Faith Without a God
Henrik, without turning a single page of the thick tome he had drawn from the shelf, looked only at me and asked his question.
He was the heir of the Black Dragon and a prince of this realm. There was no need for me to go out of my way to deny the existence of transcendent beings before him and hand him a pretext to seize upon.
"I simply lack the faith, my lord. Faith in the great ones who tilled this land and founded this kingdom—however small my capacity may be to hold it."
"You know as well as I do that it is best to refrain from irreverent talk where possible."
Because of that low voice of his, Henrik's words sounded like a cold warning, yet at the same time like kindly counsel for a tool he intended to make use of.
I knew there was no one around to hear us, but I answered in a lowered voice all the same.
"I am aware, Your Highness. I say this only to you. For the sake of what is to come."
Since I had already confessed the truth, it seemed no bad idea to hear what Henrik had to say about the Black Dragon. Though of course, seeking out the information myself amid this dense forest of books would have been a pleasure in its own right.
According to what Princess Warsza had said at the banquet, and from what I had seen for myself, he was a rather busy man. Still, if he happened to have a little time on his hands as he did now, I thought I might venture a request.
"I see."
Even when I confessed my irreverent heart as a newly minted member of the royal house, Henrik showed no particular stir of feeling.
My days in the Kingdom of Francia came back to me. Between those bookshelves there were only books, and the girl I had once been did nothing but stare at them. Books of theology, books about the temple—these were the ones that caught my eye.
Perhaps there had been a time when I believed in a god too. No—looking back, I had merely pretended to believe, before the King, before Selena, before Antoni. In truth, my magic came to me through my mother's power.
That was what set me apart from the priests of Francia who claimed to believe truly, from those insufferable prophets of theirs.
"Talent and faith—anyone knows both are needed to work magic."
Just then, I sensed a shift in the tone of the voice at my ear. Not colder, exactly, but tinged with some kind of feeling.
For a moment I looked up at him with wide eyes.
"On rare occasions, even here, a mage of remarkable talent has appeared. But most of them ended up serving the temple. Unlike you."
The voice I had just appraised had been as cold as an autumn day, and his manner had been composed and dignified, entirely at ease.
Now it was a little different. Like a man excited by the sight of something wondrous. He seemed to regard me as a gifted mage, something special.
Though outwardly Henrik looked as unconcerned as ever, I understood why he had come to that judgment.
There was no mage in this world without faith in some transcendent being. Indeed, that was precisely why I had kept it secret from Antoni and Selena—that I worked my magic through the mirror.
My mother's dying wish that I hide my power and the mirror must have been made purely to keep me safe. In the Kingdom of Francia, to wield magic without faith in the Goddess Fria was, for all practical purposes, heresy. That was why she had been called a witch.
It happened that I had been curious about Bwendia's magic anyway. My magic, like the mirror my mother had left me, seemed to be channeled through the ring I wore—some mysterious power dwelling within it and working its spell.
"You would be the same, surely, Your Highness?"
For all I knew, he was a mage more talented than I. Like my mother, who had breathed magic into her mirror, he might have engraved that assurance spell into this ring with his own hands. But instead of answering, Henrik folded his arms lightly and asked me.
"My lady. How is it that you worked your magic?"
"I heard a great deal about my mother."
"What kind of stories would let a person work magic without faith? I've never heard of such a thing."
"……She lived in a forest, I was told. A tribe that borrowed the power of the spirits, she said."
"The forests of Francia?"
I hesitated, lips parting and closing, then slowly shook my head.
"No. My mother was from Theresia."
I felt as though I were confessing far more than I had ever planned to. But there was no taking it back, no retreating now.
Since it had come to this, I calculated, perhaps I could make a bolder request of him the next time I truly needed him.
"A forest across the sea, then. I've heard of it. The forest of the beastfolk, or so they say."
In that instant, a strange thought flickered through my mind. My mother had unquestionably been human. Like me. Even branded a witch in the Kingdom of Francia, no one had ever claimed she was anything other than a person.
And yet, just as he said, the Theresia Forest was where the beastfolk gathered.
Could she have been of mixed blood, then? Like that man who had inherited the Black Dragon's blood—had my mother also carried the lineage of some extraordinary being?
Like that man. Was that why I, having received both my mother's blood and her power, could work magic like this?
"Does Bwendia perhaps have an epithet as well? I know him only as the Black Dragon."
"If you're curious about dragons, I can recommend something suitable."
Whether the place was already familiar to him or not, Henrik quickly found two or three worn old volumes and handed them to me. Then he spoke, quiet and even.
"People worship what is special when it suits them, and spurn it when it doesn't."
"I understand. If they're human, that's only natural."
It seemed he had felt the same curious kinship I had. I was myself, and he was himself, to be sure. I had no wish to rank our sufferings against each other's like some fool comparing burdens, declaring one of us the greater sufferer. But I could wholeheartedly sympathize with what he'd said.
"You speak as though you were observing it all from a great distance. My lady."
"Your Highness. As you know full well, I've been on both ends of it, and both bore me."
I answered honestly. It was far too late for lies anyway. If he had felt that same strange kinship, he would accept my answer without much misgiving.
"Haha……"
Henrik laughed a little more audibly than before. It was not that terribly well-suited coldness that went so cruelly with his dark hair and amethyst eyes. This time, again, it was a laugh like a still wind. Strange, how even such a calm, fresh smile suited him so well.
That the atmosphere had not frozen over was, for me, a very good sign. It seemed my answer had passed the test again.
"My lady. If questions remain even after you've read those books, I will teach you myself."
Henrik was carving time out of that crowded schedule of his to give me information at leisure. That was a decent bargain already. There was a genuine satisfaction in it. I smiled back at him in answer.
"If Your Highness will teach me personally, I can only be grateful. I'll speak with you once I've finished them, my lord."
But I could hardly devour all the books Henrik had recommended overnight. Aside from my private project of developing my magical abilities, there was a great deal to be done as a member of the royal house of Bwendowska.
"My lady, invitations have been pouring in—banquets and tea parties alike, all hoping to host Your Highness."
It was a day at the height of autumn, the window outside thick with leaves in every shade of red and gold. Poznan, who faithfully attended to my adornment every morning, had held out to me since breakfast a letter case studded with jewels of every color.
I ran a careless eye over the invitations.
There were many unfamiliar names. I had not yet fully settled into this country's high society, after all. Watching me, Poznan explained at an unhurried pace.
"The choice is yours to make, my lady. In one light, each of these gatherings matters; in another, none of them does. So do not go just anywhere. For the honor of Prince Henrik and yourself, that is the wiser course."
"Then where would you have me go, Poznan?"
Perhaps to see what suited me, Poznan had been holding earrings and necklaces from the jewelry case up against me, one after another, and she declared with firm conviction:
"The most important thing for you at present, my lady, is hosting the gathering of the delegation. The other events can wait until you have time. Everyone will be waiting for you, and they will show a great deal of patience while they do."
"You're right."
"It goes without saying that you know the culture of Francia better than I ever could. But there are a few things I can tell you about how banquets are held here. You attended the wedding-anniversary banquet hosted by Her Highness Princess Warsza, but holding a new one of your own is, I believe, quite another matter."
I looked straight at Poznan's neat dark hair and her grey eyes, calm as ever no matter the occasion.
She was quick-witted yet composed, never given to hurrying, and while she unfailingly maintained her courteous manner toward me, she accomplished her tasks and said what needed saying without a single misstep.
Naturally, this was precisely what a personal lady's maid was for. But for me—who, in the Kingdom of Francia, had never had a servant close to me but Gemma the wet nurse—she was the first such presence I had ever taken in.
I let a faint smile touch my lips.
"Poznan, where on earth did you learn all this?"
"I was educated in my family's house, my lady. And besides, all of this is work the Prince has charged me with. So you need only use me freely, and take from me whatever information you require."