Chapter Text
You opened your mouth for communion, and Fyodor placed the host in it with the utmost delicacy. The sacramental bread was moistened by your saliva as it rested on your tongue. As he inserted the wafer deeper, Fyodor's fingers moved closer to you. The soft touch of his thumb remained on your lower lip when you had finished eating the host, which took your breath away. You had the impression that a shadow had rippled across his covered neck, as if his Adam's apple had risen for a second to swallow. He slowly removed his hand and you gasped. Your laboured breath hitting his digit.
TWO MOONS AGO
Two weeks had passed since that morning when the parish priest summoned the entire village to receive the Holy Inquisition. Hundreds of villagers had crowded into the main square on the verge of a nervous breakdown, making it difficult to catch a glimpse of the inquisitor, who fervently preached about the Lord’s will and the dangers of heresy. All that could be seen was the panic that the distinguished guest had sown in the hearts of the people, especially when he announced the beginning of a period of grace during which anyone burdened with a guilty conscience would be allowed to confess and recant.
There was no room for secrets in such a small village: several neighbors were interrogated the following days. Most of them portrayed His Excellency Theodore as a dark, cynical, surly man, you heard them while buying food at the market. Many of those present wondered how a representative of the Church could convey such coldness. A foreign merchant then explained that, due to the cruelty of his punishments, the unsympathetic inquisitor was known throughout much of the country as God's Left Fist. His reputation soon spread like wildfire, along with mass hysteria.
And now you were invited to meet God's Left Fist in his office. You struggled to control your nerves whilst being escorted by one of his guards; you refused to doubt your acquaintances, but you weren't stupid, a female healer living alone would become a perfect target for those desperate to win the inquisitor's favor by exposing heretics, real or otherwise.
“Here,” the guard suddenly stopped and informed you had arrived to the place.
He opened the heavy door for you and told to wait for His Excellency inside. You complied and came in slowly, sheepishly, feeling tiny under the severity of the situation. The room was decorated with austerity, much to your surprise. From someone as important as an inquisitor, you would have expected lots of luxuries, however, everything you could observe was books and letters. You sighed in relief for the tools of torture were out of sight.
You walked towards the main desk. Fearing to be reprimanded if you sat down, you simply stood next to the table. Time went on and His Excellency didn’t show up yet. You snuck a peek at the papers over the aforementioned desk—upside down from your point of view—and started reading them. Not that you cared about their content, you didn’t even pay attention to it, you solely meant to combat boredom.
“You can read, how quaint...” a silky, male voice commented behind you.
As soon as you heard it, you turned around to find out its origin. You flushed as you spotted who seemed to be the infamous Commissioner of the Holy Office, and immediately bowed to him. You expected him to admonish you for your intrusion, but the man just casually walked past you—with a grace you have never witnessed before—and took a seat. His raven-haired mane had fluttered and your trained nose picked up his clean scent, completely uncommon. You were tempted to rub your eyes in disbelief. He looked too young to hold such a high position, yet his red robes didn't lie. Besides, you had noticed an exotic accent in his words, one you had only detected during the inquisitor's public speech.
“Pray tell, what is the story behind something as improbable as yourself?” he asked while making an elegant gesture with his gloved hand that suggested you sit as well.
“Im-improbable?”
To be clearer, he tapped with his long finger the papers you had been reading. “Don’t be afraid, child,” he added when he perceived the rigidity of your stance.
Eventually, you settled down in front of him—his desk was the only thing separating the two of you. With hesitation, you related to him the bizarre explanation of why you were able to read Latin and how you had ended up on your own, working as a healer so far away from your birthplace.
His expressionlessness grieved your heart, so you placed your clenched fist on your chest to calm down. You dreaded accidentally blurting out something out of line, something that might frame you for who knows what heresy. “That is all, my lord…” you weakly stated when you had nothing else to mention.
His visage, hitherto stony, gradually flickered into a smile. “You are no witch then, just a determined woman,” at last, he broke the awkward silence. “It is unfortunate that people mistake one for the other these days. What's worse is that some do it deliberately out of vile envy.” He looked you up and down and, for some unknown reason, you blushed again. “I can imagine that someone as singular as you has likely stirred up a lot of jealousy in others.”
You overlooked his praise, focused on the beginning of his statement. “Please pardon this bold insolence, my lord, but… Witch?”
You stared intently into those dark amethysts that adorned his sharp, pale face. Now that was an inquisitive look. Those cunning, narrow eyes gleamed like church stained glass windows. The deep crimson of his habit made them stand out, perhaps because there was a reddish hue underneath the discernible purple; his dark circles accentuated this contrast. On second thought, they were more like plums than amethysts. You found it hard to bear his scrutinizing gaze, nevertheless, no eyes had ever captured your attention this much.
God's Left Fist brought his hands together at the level of his chin, resting his elbows on the wood. “Do you know how Inquisition’s judicial procedure works, my child?” his haunting smirk vanished and a shiver ran down your spine. The anticipation hindered your breathing. You shook your head as a sign of negation. “Very well…” his strong L sound echoed in your ears. Anxious for what he was going to tell you, you began ruining your fingers by pulling some hangnails off.
“Once the period of grace is over,” he continued, “those accused of heresy who had not abjured shall be called to trial. I will speak plainly: the investigation process at that point will already be concluded.” He took a dramatic pause to inhale. “That means the chances of not being prosecuted, if someone is considered a suspect, are minimal.” You sensed yourself going white as death itself at that very moment, terrified by that information. “There is still a legal protection in these cases, however. A way for the defendants to nullify the testimonies against them, which are all anonymous, I must mention. The indictees will have the opportunity of naming their enemies; should they be accusers, their allegations will be dismissed.”
“Why are you sharing this knowledge with me, His Excellency?” you questioned, refusing to rely on your skeptical intuition.
“Not for any particular reason, I was merely curious to learn the reaction of such a notorious woman about this course of action.” The restraint in his tone clearly hinted that you should read between the lines.
You bit your lip while thinking. “How many allegations does it take for someone to be deemed a suspect of heresy?”
“Only two. Guessing the names of those two or three accusers would be a feat comparable to finding a needle in a haystack, wouldn't it? Even more so if the hypothetical defendant has to do it unexpectedly.” His Excellency gave you a warm smile, one that changed his aura entirely. It was almost friendly, and it confused you. “Anyway, I am already talking too much and I bet you have more important things to do. Go in peace.”
You stood up, bowed and left his office, assuming that it was unlikely that this man would say more than he intended.
A fortnight later, you were called to court. Until then, you had not stopped mulling over that unusual meeting with His Excellency and had prayed to God more often than ever. You again saw the inquisitor when you got on the stand. Contrary to your expectations, when he urged you to point out your potential enemies, you did not tremble. You were unsure why, but the presence of that mysterious man produced a soothing effect on your spirit. Even if his public demeanor bore no resemblance to the attitude he had displayed in that moment of mercy in which he tipped you off.
You pronounced three names before the audience: the name of a doctor who regarded you as his rival, the name of a boy whose hand you had refused, and the name of the woman who had been your best friend. You would never have guessed that she would turn against you, nevertheless, His Excellency's remark about jealousy sowed doubt in you. You were aware that she loved your suitor, that's why you had rejected his marriage proposal. She had claimed that everything was fine between you, but it proved to be a gross lie. You didn't even glance at her during the trial, knowing that you would cry if you did.
When the proceedings were over and you were acquitted of the charges, the inquisitor left. It may have been your imagination, however, you could have sworn he flashed you a grin before disappearing through some curtains. The parish priest, with whom you had befriended, came rushing after you and almost dragged you out of the place so you wouldn't have to face your neighbors.
The priest expressed his genuine happiness for your salvation. He had helped His Excellency Theodore with the investigations—apparently, it was a common practice for no one knew his people better than their own pastor. The parish priest had spoken to him on your behalf after learning of the accusations against you, yet he never hoped that he would actively support you.
“I feared that my efforts were in vain, I wholeheartedly regret having misjudged him–”
“Do you believe that I will be able to personally thank him, father?”
“I’m afraid not, he and his entourage were planning to leave with the imprisoned heretics as soon as the trial was over. You could write to him–”
You dashed out to check if the Inquisition had indeed departed. When you opened the door, you could spot in the distance the carriages with the prisoners, headed by a more sumptuous one in which His Excellency was getting on. You ran, ran, ran. But just as you were about to catch up with them, they started moving.
You had to shout for them to wait, your throat suffered from the strain. One of the soldiers who were escorting the travelers on horseback noticed you. He motioned to the coachmen to slow down, so you could reach them.
“Why are we stopping?” the inquisitor asked his guards without stepping out of his carriage. The guard by his window informed him that a civilian had approached shouting for them to wait and questioned him about what to do. “Let me see him,” God’s Left Hand demanded.
“It’s a woman, His Excellency.”
“Well, that is unexpected,” you could recognize the irony in his tone. “Show her to me, captain.” You were not allowed to come too near, yet you were close enough so that he could observe you from the inside. His powerful, plum gaze fell upon you and shone. Suddenly, you felt your knees losing their strength. “I had assumed you would be celebrating by now,” the inquisitor softly spoke to you.
“I came to thank you, my lord.” You looked down as you answered.
The dark-haired man slyly chuckled—like several of his men, though they with less concealment. “You have nothing to thank me for, child,” his voice, nevertheless, did not exhibit mockery, “I only follow God's designs. You have been declared innocent because you are in His fair eyes.”
You then kneeled on the dirty ground, embarrassed as ever but also with firm conviction. “I do not wish to controvert it, however, I still remain indebted to you. Please permit me to serve you as a token of my gratitude.”
His guards laughed, yet he did not. He fleetingly moistened his lips with his tongue and took his time to reply, “Wouldn’t you miss your friends in this village if I accepted? I don’t want you to regret your choices in the future, sweet girl.”
“His Excellency Theodore, you had seen for yourself… I… I have no reliable people left here other than Father Lucas.”
The sparkle in his violet eyes seemed to tremble as he weighed his decision. You forgot to breathe until he finally made his pronouncement. “Fine.” He then addressed the guard, “Captain, let her in and resume the march.”
The captain got off his horse in obvious confusion and opened the carriage’s door for you. With your cheeks red-hot, you sat down in front of the young inquisitor, where he had indicated you. You were practically quivering with excitement.
“You are the singularity,” the inquisitor stated with a quizzical smirk on his face. You gulped and did not dare to talk back, since you had no idea what to say. To be honest, you hadn't planned any of this. All you knew was that the one they called God's Left Fist was actually your guardian angel. And with that realization, you became aware that he did also possess a heavenly beauty. You heart pondered. “If you are going to work for me from now on, by the way, I will have to correct you:” you blinked, puzzled, “in reality, my name is Fyodor.” And His Excellency Fyodor looked away from you to admire the landscape. You did the same, wondering where you were going.
In the twilight you arrived at some sort of monastery. Fyodor began to make use of you there, ordering you to prepare his room while he went to meet other members of the Church. After finishing your tasks, you were able to have dinner and go to bed. That night you had trouble sleeping, assimilating everything that had happened and hearing the cries of the tortured. A bittersweet sensation.
PRESENT
After approximately a month of sevices, your conclusion was that His Excellency Fyodor was not a bad master. He never yelled at you, he fed you well, and he did not make you work more than when you were a healer. This man was tremendously clean and organized, you doubted he needed you. In this regard, it was worth mentioning that hygiene was one of his priorities and, on more than one occasion, he asked you to prepare hot baths for him. That surprised you, because you had heard that the Church considered it an unnecessary luxury. That explained his characteristic good smell, that fragrance that filled your lungs. The truth is that you often sighed when you noted it in his laundry. Perhaps your devotion to him was evolving into something more.
Distracted in these thoughts, the sound of the door opening and closing startled you. Fyodor had entered the room where you were warming the water in his bathtub, silent as a cat. As soon as you saw him, you greeted him with a bow. “The water is ready, my lord.”
“Good.” He approached with a smile on his angelic face. “Thank you, my child.” He slightly grabbed you by your shoulders, but quickly removed his hands to move towards the bathtub. You lived for those little frictions, but in turn they martyred you with stupid ideas.
You blushed, and not only because of his sweet words. He would start undressing. For some unknown reason, you began feeling weird whenever he unbuttoned his cloak by the neck. Luckily for you, he didn’t demand you helping taking his clothes. The mere thought of it killed you. Each time you looked away as he prepared himself to get inside the wooded tub. And you waited with your back to him until he asked for a towel once he was finished.
Your eyes always remained on the ceiling during those moments, internally praying a rosary for your sick, broken mind. Then you realized you were sweating. Was it from your earlier chores or something else? You were about to run off this time in specific, nevertheless, the inquisitor called you by your name. It always sounded better on his lips, which made you weak.
“Y-yes, my lord?”
“A towel, please.” You turned around and handed it to him, trying not to stare. When you began walking away, he took your forearm, wetting your sleeve a little. “Your efforts do not go unnoticed. You have been working very hard this month, I therefore would like to thank you. The water is still warm, I invite you to have a bath when I'm gone.”
As you were about to reply, you couldn't help but face him. Accidentally, you also observed his masculinity. You glanced away as fast as you could, your heart racing from pure panic. You anxiously wondered whether he had noticed.
“I can’t accept that, my lord, I-I am not worthy…”
“I insist, especially, since I would like to have dinner with you afterwards. Indulge me.”
You did not wish to contradict your master, so you accepted. When His Excellency departed, you took a bath.
In spite of cleaning your skin, you felt dirty. Soaking yourself in the water in which he had rested naked… Why would he want to have dinner with you? To fire you? To point out your sins in order to punish you? You felt so nervous that you had to bite your fingernails. What was this sensation between your legs? You had never sensed it before. It seemed something in your body was missing, you couldn’t stay still. You weren't able to erase the vivid memory of his manhood.
After drying your hair, you went to find your master for dinner. It seemed that you two would be doing this on your own. You calmed down when you found out why he had invited you. It wasn't what you had imagined. He told you why he had recruited you: he needed someone reliable for a mission. Apparently, he was looking for a type of heretics with supernatural powers. In order to eliminate them, he had to find a certain book. He thought you could help him to investigate its location for you could read.
“It would be an honor to serve you, my lord.” You swore to him, thrilled at the prospect of being useful to him.
“Nonetheless, despite the infinite trust I place in you, my child, it saddens me to manifest a grievance about you as well: you have not confessed your sins in all this time, not even once. Our accord won't succeed unless that changes... I hope you understand.”
He was right. You attended mass every day, notwithstanding, you had stopped confessing, ashamed of your new found desires.
“I do, my lord. It will be the first thing I do tomorrow morning–”
“No, my child, we must remedy it right away.”