The Saintess Catches a Cold (1)
A Saintess’s divine power is a fire kindled in the hearth of the heart, all for the sake of loving people.
Healing, protection, blessing.
These three are the principal abilities her divine power can perform.
She cradles pain and heals it, willingly sacrifices her own body to shield others from danger, and blesses every person she loves so that they may be happy.
Yet ironically, while a Saintess can protect herself to a limited degree against great peril, she cannot heal her own pain or bless herself with happiness.
It is the restriction that accompanies such powerful divine energy.
If she never knew pain, she could neither protect nor heal others.
If she never knew misfortune, she could neither care for nor bless them.
Thus healing herself in order to learn pain, and blessing herself in order to understand misfortune, are both forbidden.
And the thing that enforces these restrictions is the butterfly-shaped stigma on her lower abdomen—the place that holds a Saintess’s womb, the very seat of the greatest love.
“Achoo!”
Ariel’s sneeze echoed thunderously through the cathedral.
“Khh… snff… hooee…”
Sniffling as if her nose were about to run, she gave a little shudder of her shoulders against the chill.
Her body felt heavy.
Her throat was raw and scratchy, as though it had split open.
After the big cough, smaller ones kept coming in stubborn little fits that refused to stop.
Her head swam, and the back of her neck pulled tight as if she had a crick in it.
“Saintess, forgive the liberty.”
Lowen, who had been offering morning prayers beside her, noticed something was off and laid a hand against her forehead.
Hot.
Not a raging fever, but high enough to be concerning.
“You ought to rest today.”
“Nyeh…?”
Swaying unsteadily, Ariel blinked and tilted her head.
“I’m fine…”
No one who insists they are fine is ever truly fine.
“You have a fever.”
It was clearly a cold.
Yesterday’s events, no doubt.
Standing in the kitchen on a chilly morning in little more than a skimpy nightgown had done it.
“When you have a fever, you need to rest properly.”
She had tried to endure the headache, but the thought of worrying Lowen so much made her feel guilty; she nodded in obedient surrender.
“Okay… then… I’ll just finish morning prayers and go upstairs.”
“Very well.”
Ariel finished her prayers with a long, weary “hooo…”
Her body was growing heavier by the moment.
It felt as though a dozen tentacles had wrapped around her and were dragging her downward.
She rose from her seat to head upstairs.
“Uh…?”
The instant she stood, strength left her legs and she staggered.
She was about to topple to the floor.
She nearly landed hard on her backside, but Lowen caught her by the shoulders from behind.
“I’m uneasy about this, so I’ll take you myself.”
“Thank… hooaaah…!”
Lowen scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.
“L-Lowen Bishop…?”
Cradled in his arms like a princess, Ariel’s hazy mind snapped taut; she looked up at him with wide, round eyes.
“It may be a little uncomfortable, but please bear with me a moment.”
Still holding her, Lowen carried her to her bedroom.
The sight of a man carrying a woman into a bedroom might suggest they would fall into passionate lovemaking the moment they reached the bed—but that was pure fantasy. In reality he laid her carefully down and drew the covers all the way up to her chin.
“Rest. Call me whenever you need anything.”
Lowen left the room to fetch a damp cloth.
“Ha… haah…”
How long had it been since she last caught such a bad cold?
Truly ages.
At the Grand Cathedral they had managed her health so thoroughly that even sleeping with the blankets kicked off in the dead of winter never left her sick.
Perhaps that was why.
This long-overdue cold was vicious.
The lower volume of The Saintess Who Cannot Sleep—the one she had been dying to read—waited under the bed, yet right now she felt not the slightest desire to look at it. Her head was scolding her to stop thinking strange thoughts and just sleep; her body was coaxing her to stop doing anything foolish and rest properly.
“You’re right… the book isn’t going to run away…”
Ariel shifted and wrapped herself tightly in the blankets.
Lowen began preparing everything he would need to nurse Ariel.
He readied a damp cloth.
He filled a basin with cold water and gathered two soft, dry towels.
“What else…”
How long had it been since he last cared for someone?
The last time had been when he was very small.
Yes—back when he still knew nothing of murder.
On a rainy autumn day in a shabby hut, nursing his little sister through a high fever had been the last time in his life he had fretted so desperately over another person and tended them with such wholehearted devotion.
“Hmm… I should go visit someday, when I have the chance…”
He cast aside the old memories that threatened to pull him under and returned to Ariel.
“Kuu… hff…”
In the short time he had been gone for the cloth, she had already fallen asleep.
Her breath slipped between her lips with a faint, whistling rasp.
Lowen soaked a dry towel in the cold water and laid it across her forehead.
It was all he could do for her right now.
He had no cold medicine, no way to make any, and no means of going into the village to buy some. Naturally he also had no magic that could cure a cold. The only magic Lowen could use was something that merely strengthened the nerves.
He decided to check on her often and change the cloth, then went back downstairs.
Come to think of it, there had been signs since morning that Ariel was unwell.
The girl who always cleaned her plate had left half her food, claiming she wasn’t hungry.
“She’ll be hungry once she wakes…”
Lowen simmered an egg porridge thick with finely sliced green onions.
“And…”
A cold made dehydration easy, so he prepared a tea good for that as well.
Plain water was best, but to make it a little more pleasant to drink he stirred a spoonful of honey into lemon tea.
Now the porridge and tea only needed reheating when it was time to eat.
He was just about to head back up to Ariel when—
—Creeeak
The cathedral door’s hinges groaned.
Stepping outside, he found a young woman waiting.
It was Lina.
She was the village florist who often came early in the morning to pray.
Seeing Lowen emerge, Lina greeted him politely.
“Good morning, Bishop.”
Lowering the sleeves he had rolled up while cooking, Lowen returned the greeting warmly.
“Welcome.”
Lina peeked past him several times.
“The Saintess isn’t with you today?”
The Saintess was always at the bishop’s side.
Sometimes she sat demurely by the window, but the bishop was always seated right beside her.
“She has caught a cold and is resting today.”
“A cold? Even the Saintess can catch colds?”
“No matter how holy she may be—no matter that she hears the voice of God—the Saintess is still a person who catches colds just like the rest of us.”
The prejudice was only natural.
Because she was a Saintess, people assumed she would never fall ill.
Because she was a Saintess, they assumed she would always be healthy.
Without knowing the restrictions placed upon divine power, such thoughts were inevitable.
As if something had just occurred to her, Lina spoke again.
“Ah, come to think of it, I once heard a story about a Saintess who fell seriously ill long ago.”
Her expression turned worried.
“I’ll just offer a short prayer today and head back.”
“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“No. You need to look after the Saintess, Bishop. I couldn’t stay long.”
Lowen offered his thanks with quiet courtesy.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll let the villagers know the cathedral is closed for the day.”
Thoughtfully, she left out the part about the Saintess being unwell.
It was Lina’s own small kindness.
Telling the villagers the Saintess was sick would only make them worry.
“Then I’ll leave that to you.”
Normally Lina would pray, chat a while with Ariel, and then leave; today she offered only a brief prayer and returned straight to the village.
By the time Lina had gone and noon arrived, Lowen carried a tray with the egg porridge and lemon tea up to Ariel.
“I’m coming in.”
She was still asleep.
Lowen set the tray on the table, pulled a chair to her bedside, and sat.
“Just a moment…”
He removed the lukewarm cloth from her forehead and laid his hand against her skin.
“Mm… still the same…”
As he checked her temperature, Ariel’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.
“Lowen Bishop…?”
“Forgive me. I woke you.”
Ariel shook her head, insisting it wasn’t his fault.
“You must be hungry. I made porridge.”
He helped her sit up and brought the bowl over.
He had reheated it before coming upstairs, so white steam rose in soft curls.
Each grain of rice was coated in egg, gleaming appetizingly.
Ariel marveled at the golden color of the porridge.
“Wow… the porridge is golden…!”
Lowen’s lips curved in quiet pleasure at her reaction.
“Eat before it cools.”
He held the bowl out to her.
“??”
Ariel didn’t take it. She simply stared back and forth between Lowen and the bowl with blank eyes.
“Is something the matter?”
“Aren’t you going to feed me?”
Her head hurt, but her hands were perfectly fine. There was no real need to feed her.
“Please eat it yourself.”
“Hiiing… but I’m a patient…”
Perhaps it was the fever; Ariel was being openly spoiled.
He ought to be firm and make her feed herself.
He was supposed to raise her into a strong Saintess.
Even when she was ill, she needed to maintain a Saintess’s dignity.
And yet—
“Very well. I’ll indulge you just for today.”
Lowen scooped up a spoonful of porridge and held it out to her.
He meant to raise a strong Saintess, but he was not so cold-hearted that he could treat a sick person harshly.
Funny for a murderer to claim he isn’t cold-hearted…
Still, when she was unwell, he could allow this much spoiling.
“Blow on it for me.”
“Hoo… hoo…”
“Now open your mouth.”
Ariel went “Ahh~” and parted her lips.
Lowen guided the spoon toward the pink tip of her tongue.
“Haum… munch munch…”
After chewing a few times and swallowing, Ariel beamed.
“It tastes even better when Lowen Bishop feeds me.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Lowen Bishop would make a wonderful bride.”
“I graduated from being a priest a long time ago.”
He fed her another spoonful as he spoke.
“And it would be groom, not bride.”
Even though her body ached, her appetite was intact; Ariel polished off the entire bowl of porridge in no time and finished the lemon tea just as cleanly.
If he had a daughter, would it feel like this?
The airheaded country pup of a girl Ariel had once seemed now looked to him like a daughter.
“Hooah… I’m sweating buckets.”
The hot food had left her nun’s habit soaked through with sweat.
The damp cloth clung to her skin, faintly revealing the pale glow of her flesh beneath.
Lowen averted his eyes from the fabric molded to the curve of her chest and said,
“Let’s change you into your nightgown.”
“Okay.”
He took a one-piece nightgown from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed.
The moment he brought it over, Ariel spread both arms toward him.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Aren’t you going to change me?”
“You can manage that much yourself.”
“I don’t have any strength left. I can’t do it alone.”
Lowen refused firmly, telling her this was going too far and she shouldn’t push it.
“But I’m a patient… I’m really sick… my head hurts so much…”
Ariel peeked up at him.
“Can’t you? We’ve already… seen each other… that far…”
If she put it that way, helping her change clothes was nothing at all.
“And you said you’d indulge me today.”
She was a Saintess who made things difficult in every possible way.
He would have to add a new note of caution.
When a Saintess catches a cold, she becomes a spoiled brat.
“Ha… truly, just this once.”
Still hazy with fever, Ariel grinned brightly and spread her arms wide.
“Then… please undress me…”