The Frontier Saintess #1
Tap. Tap.
The tip of the pen held between Adonis’s fingers left a jet-black point on the pure-white edge of the paper.
A few names were written across the sheet in black ink, along with brief notes on their backgrounds and how they were faring of late. The entries were sparse; he had only compiled the rumors that had reached him. Adonis found that faintly unsatisfying.
Maybe I should change trades even now.
He set the heavy pen down and sank into thought. Plenty of people brought him information of their own accord, and the work paid well enough, yet most of what they delivered was the sort of news that made money rather than the sort that was useful. The coin pouches stacked deep in his inventory remained as weighty as ever, which only made the dissatisfaction sharper.
“You seem burdened with worries again today.”
While Adonis brooded alone, Semiramis’s voice slipped into his ear. He lifted his head a fraction. The sight of the woman smiling at him, draped in nothing but a thin, translucent black gown, seized his gaze at once.
“Yeah. Looks like I was wrong… I’m wondering whether I ought to take up something else even at this late hour.”
“Mmm. So that was it.”
Acting on a carefully considered plan did not guarantee success. There were days like this when one simply wanted to escape the dull pressure crushing the chest. And it was common enough for people to change course according to time and circumstance. The world only appeared still; in truth it moved with organic, restless life.
Semiramis felt a pang of pity watching Adonis take the long way around when an easier path lay open, yet she knew this was no matter to be finished in a flash of lightning. Had he rushed his revenge the way one clears a backlog of work, he would have finished it long ago and had time to spare.
“Do as you wish. I shall simply follow.”
I will trust you and follow. That, Semiramis decided, was the only word he needed right now, and the only kindness she could show.
“Thanks.”
Grateful for her consideration, Adonis casually slipped an arm around the waist of the female who had perched beside him. Semiramis gazed for a moment at the thick arm encircling her, then laid her slender fingers over his noticeably hardened hand and smiled. Her cheeks flushed with the quiet hope that they would spend yet another night together like this.
Yet the unexpected peal of the bell late at night forced a frown onto her brow. The sign that announced they were open for business had been taken down long ago.
Adonis sighed as well, unwound his arm from her waist, and went straight downstairs. Semiramis’s eyes, a mixture of anger and regret, followed his back.
“Who is it?”
The door clattered open. Opening one’s door without caution at such an hour was normally the height of danger, yet Adonis remained perfectly at ease. Semiramis stood behind him, and he himself had been steeped in dragon’s blood, transformed by it; danger simply did not apply. Moreover the man who had rung the bell was bowing and scraping so frantically that any sense of threat drained away completely.
“Forgive me for setting foot here at this late hour. I am a messenger sent personally by Count Clencher.”
“The Count? At this hour?”
Adonis tilted his head, meeting the eyes of the man who claimed to be the Count’s runner. He could not begin to guess why a messenger would be dispatched so late.
“Yes. The Count has sent this letter with his own hand.”
The messenger rummaged inside his coat and produced a single sheet of pure-white paper. Adonis’s hand closed slowly around it and unfolded the letter.
A seal of red sealing wax closed the envelope; the crest of the Count’s house stamped clearly upon it erased even the last scrap of doubt Adonis had harbored.
I am sorry to send a letter so late at night.
I know it is rude, yet I would be grateful if you would come to the inner castle the moment you receive this.
A most precious guest has arrived, and I wish to ease that guest’s fatigue at once.
To a mere commoner the Count could simply have issued an order, yet he had framed it as a request. Adonis thought anew that Count Clencher’s character was truly fine, and carefully refolded the letter back into its paper.
“Eris. Change clothes and come down, will you? The Count is calling for us in a hurry.”
“The Count…? Yes. I understand.”
Semiramis gave Adonis a faintly suspicious look for addressing her by the alias, then climbed at once to the second floor. She could hardly go out wearing the gown she had put on solely to seduce him.
“By any chance, do you know who this precious guest is that has come to see the Count? Judging by the letter, the person must be someone of considerable standing. If someone like that had arrived, the territory would hardly be so quiet.”
“Ah… I do not know the details myself, only that the invitation was made in secret. I was told the guest is of modest disposition and dislikes drawing attention. Beyond that I truly know nothing.”
A mere servant could not be expected to know every circumstance. Adonis turned the puzzle over in his mind—who could it be?—until the sound of footsteps behind him made him turn.
Semiramis approached, dressed entirely in black for light travel.
“Let us be off.”
Adonis shifted his gaze again and spoke; the man nodded and began walking ahead.
How often did an ordinary commoner—neither noble nor swaggering merchant—ever set foot inside a noble’s inner castle? Most people, Adonis reflected, would go their entire lives without such a connection. When the demonkin invaded they would simply tuck their tails and flee to another territory; if they could not, they would be swallowed by the hot, chaotic stream of refugees until they could scarcely breathe.
The horse snorted softly. Listening to the low sound, Adonis stepped down from the carriage. The Count could have made commoners walk; instead he had sent a carriage. Adonis found the gesture oddly particular—whether from sheer urgency or consideration for those arriving so late, he could not tell.
Following the servant’s lead he walked through the garden, entered the inner castle, and proceeded down a corridor whose destination he did not know. When at last he stepped through a rather lavishly decorated door, the Count, who had been seated before a bookcase, rose and came toward him. The welcome on his face was unmistakable.
“Welcome. Forgive me for summoning you at such an hour.”
“When the Count calls so urgently, curiosity alone would have brought us. Please do not concern yourself.”
The man and woman with dark-red hair bowed their heads. Looking apologetic, the Count gave Adonis’s shoulder a light pat. Gesture, posture, and a voice edged with impatience all made plain just how pressed he was.
Bookshelves lined with orderly volumes. A desk. A table and several chairs. Adonis lifted his gaze and swept the room—half reception chamber, half study. A round artifact from the Mage Tower that cast a bright yellow light. Objects that were old yet clean and unmistakably luxurious. Exactly the sort of room a noble would use, Adonis thought.
“In my heart I would like to offer tea and speak at leisure… yet I cannot keep so precious a guest waiting, so I mean to come straight to the point. Will that be all right?”
“Pardon? Ah—yes. Please do as is convenient for you, Count. My wife and I wish for nothing else.”
“Thank you.”
Just what sort of guest could make the Count behave this way? While answering calmly, Adonis felt his curiosity boil and grow restless. The Count easily read that restlessness in the quiet, intent stare fixed on his lips. Relieved, the Count opened his mouth at once.
“Have you, by any chance, ever heard the name Oregana?”
“Oregana… you say? Well. It does not feel entirely unfamiliar, so I may have heard it somewhere, but I cannot claim to know.”
“Dear me. Not to know the lady called the Saintess of the Frontier—how truly regrettable.”
The Saintess of the Frontier. Adonis’s eyes lit up as he watched the Count lament over that uncommon epithet. A title containing the word “Saintess” was bound to catch his attention.
Ahem. Count Clencher realized he had grown too heated, cleared his throat, and took a moment to steady his breath—and to cool his racing thoughts.
“Well, it is possible not to know. In any case, on her journey the lady happened to stop briefly in our territory. That is why I summoned you so quickly—so that you might, in however small a way, offer comfort to one who walks such harsh roads.”
“I see. Anyone who travels dangerous places is bound to accumulate fatigue in the body.”
“Exactly that. As expected of a man who makes massage his trade—you understand at once.”
When Adonis matched the Count’s rhythm, the man clapped his hands in open delight. Simply having Adonis grasp the modest request—to give a massage to the Saintess of the Frontier—seemed to please him immensely. Adonis exchanged a brief glance with Semiramis standing beside him, then returned his gaze to the Count.
“I understand. Since sooner is better, we shall go to her at once. Where is this Saintess?”
“She is resting in the guest-of-honor chamber. She had meant to stay at some cheap inn; I barely managed to dissuade her and bring her here.”
The Count puffed out his chest with pride, then immediately called for a servant to enter the room.
“Guide them to the guest of honor.”
“Yes, my lord.”
At the Count’s command the bowing servant answered shortly, then turned to Adonis.
“Please follow me. I will show you the way.”
They walked for a short while down the corridor behind the servant’s back. Before long a door as large and solid as the one to the Count’s own chamber blocked Adonis’s path.
Interesting.
Semiramis, standing at Adonis’s side, narrowed her eyes as though peering beyond the door. The holy power she sensed fell a little short of the Saintess whose nails had been torn out that day, yet it was more than enough to warrant the title of Saintess.
Knock, knock.
The servant rapped on the door to announce the visitors. From within came a young, fresh feminine voice.
“Please enter.”
The servant stepped lightly aside. Adonis nodded and pushed open the heavy door. Because the door was large, a solid weight traveled up through his hand.
He saw the sky.
For an instant Adonis was startled by the blue of a daytime sky even in the dark of night—then realized it was a person’s hair and eyes, and straightened his posture.
“Because of me you have been made to come out so late at night for no good reason. I am truly sorry.”
While Adonis still stood dazed, the woman he had mistaken for the sky bowed deeply in apology. The sleeves of her pure-white nun’s habit, free of even a speck of dust, fluttered lightly.
Adonis thought the courtesy almost excessive, yet he bowed his head with composed calm—calm enough that no one would notice he had only just recovered his wits at the sound of her voice.
“Please do not concern yourself. It is I who am honored to meet you like this.”
He spouts that sort of line without even wetting his lips.
Semiramis thought he put on a fine act of coyness toward a human he had not even known until moments ago, and silently bowed her head as well.