Vitale watched as Nikolai strolled out of the room, the massive ice tiger following in his wake. There was an air about the boy - and the priest did not mean 'boy' in any derogatory sense, for, should he have transformed into a man too soon, the entire West Continent would have no choice but to tremble and bow before him.
But there was still time.
"You are a better man than I, Brother."
Vitale looked over to the heir of Casteria. He would've considered the fool a poor sod, had he not been so damn stupid. There were only so many times the priest could pull out trump cards to stop the Kazbirati from following his inhuman, near deific instinct to slaughter anything that rubbed him the wrong way.
And some bumbling fool who so tactlessly demands the throne? The throne rightfully belonging to the Family of Tigers? That would, without a single breath of doubt, rub him the wrong way. If Bozhidar was still alive, this man would be hanging from the battlements by his ankles, doused in water so as to ensure he froze properly. And Vitale was speaking of lucid Bozhidar. God only knew what the mad Bozhidar's mind would concoct.
"A better man? I wouldn't claim such a meritorious compliment for my own, sire," Vitale said, bowing his head slightly - a faux display of submission to the Casterian's power.
"Your patience with the boy is wonder of human perseverance."
Vitale reached for his stein. How curious that the man's speech improved almost miraculously upon the absence of Nikolai. Well, it didn't come as too much of a surprise. Most lost their wits in the presence of the boy. The priest, himself, used to be that way. It took years of practice and the bolstering of his tenacity to get to this point, and even then, this was nothing.
"Tell me truly, Brother Vitale," Rens continued, leaning an elbow upon the tabletop. "What did Bozhidar threaten you with? Surely an upstanding man such as yourself - a Praefectus of the Church Sanctorum - would not willingly choose to stay in the Mad Lands to be neglected and abused by vicious heathens."
"I was not blackmailed, sire," Vitale countered, sipping his cider. It was cloyingly sweet, but the priest enjoyed it that way. When he placed his stein down, once again, he stood. Habit overcame him, drawing his hands down the front of his tunic, as if it were a robe that needed to be brushed out. "Please, excuse me. I must speak with the kitchen regarding dinner."
Before he was able to reach the west exit of the room, Rens called after him, his tone firm, authoritative.
"Brother Vitale. Wait a moment."
The priest froze mid-step, as if the man's tone, alone, had the ability to will such a response. Nonsense, of course, but there was no harm in feeding into the man. Priests of the Sanctorum did not answer to their flock, and so it was taught that any sort of secular power had absolutely no control over them, be it peasant or royalty.
Not to mention, living alongside Nikolai and Bozhidar for so many years engrained in him the cavalier habit of doing as he pleased. Even the severest of offenses to outsiders would be defended by them. Despite the merciless savagery that they are known for, their loyalty was unparalleled.
"Yes, sire?" Vitale posed, turning on his heel and grasping his hands at his belly, in a priestly fashion. "What is it?"
"If it is fear that keeps you here, then I have nary a worry." Rens cast his gaze over the priest's face, and then about his body, grimacing at the Krovic clothes that he was currently donning.
He was a man of bland features, save the distinctive gold hue of his irises - a trait of the Aquiladessi.
And yes, Nikolai would've argued that all Casterians were stricken with the same, revolting summer features of gold or flax. But, as a Casterian himself, Vitale knew one from another.
"But if it is not - if you remain in this god forsaken structure, planted on god forsaken land, out of loyalty to that brat - I will have no choice but dispatch you."
The threat was so ineffective, it might as well have not registered within the priest's thoughts. Still, he played the part, lowering his head and painting on a thick grimace.
"My lord, please do not harbor such a worry as that. It is hardly necessary."
Because Rens would not have the power to follow through.
"I am loyal to Pater Deus, alone, and will continue to do his work as he sees fit. Surely, it must be clear to you that King Nikolai is a heathen, as you say."
"Starkly so," Rens agreed, the muscles of his face relaxing far too sooner than Vitale thought prudent. "His blind loyalty to these winter specters, it is an atrocious and harrowing thing to behold. Every moment that passes without his repentance of such sin is another nail in his coffin. It is pitiable, indeed."
And then he sighed, sitting back in his seat - the one directly facing the Sow of the Skies. Vitale had to admit, when he chose it, even as a foreigner of the land, he was troubled with the same dark sense of humor that Nikolai was.
"But what is to be done? If a Praefectus of the Church Sanctorum cannot save him after so many years, perhaps he is simply meant to be fodder for the Realm of Perdition. Such is spoken about in scripture, no, Brother?"
"'The Realm of Perdition is a living beast that requires tending'," Vitale recited, pondering the hypocrisy of the man seated before him, spewing nonsense about Nikolai's blind loyalty to the gods of the Mad Lands, when it was made quite obvious he was the one with fallacious trust. "'And just as beasts of the Realm of Mortals require sustenance, so, too, does the Realm of Perdition'."
"Yes, that's it," the man agreed with a sloppy grin.
"I will be taking my leave now, sire," Vitale spoke before the dolt could add anything more.
Pushing past the door and entering the chilled corridor, the priest felt a release of tension that he wasn't aware he was fostering. He supposed it was inevitable, though.
Fodder for the Realm of Perdition? This Casterian truly thought a Kazbirati would be fodder for some southern god? It made him want to laugh.
There was a secret truth that only twenty-two men in the entire world were privy to and it was the Church's absolute terror of the House Kazbirati - the lengths at which the clergy would go to assure the Krovic family had no reason to target them.
Had Rens been a Brother in the Church and had been overheard speaking about Nikolai being fodder, he would have tongue removed, if not worse.
The Kazbirati family has wiped more than one lineage line off the face of the earth - wiping a religion, while not as easy, would be a challenge that they would certainly salivate over.