When Roel left the palace the next morning, he was surprised to see that the main roads were congested. The capital city of Yvailles was roughly segregated into different districts, the wealthy on the northwest and the poor in the southeast. This was made more evident by the traffic: carriages headed westward while swarms of peasants went the opposite direction.

As he stood and stared, the citizens did the same to him. The peasants swarmed him, cheering and congratulating him, and carriages came to a stop, the nobles peeking out of the windows.

A carriage, the only one heading east with the peasants, came up next to him. The door to the carriage opened, and a man peered out at him.

“Sir Roel, a pleasure as always to see you, but I do believe you are making the traffic even worse,” Cardinal Eudes said, and beckoned him inward. “Come, ride with me.”

With little choice, Roel entered the coach, laid his bag against the wall, and sat across from the cardinal. The interior was small but cozy, and the red walls were decorated with little golden lilies. Outside, he could still hear the excited chatter of the peasants die down, and the carriage continued on its way.

“Were you going somewhere?” Cardinal Eudes asked with a glance at his bag. He was wearing his usual white and scarlet cassocks. Even though he was doing nothing more than sitting with his hands folded over his lap, the cardinal had his usual air of composure – he was cool, amiable, and soft-spoken.

Roel wondered if their meeting had planned, but then dismissed the thought. He didn’t think there would be so many people out in the morning, and the cardinal had helped him escape attention. He should be grateful. But still, he felt uneasy, and he lowered his eyes as he spoke.

“There are too many people in the capital. I was planning to head south and find somewhere nice to rest before heading to Brackith.” As always, he didn’t know how much he could trust the cardinal, so he settled on a flimsy lie.

“Ah, that’s a fine idea. Is it your first time in the capital during the Rite?” Cardinal Eudes asked.

“The Rite…?” Too slowly, he realized that the cardinal was referring to the Rite of the Hearth. That explained why the streets were so congested.

The cardinal chuckled. “So, you had no idea it was today. Well, I won’t chastise you too harshly, but a paladin should be aware of such things. In the capital, the Rite of the Hearth is held at the beginning of every week.”

“I apologize, Your Eminence. Where I’m from – ah, forgive me.” He caught himself just in time. When he was ordained as a paladin, he had sworn many oaths. One of which was that he was not allowed to speak of his past: From this point forth, I renounce my earthly past, and I will bear the name of Roel. My present and my future are in service to the kingdom and the Lord.

“It’s fine,” Cardinal Eudes said with a gentle smile. “I’m strict, but not that strict. I don’t mind if you talk about your childhood years.”

“Thank you, but I’ll refrain.”

“Suit yourself. But yes, I understand that in some regions the Rite is held monthly or even seasonally. But the pope believes that with enough time, the Rite of the Hearth being a weekly event will become commonplace throughout Calorin.”

“I see. That’s good.”

There was nothing else to say. He sat back, listening to the squeaking of the carriage wheels, the trotting of the horse, and snippets of conversations. The curtain was half-drawn, and he stared out of the window. He assumed they were headed to the church where the Rite was held, and as they left the thoroughfares, he noticed that the brightly painted brick shops became wooden huts with daubed walls and thatched roofs. The roads were little more than uneven dirt paths; not many carriages came to the east of the capital.

It was a familiar sight for him. Magerra had looked almost like this but with snow-covered wattle and walls insulated with furs and leaves. A pitying noble might exclaim that the peasants lived in squalid poverty, but to a rich man, everything outside his daily life looked like poverty. This was simply how peasants lived; in fact, they might be better off than some of the other places he had visited.

Some children walking alongside the carriage noticed him and waved and shouted at him. He did his best to smile at them, but when his gesture drew attention from the other peasants, he had to draw the curtain.

“Why not say something to them?” the cardinal said. “They adore you. I suspect many will have you in their prayers today.”

He gave a nervous chuckle. “They’ll be disappointed. It will be a difficult war.” Even King Maxime had been reluctant to wage war against the massive Graecian Empire.

“Yes, you’re right,” the cardinal said, nodding his head. “But I think what’s most important is that you retain their support. If the common folk hadn’t celebrated your appointment, I guarantee you that the nobles would’ve tried to overturn the decision either through direct appeals to the king or more indiscreet means. Not that they haven’t been trying. Do you know what the nobles have been calling you?”

“Nothing good, I can only assume.”

“The Pauper Paladin. Duke Octave started it. I’m sure he’s very pleased with himself for that one. I’ve always thought that the man would make a terrific childhood bully.”

Roel frowned. He had expected criticism and complaints, but name-calling was as petty as it could get. Petty but insidious, nonetheless.

“Don’t be too disheartened,” the cardinal continued. “The biggest shortcoming of people like Duke Octave is that they underestimate the will of the common people. As a result, their schemes are restricted by their own narrow-minded ambitions.”

“So, that’s how you knew,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Knew what, Sir Roel?”

“That my appointment as commander would go smoothly. You understood that the peasants wanted a holy war.”

“It’s hardly gone smoothly,” the cardinal said jovially. “There’s a lot of things happening behind closed doors right now. I shudder at the thought of it.”

“But you wouldn’t have acted if you weren’t sure of the outcome.”

“The conviction in your voice is alarming. You make it sound as if I were a prophet.”

“Isn’t that what sets you apart from people like Duke Octave, isn’t it?” he asked. Perhaps in a different setting, he wouldn’t press so forwardly, but it was the only two of them in a small carriage. “You understand what the peasants want.”

The cardinal chuckled. “Please, you think too much of me. But as I’ve said before, I don’t intend to hide anything from you. First, let me ask you this: do you know how I acquired my position as cardinal?”

“I do.” When Eudes had claimed him after the Battle of Wetshard, he had investigated the cardinal’s past. “One of the cardinals passed, and there was an opening for a new one at the House of Sibylle.”

The cardinal nodded. “That is a fact with no details. And the Lord is in the details. There are two major churches in the capital – the Louka Cathedral headed by Cardinal Télesphore and the House of Sibylle.

“No one wants to go to the House of Sibylle. It could be a promotion, but more often than not it’s a death sentence for any ambitious clergy member. The capital is one of few cities in the kingdom that are so heavily segregated between rich and poor, and the House of Sibylle serves only the peasantry. It’s a tiny church, much too small for the number of people we serve every day. The Rite of the Hearth must be held all day to accommodate everyone.”

“I see,” Roel said. “And you’re unable to expand it because the only tithes you can collect come from the poor.”

“Exactly. And most of that money goes back to help the poor. The kingdom does provide church funding to each city, but the nobles in the capital have set it up so that most of the funding gets allocated to the Louka Cathedral. And that’s fine.”

Surprisingly, the cardinal’s smile held no trace of bitterness. Instead, it was equal parts amusement and triumph. “Because that means they still don’t understand. If one wants to understand the heart of the kingdom, one goes to the capital. But the heart is not stored in the palace nor is it stored in the largest, most extravagant cathedral.”

A few minutes ago, the carriage had come to a stop, and Cardinal Eudes drew open the curtain, revealing a small building that stood apart from the houses and shops. The stone walls were a light shade of brown, and a large golden lily of high relief was sculpted right below the church’s arched roof. Trails of smoke billowed through the four chimneys. Peasants were streaming through the large wooden double doors, but there were still more who had just arrived.

“The heart is in the house of worship of the common folk,” Cardinal Eudes said. “The House of Sybille.”