”
“Yes.”
As Orte sat on the sofa, her gaze naturally moved to the vase on the table.
Then her expression slightly hardened.
It couldn’t be helped.
There were withered flowers in the vase—but it had water in it. The water was clear, as if it had been changed recently.
It looked like something strange—giving life to something already dead.
The Duke of Weekend finished reading his documents and came to sit on the sofa.
“Did you return from the temple yesterday?”
“Yes.”
The Duke picked up the teacup in front of him.
As always, Orte looked at the empty space in front of her.
“Did the Pope or the Cardinal say anything to you?”
“No.”
Orte answered without hesitation.
“I barely met them.”
The Duke remained silent for a moment—whether thinking or enjoying his tea—then put the cup down.
“Did they say anything about your mother?”
It was an unexpected question.
But instead of questioning him, Orte calmly answered:
“They did not.”
“Are you telling the truth?”
“Do I have any reason to lie to you, Duke?”
Orte truly wondered.
Was there any reason for him to doubt her, when she had always clung to him blindly?
“Then that is enough.”
The Duke of Weekend leaned back on the sofa, as if he had been tense and was now relieved.
