Chapter 53: Parliament’s Reckoning

Cheri laced the final buttons on Elena's jacket. Military-style. Regal. Sharp lines over riding pants, the skirt split and flowing behind her boots. Golden epaulettes shimmered on her shoulders, catching the morning light.

Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror; stone-faced. Composed. A general preparing for war.

Cheri's hands lingered on her shoulders. Her expression softened. "You're ready."

Elena exhaled deeply. "Then it's time."

She turned from the mirror and pulled Cheri into a firm, grounding embrace.

Hand in hand, they walked through the marble corridors of San Cordero's capital—past towering saints carved in stone, their gaze cold and unblinking. Elena's jaw tensed. Even here, even now, they loomed.

The parliament chamber was packed.

Nobles. Delegates. Guildmasters. Old money and new voices from every province of the United Territories. The room stood the moment Elena entered—an awkward rustle of admiration… and pity.

She hated the pity most of all.

At the head of the table stood Seamus.

He strode to her and took her hand in his gloved one, lips grazing her knuckles with deliberate reverence. "My love," he said, loud enough for the chamber to hear, "thank you for joining us."

She smiled, not for show, but for him. For this moment. For finally—finally—being seen.

Together, they walked to the head of the table and sat.

The Behike sat cloaked at Elena's side, a pillar of quiet power.

Elena met Seamus's gaze. He nodded once.

She stood.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, voice steady and clear. "There is no need for bloodshed to rid ourselves of the Church of Saintess Yidali."

Gasps.

Murmurs.

Seamus raised his hand.

Silence.

Elena carefully laid out the paper Niegal had given her. Steady, she told herself.

"Please open your Constitution to page 212, paragraph 2, section 3."

Pages rustled. Some delegates scoffed, others admitted they didn't even know they had a constitution.

Elena read aloud. Her voice rang like iron in the chamber.

By the end, the crowd erupted.

Applause. Shouts for action. Praise.

But Elena raised her hand, and the chamber fell still again.

"Thank you," she said, softly. Her gaze sharpened. "But let us remember: this is not about vengeance. This is about peace. Peace across every faith and family in our lands."

She paused.

"No parent," she said, voice shaking just slightly, "should have to face the disappearance, or the death, of their child."

Seamus reached for her hand beneath the table. She gripped it back.

"We lost our own child to the Inquisition. A child prophesied to change the world."

She turned. The Behike rose and stepped forward.

"Muerte Juju is not dead," she said, voice booming with pride. "Far from it. And I have something to show you."

From within her cloak, she pulled out gleaming, translucent crystals. They shimmered as she chanted. The mana lamps flickered. Sigils bloomed mid-air.

Then the room darkened.

Images appeared.

Saintess Yidali, casting spells.

Yidali in love, embracing Sotomatteo.

Yidali lifting the Muerte Juju sigil, hand raised high above a people hungry for hope.

And then… her end.

Tied to a pyre. Face bloodied. A foreign soldier smirking as he dropped the torch.

She did not scream.

Not until she saw his helmet, rolled callously to her line of sight as she burned.

Sotomatteo. His head still inside. Eyes staring blankly up to her.

Her scream shattered the illusion.

The crystals cracked, falling to the Behike's palms like broken stars.

Silence reigned. Some wept. Some prayed. Some simply stared.

"The Inquisition took Yidali's life, bastardized it, and used it for their own political purposes. They tried wiping out her life, her love, her legacy."

The Behike lifted a finger toward Seamus and Elena, both bracing for what comes next.

"Behold, a descendant of Yidali and Sotomatteo!"

But she wasn't pointing at Seamus. She was pointing to a motionless Elena.

Shock rolled through the room.

Wait… what? But I'm just the girl who survived. But deep down, Elena knew. It was the truth. It certainly explained why the Rosaria's bound their women to the Church. She squared her shoulders. Jaw set.

Seamus was reeling, didn't the Behike say he was the one descended? If I'm not the one, what does that make me? Her once failed protector? Just a lover?

The Behike bowed. Chaos erupted. There were calls for a new vote, for the Church to burn as they had burned their Saintess.

Seamus called for order, his voice louder than the fury.

But Elena?

Elena said nothing.

She just stood there.

Unbroken.