Stigmata

I am not Picky

The inside of my uncle's office was like a fantasy version of a CEO's in a drama. A large desk sat in the middle of the room and the expensive wood was covered in documents waiting for his attention. There was a plush red rug covering the stone floor and the walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim with rare tomes and imported knickknacks. The wall across from the doorway was overtaken by a giant window through which brilliant daylight spilled and reflected off a myriad of jewels and precious metals that might have otherwise gone unnoticed.

Again, I found myself appalled by the blatant display of wealth. Maybe it was the years I spent in a monastery where even the paladins took vows of poverty, but being surrounded by such opulence filled me with distaste. Hell, even in my old life this kind of thing was frowned upon. If my uncle, one of the more laid back and philanthropic Nobles, was this wealthy, then I couldn't imagine how obnoxious the other side of my family must be.

"Please," the Duke said as he crossed the room to stand behind his desk. "Take a seat.

I did so, carefully holding onto my shawl. The neckline of my borrowed dress wasn't low, per se, but it showed significantly more skin than I was comfortable with, at the moment. Taylor took her place behind my seat, hands clasped and head lowered.

My uncle sat down stiffly and began rifling through his paper as though looking for something. When he spoke to me, he was distracted by his search.

"Your aunt told me you've already met some of the nobility."

I got the feeling I was being scolded. "Is something wrong?"

He sighed and pulled out the stack of papers he was looking for. He tidied them up and passed them across the desk to her.

"Do you recognize any of the names on this list?"

I leaned forward in my seat to look at it. My uncle's handwriting was...very loopy. Or was it my aunt's? Either way, it was hard to read. I could barely decipher the first few letters before my eyes started crossing. I looked up at my uncle to find him staring at me intensely.

"Do you know them?"

"Can I ask why?"

He sighed again and rubbed his forehead. "It has come to my attention that the monastery may not have been...particularly safe."

"Did you expect it to be?"

The question left me before I could think it through. My uncle stared at me with wide, surprised eyes. The air between us was suddenly fraught and I internally cursed at myself for not holding my tongue. The Duke closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He looked very tired.

"No," he said after a long moment. "No, I suppose not."

Well, it was nice of him to admit it.

We sat there in silence for an uncomfortable moment. The Duke was leaning heavily on his elbows, hands folded in front of him. The sun behind him cast his face in shadow and blinded my eyes. The expression on his face was hard to read, but if I had to guess...was reverence too strong a word? It didn't make sense, but I didn't know how else to describe it. I was almost tempted to look behind me and see if there was something spectacular I'd missed.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry." His laugh was short and self deprecating. "Though I imagine it's too late."

I smiled at him, though it was little more than a faint upturning of my lip corners. "I appreciate the sentiment."

"There are few things in this life that I regret. Disowning your mother is one of them." He held my gaze with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. I didn't look away, though. "Doing nothing when Theodore let them send you away is another. I had hoped it would show my dear sister what kind of man she threw her life away for—that she would leave him and return to the Duchy—but no. She still loves him, even now. I am ashamed to say she might not be the ally you'll need her to be."

Was that why she had such a shallow presence in the original novels? Though she wasn't my mother, my heart still ached to think of her as anything other than a friend. Unwittingly, I had actually projected my own mother's face onto her and held out hope for a relationship like the one that was taken from me. Knowing that it might not happen reawakened the grief I'd managed to smother. I should have known better than to expect anything. Theophania's was an existence rife with pain. Anything good she might claim for herself could only end in tragedy.

"I see," I said softly. "I understand."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It seems I will never stop saying that to you, but someone has to."

The smile I gave him wasn't quite genuine, but it wasn't false, either. "Thank you, Uncle."

"There is little I can do to right past wrongs, but I can punish those who committed them, at the very least. Do you recognize any of the names on this list? If so, I promise you I will take swift action against them."

It was hard to believe him. He never did any of this for the original Theophania, so why was he putting in so much effort for me? It wasn't as though he knew me any better. We were practically strangers, for all I was living in his home. He and the original rarely interacted in the whole novel series, so I suppose I had an advantage in that sense. Still, it all felt rather superficial and insincere.

His motivations couldn't matter less to me, though. So long as we both got what we wanted—revenger for me, absolution for him—then I would accept any excuse he gave me.

There was only one problem.

"Um, Uncle," I began sheepishly, purposefully curling in on myself to make myself seem smaller. "I can't actually read it."

"You can't read?" He stared at me, aghast, and I rushed to clarify, having perhaps a little too much fun at his expense.

"No! I can, it's just...this handwriting is a bit..."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, a hand on his chest. "Ah, I see. That's a relief. Though, now that I think about it, you did write to me, didn't you..." He chuckled mirthlessly. "It seems I've made a fool of myself."

I didn't dispute it and he sobered quickly.

"Frederick is the one who wrote this," he said with yet another sigh. "Large, flowing letters are in style among the youth, or so he claims. I'm sure there's someone among the servants who can read it to you."

Taylor sank into a curtsey behind me. "I can do it, Your Grace."

"Ah! Well, there you go. Problem solved." He smiled kindly at me. "Things will get easier, my dear. I promise."

Somehow I doubted that.