Too Shallow for Faith (2)
The royal family held banquets at regular intervals. It might sound like a perfectly ordinary statement at first glance, but when you factored in the venue being the royal palace, the remarkably short cycles, and the ever-changing pretexts, one truth became glaringly apparent.
"It is to enforce discipline. To test loyalty."
It was a trial of how well they heeded the summons. A ritual where, at set intervals, they gathered people in their own front yard to observe from on high—visually confirming obedience and the shifting tides of power among them.
Lenoir did not relish it.
"In the end, it is merely a means to solidify their own seat. Because those who ought to form the fence end up competing over ownership of it, blind to its rotting away in the meantime. How pathetic a habit."
"Like straight talk, right?"
"...Indeed."
"But it's still a banquet...! Where you can stuff yourself silly with the most amazing food, and there's music too!"
Sara's eyes sparkled with longing. For a girl her age, scraping by in the back alleys until finally reaching the capital, it was a perfectly natural dream. Lenoir understood it well enough; this was merely the moment to caution her.
"Those who scorn getting swept up in the banquet's glamour as provincial..."
"Would it be weird if I rolled some dice there? Plenty of deep pockets in the crowd, right?"
"?"
"Huh? With booze and songs flowing, how could it be a party without games? When they're all tipsy and merry, I could sneak in some divinity sleight-of-hand I've been practicing...!"
Sara grinned slyly, rubbing her palms together. Her thinking strayed far from the ordinary. Lenoir felt a chill down his spine.
"...It shall not do. A royal palace banquet is no such affair to begin with. Nor is it a place to properly partake of food and drink."
"Eh, no way? Then why lay it all out?"
"For appearances. Mere props to uphold the pretense of entertaining guests."
"What a waste!"
"Indeed, it is a place for such wasteful displays."
She likely grasped it only as squandering fine cuisine, but regardless, they oddly aligned in their distaste for the banquets themselves. Lenoir continued with his admonition.
"Still, we must attend, yes?"
"I take no pleasure in humoring their childish games, yet to secure freedom within the fence demands fulfilling a minimum duty. All things in this world come at a price—even moral obligations warrant a show of sincerity."
"Hmm... Got it!"
"You comprehend nothing!"
"Yes!!!"
"At least your spirit is commendable."
The kingdom had granted the church its permit and freedom as a natural right. Yet even the most rightful boon bred unease if nothing was offered in return. Brewing needless conflict was the mark of an amateur. Thus, attending the banquets was the bare minimum courtesy, however unwelcome.
Beyond that, there were purposes.
"It gathers the churches. Observing their conduct shall be a lesson for you."
"Huh? Don't you hate the churches, my lord?"
"I hold them in no high esteem. Yet I harbor no intent to deny them. We have spoken of this before."
"Hmm, people need something to believe in, and they fill that role?"
"You have grasped the essence."
The true gods had vanished. But for those who could only endure by clinging to some absolute faith, modern creeds fulfilled that function, however faintly. Even amid depraved sorts like the Orin Church, some operated diligently as pillars of society. Though their objects of worship were false, the disciplines and etiquettes they had built were worth studying.
"I spoke of this in the past. The order for winning the people's faith."
"Slumfolk first, then commoners, then the highborn?"
"Yes. Do you recall why?"
"Uh, well..."
Sara stammered through Lenoir's prior words. Her phrasing was rough, but she remembered the core.
"A sense of superiority from seeing religion rightly?"
"Precisely. It is called the chosen-people mentality. To evoke it, their church must appear worthy on the surface."
The goddess church was growing steadily. Slum recruitment was largely complete. Rumors had drawn commoners to a fair degree, even producing one convert to priesthood. Next came the nobles.
Regardless of Lenoir's sentiments, their influence as the kingdom's fence was immense. The church's authority shifted meaningfully with them. It was time to make faces known.
Moreover, to gather believers modern-style, Sara needed to observe how those already entrenched operated.
Of course, it wouldn't have been necessary absent one issue.
"Even though I'm the real goddess?"
"Familiarize yourself with their mannerisms and speech. They excel at feigning respectability. And watch the nobles' reactions—especially how they gaze at priests, basking in their authority."
"So, learn to put on airs?"
"...Yes."
A sigh escaped him. Where had it all gone wrong?
He had once hoped for natural nobility and authority to bloom from her, but now Lenoir braced for the second-best: mimicry.
Sara thumped her chest with a fist, brimming with confidence.
"Leave it to me! Time to show the results of my training!"
Her words left a bitter taste, empty at the core.
Separately, Lenoir harbored one deeply personal errand before the banquet.
'In the end, no leads on my sibling.'
He had scoured the Orin Church's records after toppling it, but nothing substantial emerged. It gnawed at him.
'Too many churches proliferating. Surely some ancient manipulator lurks behind it all.'
He planned to scrutinize the attending denominations and dig deeper.
* * *
Say what you would, it was still a banquet. For Sara, the backwater slum girl, it felt utterly extraordinary—a given.
No need for long tales; even an illiterate child heard street storytellers spin of the highborn's lavish lives. Banquets featured invariably: opulent upper-class revelry, tense power plays, or budding romances amid it all.
Fanciful delusions, no doubt, but how could Sara know? Her excitement was pure.
At her age, any glimpse of a new world thrilled. And adding one more thing...
'Outing with my lord!'
That alone delighted her. Lately, Sara had been swamped as a goddess facing crowds and studying. Lenoir juggled Joseph's tutoring, external duties, and some investigation. Evenings were sacred together-time, but little else. This chance eased the ache.
Divinity sleight-of-hand was banned, but strolling the palace with him, sampling treats, people-watching—it all promised joy.
And one private greed more: she clutched Orin tight.
"I wanna show off my lord. So bad!"
[Uh...?]
"My lord's so cool! And amazing! Gotta show everyone how incredible he is, and how much he adores me!"
What to call this urge? She couldn't name it. But it tied to the recent unease plaguing her heart.
Too embarrassing to voice. She wished to be Lenoir's utmost always. Hated his eyes on others. Especially women—though why, she couldn't say.
Sometimes temple visitors' gazes at him prickled oddly. A sudden thought struck: Lenoir always cared for her wherever they went. Flaunt that publicly there, prove their unbreakable bond.
They loved gossip; soon all might know of their closeness.
Mid-thought, another moment of this frustration surfaced. Sara's brow furrowed.
Lenoir's occasional tales of his former goddess irked her deeply. She poked Orin peevishly.
"Doesn't make sense."
[Hmm...]
"What's so great about that goddess? To me, she's just irresponsible—chastity belt and all, then bolted."
Her grasp of relations was shallow, but biased lore taught chastity devices were for later release. Selbes said longer waits heightened pleasure, but to Sara, centuries was torture beyond bliss.
Enduring meant failing to shake something bad, right? Word studies taught her that, fueling unforgiveness.
"I'm better than her, right? Yeah?"
Sara wouldn't make him endure so. A little patience, then prolong the joy. He'd be happy.
"Right???"
Orin thought little—trapped in ignorance as worshiped god, now instinct-driven by Sara, fully dyed.
[Yeah...! Sara's the best...!]
Good was good; Sara gained courage. Nodding smugly,
"Good, Orin's smart as expected. Been a god, so sharp insight."
Current goddess Sara Lorojin: terribly weak to flattery.
If Lenoir knew, he'd sigh at her impure motives these past days.
At last, banquet day arrived.