Chapter Four: Debt
A twinge of guilt forms in the pit of Barbara's stomach as she watches the Harbinger gather up his clothes and personal effects. As he moves about the Deaconess cannot help but think back on the Chief Alchemist's warning the night before and she bows her head and squeezes her eyes shut against the sheen of unshed tears.
If the Eleventh Harbinger notices he does not say anything as he excuses himself briefly to get dressed. She mutely retrieves the tray of food from the table and quietly returns to her kitchen. Her fingers tremble badly as she remembers the nasty scars she had noticed scattered across his lithe frame.
I don't understand. How can someone so young have so many scars already?
"H-he's got a good heart. I think he's just doing this for his family." Lumine had assured them earnestly the prior night.
"Family," she mumbles uncertainly as she is reminded of the Gunnhildr family motto that had been ingrained in her older sister from birth.
"For Mondstadt, always," the Acting Grand Master had repeated sagely as she had hopped off that very same bed months ago, ignoring Barbara's pleas to rest and recover her strength. "Grand Master Varka entrusted me with Mondstadt's safety. I cannot lie idly by while the Knights protect and serve our people valiantly."
Although she had felt a glimmer of pride at her sister's bravery, she had also felt a shiver of dismay and trepidation at the implications behind the Dandelion Knight's declaration. Should the city fall under attack her sister would always be at the front lines leading her men into battle, valiantly defending their Archon's dreams of liberty and justice for all.
I wonder…is it the same for him? She muses blinking down at the plate she was supposed to be drying. If the Knights of Favonius protect Mondstadt and the Millelith defend Liyue, surely the Fatui and its Harbingers serve a similar role for Snezhnaya. Why else would he sacrifice so much so willingly?!
"I'm leaving, Kroshka," the Harbinger informs her quietly as he emerges from her washroom. She turns to study him carefully and averts her gaze as his meets hers.
"A-alright then," she mumbles shuffling slightly before adding. "Please be careful, Ajax."
"I will, Kroshka," he lies easily. She wonders when deceit became so entrenched in his persona. "Honestly, I don't know how to thank you."
"Just…" she trails off considering her next words carefully. "Promise me you'll be careful next time. Please?"
"Why Kroshka," Tartaglia teases his lips stretching into a wide smirk. "Don't tell me you think I'm some sort of delicate flower now."
"Promise me!" Barbara snaps setting the plate in her hands aside as she approaches him.
"I'm hurt, Kroshka. It sounds like you think I'm some sort of weakling or something," Childe chuckles lightly. "Trust me. You needn't worry. My older brother's getting married this summer and I'm supposed to be one of his best men. Besides, I have goals of my own and have no intention of dying until I've exceeded every single one of them."
"Then promise me that you won't do anything rash," the Deaconess implores earnestly clasping her hands together.
The Harbinger starts slightly at this and averts his gaze, flushing lightly as he scratches the back of his head awkwardly.
"I'm sorry but I can't promise you that," he sighs finally.
"Why not? All I'm asking you for is to show a little restraint," the songstress presses watching him sadly.
"Well holding back is not really my style," Tartaglia informs her sheepishly. "Besides, back home we have a little rhyme that goes like this: you make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again."
"Oh my!" Barbara gasps thoroughly horrified.
"Yea," Childe chortles. "My older brothers took that rhyme quite literally when I was growing up and used to dunk me in half-frozen lakes whenever I broke a promise."
"That's awful!"
"That's life," the Harbinger shrugs. "But don't worry, I—"
"How can I not worry when you can't even promise to be careful," Barbara scolds standing at akimbo.
"Fine, I guess if it means that much to you, I could promise not to die on you."
"Fine! Or at least promise to come back if you get hurt again."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll definitely be back," Tartaglia assures her with a wry chuckle. "I'll have to make you a plate of my secret recipe in exchange for another plate of your delicious stew."
"Oh, the spicy stew?" Barbara repeats blinking blankly. "Um, sure I can teach it to you. It's pretty easy to make."
"Great, well that settles it then. It's a date!" Before the Deaconess can respond or protest, the Harbinger lowers himself into a bow and sprints towards her living room balcony.
Heart racing madly, Barbara follows after him and gasps when he leaps over the railing and unfurls her wind glider. She watches breathlessly as he drifts towards the commercial district before disappearing behind the shadows of the nearby rooftops. The Deaconess starts as she suddenly feels the eerie sensation of unseen eyes trailing her movements. When she turns to scan her surroundings, she does not find anyone watching her and retreats indoors to finish clearing up.
She washes and packs up the dishes before returning to her bedroom to tidy up after her patient. When she is done, she draws a hot bath and remains in her washroom for several hours, relishing the heat of her minty bath as she recalls her interaction with the Eleventh Harbinger.
Someone like him is so used to danger that it doesn't even faze him. Judging by his scars and Mr. Albedo's assessment he must have been fighting from a very young age. But why?
In her mind's eye she recalls every scar she had noticed on the Harbinger's body and tries to discern the source and origin of each. When her bathwater finally cools, she rinses herself off and changes into her nightrobes before slipping into bed.
She rises early the next morning and sets about her chores after apologizing profusely to Sister Victoria for her impromptu absence. Although the Confessor waves her apologies away, she lightly suggests that Barbara take another day off after studying her features closely. But Barbara earnestly refuses and assures her of abilities before leaving to begin her morning chores.
She sweeps outside the church before moving to sweep indoors. As she approaches the back of the cathedral, she notices the lone Fatui diplomat named Viktor standing awkwardly in his usual spot pretending to ignore a group of sister's shooting him uncomfortable looks.
"G-good morning!" The Deaconess greets sweetly waiving at the stunned diplomat's assistant who regards her with a suspicious frown before awkwardly returning her greeting.
"L-lady Barbara!" Sister Gotelinde calls nervously as she hurries to the Deaconess' side. "I-is everything alright?"
"Yes, Sister Gotelinde," Barbara replies blinking blankly. "Everything's fine. I was just greeting Mr. Viktor over here."
The young nun grimaces at the masked diplomat before slipping her arm around Barbara's and guiding the songstress away.
"Milady, you shouldn't be so friendly with the Fatui," the nun cautions in a conspiratorial whisper. "They're nothing but a group of cutthroats and schemers who openly besmirch Lord Barbatos' name."
Barbara opens her mouth to protest but notices sisters Edna and Jilliana approaching them. They turn to greet their colleagues and follow them out into the square for the morning prayers by the anemo archon's statue. As sister Grace concludes the session, they return indoors for breakfast in the mess hall.
As they pass the Fatui diplomat in the cathedral once more Barbara notices her colleagues shooting him pointed glares mutters a hurried apology.
"Honestly, I really wish those nasty Fatui would just conclude whatever business they came here for and leave Mondstadt already," Sister Edna sighs.
"Well said sister. Honestly, their presence is unsettling enough without them openly disparaging Lord Barbatos," Sister Jilliana agrees. "I don't care what the Knights of Favonius say, they must have had something to do with the Stormterror incident."
"Sister, Jilliana I know they're not the friendliest of people but I'm sure most of them are just grumpy because they're homesick. Why Mr. Viktor—"
"Oh, don't get me started on that insufferable rascal skulking around the cathedral," Sister Edna scoffs. "Diplomat's assistant, my left foot. Never trust a word of the Fatui. Never! They are as cunning as they are ruthless—the lot of them."
Before Barbara can protest the group notices Sister Rosaria approaching them and turn to greet her with equally confused smiles.
"Sister Barbara might I have a word?" The prickly nun asks facing the petite Deaconess directly.
Barbara blinks for several long moments before managing a slow nod. It was the first time her colleague had ever sought her out to initiate conversation and the petite songstress was cautiously hopeful that it would not be the last. She excuses herself and allows the other nuns to pull away before turning to follow Sister Rosaria to a secluded section of the cathedral.
"Y-you look well, Sister Rosaria," the Deaconess chirps cheerily. "Did you sleep well?"
"No," Sister Rosaria snaps. "You and your boyfriend kept me up all night with your shenanigans."
Barbara blinks slowly as the tall nun holds her gaze. She quietly considers her colleague's words and is only able to draw up blanks after several long moments.
"S-sister Rosaria I'm sorry I don't—"
"Don't play dumb with me," Rosaria sighs pinching the bridge of her nose. "Honestly, I couldn't care less what you do in your own time."
"I'm sorry you didn't sleep well but I don't have a boyfriend, Sister Rosaria," Barbara informs her matter-of-factly.
"Oh?" The tall nun scoffs crossing her arms. "So, who was that rascal I saw jumping out of your balcony last night?"
Barbara's eyes widen as she recalls the uneasy feeling she had felt as she had watched the Eleventh Harbinger depart on her glider the prior night.
"Um…"
"You must be serious about him," Sister Rosaria muses stroking her chin with a contemplative frown. "Letting him use the glider the acting Grand Master gave you last year."
"S-sister R-Rosaria p-please!" Barbara squeaks clasping her hands together as she approaches her colleague. "It-it's not what it looks like! Honestly, I can explain."
"Spare me," the prickly nun shrugs. "Like I said I couldn't care less what you do on your own time. However, I'm not so sure I can say the same about the other sisters."
Barbara starts at the sudden shift in the taller woman's tone and feels a shudder of anxiety run down her spine as she notes the beginning of a subtle smirk curling her colleague's lips.
"W-what can I do?"
"Lay off my back for a year and I won't tell anyone about your little midnight rendezvous, got it?"
"B-but it's not like—"
"Got it?" Sister Rosaria repeats firmer now. The petite songstress manages a resigned sigh before quietly nodding her head. The prickly nun's smile broadens as she begins to walk away.
"B-but sis—" Barbara blurts out before catching herself and slapping her hands over her mouth with a panicked gasp.
If the taller woman noticed, she hardly cared enough to look back and continue on her way, exiting the church without sparing so much as a backward glance. Barbara stands staring at the pews for several long moments as she replays Rosaria's threat in her head.
Sister Rosaria is not the kind of person who pries into other people's business and even she could recognize my glider. I can't believe he took it! I have to get it back quickly before anyone else notices it and gets the wrong idea.