In the Divine Writ, it is recorded that the world was created from smoke. In a moment before Time started and in a place before Space existed, all was cold and dark, and the Lord and His siblings sat around a hearth. Gazing into that fire, the Lord saw the whole of Creation before Him. So, He reached His hand into the smoke, shaping and giving form to hills and creeks, mountains and straits, continents and oceans.

The Rite of the Hearth was a humble offering and homage to the Lord. Each person would bring a single item, preferably something small of personal or symbolic significance, to one of the hearths in the church. He would then think of a wish or a prayer before throwing the item into the fire. In the same manner that He had created the world, the Lord would take that prayer and give form to it.

Roel could never admit it to anyone, but he hadn’t attended a Rite of the Hearth in some number of years. He had no reason to dislike it, but he also had no reason to go. If the Lord truly wanted to punish him, he had once told Olivier, He would’ve revoked His blessing.

His appearance created quite a stir among the churchgoers, but he was also surprised to see that the cardinal was just as popular. The congregation solemnly thanked Roel and prayed for his success as a commander, and then they would warmly greet the cardinal, often giving a deep bow or even kneeling.

After observing the masses, he understood the difference between the reception they gave him and the one they gave the cardinal. The people idolized Roel as a holy symbol, more of an ideal than a person; theirs was a cold reverence. Cardinal Eudes, however, was someone they knew intimately as a man of saintliness, and their reverence for him was warm and interpersonal.

One woman stepped forward and grasped the cardinal’s hand with both of hers. “Cardinal Eudes,” she started. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Michelle, it was nothing,” the cardinal said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How are you doing now?”

“I’m…” She began to weep.

“Give me a moment, Sir Roel,” the cardinal said to him before stepping to the right wing with the woman. They spoke quietly, the cardinal nodding his head as the woman spoke. After a moment, she gave him a deep bow, and Cardinal Eudes returned to him.

“My apologies. Michelle sought my help with a personal matter.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re well-respected, it seems.”

“Did you expect otherwise?”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean –”

“Don’t take me so seriously,” the cardinal said with a chuckle. “Did you have anything to offer to the Lord, Sir Roel?”

“Ah, for the Rite? I’m afraid I don’t.”

Cardinal Eudes looked at the bag slung over his shoulder. “Not a single thing? It would please the people if they saw you participating in the Rite.”

“No, I don’t believe so.” He thought for a moment. There was something that he had been trying to get rid of. “Is the Rite only for prayers?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can I offer something to the hearth without asking for anything from the Lord?”

“There is nothing you wish to pray for? Good fortune in war, perhaps?”

“There are many things I wish to pray for, but…” He paused for a moment before continuing. “The item I’m burning has nothing to do with prayers. I seek absolution from my sins.”

“Then, why not pray for absolution?”

“I have many times in the past. I can only assume that if I deserved forgiveness, the Lord would’ve already answered my prayer.”

“I don’t know what ails you, but you’re too hard on yourself, Sir Roel.” Cardinal Eudes gave him a gentle smile. “Do as you please. Even if you do not pray for something, I’m sure the Lord will understand the troubles plaguing your heart.”

There was a brick-lined fireplace near each corner of the room. The closest one was to his right, close to the chancel, and the crowds parted to let him and Cardinal Eudes through. The bishop, a sickly-looking man standing on the pulpit, bowed as they passed him. During the day of the Rite, the bishop of the church would give a speech at the beginning of every hour. That speech usually consisted of some lesson from the Divine Writ, the importance of supporting the church, and news about the kingdom.

When they reached the hearth, the hearth keeper kneeled at their feet. She was a small girl with long black hair, and in one hand, she held a charred wooden stick almost as tall as she was.

“Sir Roel, Cardinal Eudes,” she greeted them solemnly.

“You’re as serious as always, Tatiana,” Cardinal Eudes said. “A girl your age should be out in the flower fields, making garlands.”

“You’re the one who appointed me as hearth keeper,” she replied without a change in her expression.

“A valid point, but volunteers are hard to come by,” he said with a sigh. “The hearth is all yours, Sir Roel.”

The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, the smoke trailing upwards into the chimney. It smelled faintly of smoked meat – it was common for peasants to burn food as an offering. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore all the people watching him, and he reached into his bag.

The large dark blue bag was made of scarlet, an expensive woolen cloth, and it had been a gift from Olivier. He had many things in it: weapons, provisions, money. However, the heaviest of them all was a small corn dolly that he kept in a leather pouch.

In some regions, harvest festivals were held at the start of the season, and the peasants would hang corn dollies to implore the Lord’s sisters for a bountiful harvest. His had a simple design, strands of pleated straw weaved into the shape of a flower. The petals were frayed, the stem flattened from years of laying in his bag. He used to take good care of it, often checking on it to make sure it wasn’t being crushed or that it had somehow slipped out of his bag. During the Battle of Wetshard, he had taken it out and stared at it almost every night.

But now it only served as a bitter reminder. His desire to get rid of it had often conflicted with his desire to pretend that it had never existed, and so it had stayed at the bottom of his bag for the last few years.

He threw it into the fire and closed his eyes. The onlookers would think he was praying, but he was not. He just didn’t want to see it burn. He tried to keep his mind empty, but a memory emerged anyway.

“What are you doing?” he had asked her. It was raining softly, the weather for an auspicious harvest but not an auspicious harvest festival. They were standing under the roof of a church, and she was reaching for one of the corn dollies that sat on the windowsills.

“They’re cute,” she said, holding one up to her face. She saw him looking at her and quickly put it back down. “You must think I’m a child.”

“Not at all,” he said with a shake of his head. “They are cute.”

“I wonder what they’re going to do with them after the festival. Probably throw them away.”

“You could take them.”

She giggled. “Are you suggesting that I steal from the church?”

“No,” he said, flustered. “I meant that you could ask the priest. After the festival.”

“I could.” For some reason, there was a sad smile on her face. Small rivulets of rain ran down her flaxen hair.

When the rain had petered out, she turned away from them. “Alright, let’s hurry before it starts up again,” she said, the cheerfulness returning to her face. “And watch your step. The path up the hill will be slippery.”

When she wasn’t looking though, he had acted on some strange impulse and took one of the corn dollies. It was the one she had held up – a small dolly in the shape of a flower.

He turned away from the hearth, never once looking at the ashes of the dolly. Perhaps there was something he could pray for. He had tried to forgive himself for many things, but he could never quite do it. So, if he could not rely on forgiveness, then he must rid himself of all reminders and pray for forgetfulness.

“Is there anything else you require from me, Your Eminence?” he asked, and he realized that his words came out as a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. “I must be on my way.”

“One more thing,” Cardinal Eudes said. “Come with me to the crypts.”