The Priestess continues with a sly smile. “Oh I loved my time in Yunclair. Very safe city, hated the food though. So very bland.”
Sophia nods quickly, eyeing the Guardswoman in a desperate attempt at assistance.
“Your family probably settled in the Hwayeong District right? Goddess I loved that opera house in the middle of it. Couldn’t go there enough, have you ever gone to one of the Yunclair Trope shows? Best four hours I’ve spent down here I tell ya.”
Goddess she’s not asking questions but she’s still grilling us. The Conscious Committee tries to keep it together, a brain firing as Sophia Elise the Eighth pools every figment of intrigue and political instinct together to somehow formulate a reply to this assault on her false identity.
“Y-y-yeah…” Sophia sputters out to this woman. “T-t-totally…”
It's so awkward, her non-answer completely stopping this indirect line of questioning in its tracks.
Our incredible inability to hold a conversation may actually have saved us. The internal monologue claps gently. Great work.
“Y-yeah…” This young ensolian woman avoids eye contact with the Priestess, gently rubbing her hands together as she simply lets the silence live for a while.
It was quite a wonderful chapel, even considering its age.
About three hundred years since some foolish colonial missionaries decided to spend the last of their worldly coinage on this place, and only now was it starting to show its age. The high vaulted ceilings had just the faintest of discolorations of centuries spent in the salty ocean breeze, refurbished wooden pews smoothed and indented by the few faithful who had sat upon them over the years.
Even so, some deacon within the past four decades had the foresight for a slight bit of modernization. The grand silver chandelier that hung from the ceiling and the multitude of support pillars had their old candle sconces decidedly replaced with bulbs of electrical lamps; and the church organ that sat flanking in the right of the altar were equipped with a simple pair of motorized billows instead of the traditional, and very outdated, method of manual air pumps.
The Priestess leans back, turning between the young ensolian woman currently sipping on a new glass of water and her guard. A difficult expression on this so-called woman of the cloth, this individual finalizing her analysis of this new suspect and partial believer; a temptation growing too strong in her gut to remain there.
She launches the lethal social attack, her voice a gentle consolation to a fellow sinful sufferer beneath the stained glass windows. “Humor me Sylvia: was marrying him worth all this homesickness?”
How the hells…
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Sophia almost spits out her drink onto the holy ground. “W-what?”
The Priestess smiles, that insightful glance like a pickaxe to soft clay. “Rich Ensolian girl here two months before the summer tourist season starts? And not to mention the wedding ring on your ring finger is most definitely Tiancin.”
Sophia quickly raises her left hand, realizing the obviousness of that nearly unfeelable piece of jewelry that she was now contracted to wear.
“You seem surprised that you have such a nice ring on you, which means this must’ve been a relatively recent development. Don’t suppose this is a quick honeymoon getaway out in a nice touristy place, is it? Gotta love falling in love while you’re young and rich.”
She’s good, no wonder she’s a Priestess… Some strange part of Sophia Elise whistles, whatever aspect of political intrigue that she’d managed to inherit from mother coming to life now in this most critical moment of her life here in the Tianci Dominion. Come on, we need something to completely shut this line of inquisition down.
The entire Central Consciousness Committee comes together for this, every single thought process working in supernatural coherency to create the most incredulous lie ever told by the Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium.
Sophia Elise crosses her arms in front of her chest, pouting as she proudly looks away from this pathetic cleric. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The Internal Monologue just exists in the silence before gently speaking to its supposed governing body. You’re all fired.
The Priestess giggles at this, keeping a very close eye on the Guardswoman who stands nearly ready to draw her handgun from its holster.
This was perhaps the most entertainment she’s had in a long, long time.
And, in a sick kind of way, some part of her enjoyed this excitement from interrogating out this supposedly hidden information from someone so important. Like a hammer finally finding a nail, this was the place for her to apply that very particular set of skills in an effective, mission critical way.
Though, maybe this was a bit wrong; both in terms of her sworn oath and her own chain of command. Well… maybe it was only wrong to her official chain of command.
“I get it.” She speaks with experience, settling down on the pew next to this young woman and staring at the empty altar. “You never really miss home until you leave it. And it’s always the small things that you miss. The weather, the snacks, the annoying siblings…”
“It does get quite hot here.” Sophia admits.
“You think it's hot now, wait till it gets to real summer.” She jokes. “At that point you’d kill for some air conditioning.”
Wow, she’s really good at making these connections…
There’s a small bit of silence as the Priestess wags her finger to return to the main topic at hand. “You miss it? Home, I mean?”
Sophia takes a long sigh, trying to keep to herself as she relents just a little bit to this woman sworn to holy privacy. “I suppose I do.”
Ah, now there’s the point.
“Well, I even miss the Imperium sometimes.” This woman smiles with a light grin. “Missionary work is tough, sometimes all I want is an ice cold Goldmedaille beer ya know? Ugh, one or five of those would be so nice right about now…”
Uh… are Priests even allowed to drink? Sophia’s internal monologue dredges up from some strange part of her education.
Her eyes lighten as she turns to speak to this young ensolian woman. “Sylvia, if you could have just one thing from home what would it be?”
If you can have one thing from home, what would it be?
