The ‘Heart of the Blue Deep’ was a vivid, thirty-carat ultramarine sapphire discovered on the Taranto estate. It was a masterpiece of exceptional value, prized not merely for its sheer size, but for the rarity of its brilliant, profound hue.
The circumstances of its discovery were as mysterious as the gem itself. According to the man who first unearthed it, a pod of dolphins had appeared on the shore, laid the sapphire in the sand, and vanished. Because Taranto was a coastal region with no known sapphire mines, the story spread like wildfire, igniting the possessive hunger of countless connoisseurs.
Upon its discovery, the Duke of Taranto had presented the gem to Leo III, and it had remained dormant in the royal vault ever since.
“Hmph. You clearly don’t understand, so let me explain—this is killing two birds with one stone.”
Though the carriage held only himself and his secretary, Leo III beckoned the man closer and whispered into his ear.
“If I bestow this upon Cardinal De Mare’s daughter, won’t she eventually bring it back with her when she marries into the family?”
“Pardon?”
“The ‘Heart of the Blue Deep’ is a trinket Cardinal De Mare has been lusting after for ages. If I grant it to his second daughter now, he’ll be delighted, convinced it’s effectively his own. But since the legal owner is the girl herself, he won’t be able to just snatch it away, will he?”
“Wait—to whom do you intend to marry her off? Prince Alfonso, perhaps?”
Leo III flared with indignation.
“Why are you so dense! How could you compare Alfonso to her? Alfonso’s spouse must be a princess of a major nation, or at the very least, a duchess from a powerful principality!”
“I apologize, Your Majesty. I am terribly sorry.”
“It’s Cesare, obviously!”
Leo III looked as proud as if he had just conceived a divine plan.
“I intend to secure a fine fief for that lad Cesare and make him the Cardinal’s son-in-law, so he can live a life of comfort. And isn’t it fortunate that the Cardinal’s second daughter is illegitimate, clever, and sharp? That boy of mine has such a volatile temper; he needs a composed wife to anchor him.”
He was planning his son’s future so meticulously that he seemed ready to name his future grandchildren as well.
“Besides, Countess Rubina has always wanted the ‘Heart of the Blue Deep’ so desperately.”
“I am well aware, Your Majesty.”
The secretary swallowed his internal retort: *‘So, is that why you asked if I truly intended to give it to that young girl?’*
“I couldn’t give it to her directly, as I didn’t want to upset the Queen. I took a lot of heat for that. But if the Cardinal’s second daughter brings it with her when she marries Cesare, it’s effectively Rubina’s property anyway. Heh, heh, heh.”
*‘That is… not how a woman’s heart works…’*
What mother-in-law would be happy seeing a mere slip of a girl carrying around the precious gem she had craved so desperately for her entire life? Given Countess Rubina’s temperament, it would be a miracle if she didn’t barge in and forcefully tear it from the girl’s neck.
The secretary had a mountain of concerns he wished to voice. He wanted to point out that the King was actively instigating a vicious war between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law; that if His Majesty only understood women better, he wouldn’t have such a fractured relationship with Queen Marguerite; and that it was a marvel Countess Rubina hadn’t clawed the King’s face off yet.
But he had already exhausted his daily quota of counter-arguments. If the King were the type to listen, he wouldn’t have reached this point to begin with. The secretary surrendered to silence.
“You are truly wise, Your Majesty!”
* * *
“Ariadne, where did you come up with such thoughts?”
The first thing that greeted Ariadne upon her return from repelling the apostle of Acereto was an interrogation by Cardinal De Mare.
Although Ariadne had managed to extract a massive concession from the Great Basilica of San Ercole by invoking her father’s scholarship, receiving a benefit and having the source verified were two different things. It was inevitable. Ariadne’s performance that day was simply too outstanding for a fifteen-year-old girl who had been quietly scribbling away at home.
Ariadne carefully chose her words.
“I have been reading my father’s books, which are lined up in the house, as a pastime.”
The verses from the Holy Scriptures that Ariadne had cited during her debate with the apostle of Acereto at the Great Basilica of San Ercole were identical to the arguments used by the finest theologians of the Central Continent at the Council of Trevero to declare the Acereto school heretical. Cardinal De Mare had only grasped this after reading the summary document the Inquisitor brought along with the Pope’s edict.
“You figured all this out by yourself?”
Outside, people were praising Cardinal De Mare, claiming that his vast and profound theological knowledge had naturally blossomed in his young daughter. But the Cardinal himself knew better than anyone that this was not the truth.
The conclusions of the Council of Trevero were reached through the creative, collective wisdom of experts who had mastered the system of the Holy Scriptures. Even Cardinal De Mare wasn’t sure he could have reached such conclusions sitting alone at his desk, let alone a fifteen-year-old girl who had been studying theology for a mere two months.
Ariadne decided to flaunt her knowledge. It was a bridge she had to cross immediately, even if it required a daring bluff.
“I was most impressed by Wycliffe’s and the Pelagian’s .”
Though they would only become widely known later, these writings had actually formed the foundation for the conclusions of the Council of Trevero. Within a year or two, they would be mandatory reading for every child across the Central Continent, but at this moment, they were so rare that only a Cardinal’s private collection might house the manuscripts.
“You read all of those?”
“I found it most interesting how Wycliffe, focusing on the sentence structure, proved that the Holy Son and the Holy Father are one, by noting the repeated instances in the where it is written that ‘The Holy Son passed through the Holy Father.’”
To the suspicious Cardinal De Mare, Ariadne exaggeratedly paraded her knowledge, proving she truly knew the contents of the books she named.
*‘If I just say I knew it or that I saw the future, I’m finished.’*
What Ariadne wanted to avoid more than anything else was being labeled a ‘saint.’ It was a dangerous trap whether she had the official approval of the Holy See or not.
To be called a saint without the Pope’s canonization was a one-way ticket to being dragged before the Inquisitor. Yet, receiving official canonization wasn’t desirable, either. Pope Ludovico was a terrifying man, and history was full of instances where someone canonized while still alive was suddenly declared a heretic and dragged to the stake.
One might think Cardinal De Mare would protect her within the Holy See, but he had already demonstrated in her past life that he would sell his own daughter for a price. A daughter canonized as a saint would be the perfect pawn for him to exploit.
She knew nothing of the internal power dynamics of the Holy See, and she trusted her father even less. Ariadne wanted to utilize her cards to the fullest within the familiar game she knew: the aristocratic world of San Carlo.
Cardinal De Mare still looked skeptical. However, no matter how sharp the theological questions he hurled at her—all based on the latest documents from the Council of Trevero that she supposedly hadn’t seen—Ariadne answered with the precision of someone reciting an answer key.
Whether he questioned her on doctrine, foundational scriptures, or the latest scholastic debates, her answers were as flawless as if they had been stamped by a machine.
In the end, despite his lingering doubts, he had no choice but to accept that his second daughter was a theological genius who had arrived at the same conclusions as the theologians of the Council of Trevero entirely on her own. He remained skeptical, yet if this were the truth, it was a talent that appeared once in a millennium; he could not help but extend an invitation.
“I am conducting theological studies with the priests at the Great Basilica. Will you participate as well?”
Ariadne recoiled in refusal.
“No, Father! My knowledge is too shallow; it would be shameful to participate. I shall study at home and ask you about the things I do not know from time to time. Please, grant me just that.”
She could not risk her lack of substance being exposed. Besides, to be precise, Ariadne’s talent lay in bookkeeping and administrative tasks, certainly not in the subtleties of theology.
However, Cardinal Del Mare found it difficult to reconcile her brilliance with her gender. Even though half of what he had witnessed were facts he had heard with his own ears, he still believed theology was no business for a woman. He assumed Ariadne’s desperate refusal was merely maidenly shyness and did not insist further. It was a blessing from the heavens.
* * *
The story of the genius girl of San Carlo spread throughout the entire Etruscan Kingdom, gathering a layer of exaggeration as it traveled.
—‘They say she drove out a heretic from the Great Basilica of San Ercole all by herself!’
—‘Her faith must be truly profound.’
—‘As expected… even if her birth is a bit questionable, she is the Cardinal’s daughter.’
The person who reacted most sensitively to these rumors was, unexpectedly, the King’s mistress, Countess Rubina.
“Cesare. Listen to this.”
Countess Rubina sat her son down, forcing him to listen to the praises of Ariadne that were ringing throughout the city.
“You are the one who will become King. You must find a spouse of great influence to be of help.”
Cesare scoffed.
“Mother, please come to your senses. With Alfonso occupying the position he does, what path could possibly lead me to the throne?”
“You are being difficult again! Your father loves you!”
“Is that so? Is that why, in his great love for me, he merely tossed me the title of a court noble without even a fief? A measly countship!”
*Bang!*
Cesare slammed his wine glass—which he had been nursing since just past noon—onto the table.
“Mother, wake up from your dream. If Father had any intention of putting me on the throne, he would have officially acknowledged my royal blood instead of leaving me as Count De Como. Even if lightning were to strike that damned Royal Castle this very instant and Alfonso and Father were both to pass away—”
Whether out of a shred of conscience or superstition, he crossed himself before continuing.
“The one with the legal right of succession to the Etruscan throne is that twelve-year-old girl, Bianca of Taranto, not me. Do you understand?”
Having gulped down the remaining wine in one breath, he growled harshly at his mother.
“So, please stop with the useless talk. I choose my own women.”