A Deflection

Alex gritted his teeth as his core tightened with pain. It felt like a serpent had wrapped its coils around his heart. And it was trying to squeeze his organ until it ruptured. Tears fell from his eyes as a harsh gasp escaped through his lips. He could no longer pretend to be fine, even for the sake of manly pride.

The Duke and Duchess both touched him and lowered their heads out of concern. They were shocked to see him crying. While the rest of the congregation were fixated on the Goddess's statue, Alex's father and stepmother could not fathom what was wrong with their son. If he was actually shedding tears then that must mean the pain was extreme. 

Roelle stood up and pulled on his son's arm. "We are leaving. You stay with Helena."

Tyren bit her lip. "Why don't we get Helena to heal him again?"

"She already did that twice and it didn't work," Roelle stated dismissively as he supported Alex's weight and began to exit. 

Helena immediately came rushing over. So too did Liam and Cordelia. Many of the families in attendance and loitering priests looked at them, including the Pope. He ignored the questions tossed his way and walked over to Alex. When he got closer, he saw that the young man was red in the face and could no longer support his own weight. Young Marquis Liam was helping the Duke keep his son upright.

Alex was about to faint from the pain. Everything felt tight and hot. He had never experienced a fever like this before.

Helena was crying as she kept trying to heal him, but it had no effect. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the sweat and tears streaming down his face.

"What has happened?" The Pope asked. "What's wrong with your brother, Saintess?"

The Duke spoke at the same time as her.

"I do not know, your holiness! He is sick and my magic isn't working!"

"We need to get him to a physician, immediately!"

The Pope nodded and called on Father Demetri. He was well known for being a talented healer on top of leading the third faction. 

Demetri approached them and bowed.

"Right away, your holiness. Let's take him to my personal infirmary." He stated with a sweep of his arm.

Alex, the Duke, the Duchess, Liam and Cordelia all followed after Father Demetri. Alex suddenly fainted and had to be carried. Helena cried out, her hands covering her mouth.

Seeing his opportunity, the Pope instructed Helena to finish the sermon and followed after the party. Helena nodded and quickly ran off to do as she was told.

"What has happened, Saintess? Why was Lord Alexander carried out?"

Helena glanced around at the many curious eyes on her. "My brother has fallen sick with a fever. He can no longer stay here and needs immediate treatment. I must finish the sermon as it would be an insult to the Goddess to not do so."

She bowed before kneeling and placing her hands on her chest. The attendees all stood up as her prayer started. Some had also bowed their heads, but most could not stop staring at Goddess Kartara's red tears. Not only were they still flowing, but the volume had increased.

The Pope had yet to explain this to them.

Inside Father Demetri's closed door infirmary, Alex was laid down on the singular bed. His friends and family were all standing around him as the priest fed him medication to lower his temperature.

As Father Demetri began spreading a cream on Alex's chest and throat to lessen his pain, the door opened and the Pope barged in.

"Step aside and let me examine him," he declared, striding forward and taking a seat on the bed. He grabbed one of Alex's hands and began to mouth out a soundless prayer.

Or at least, that was what all the spectators assumed.

Except for Demetri. His brows furrowed wondering what the Pope was actually saying. 

The room was silent as the Pope's hands began to glow a white light. Matthew closed his eyes and honed his focus to determine the nature of Alex's sickness. He knew that it was not a normal illness after hearing that Helena had repeatedly failed to heal him. This could only mean that the young lord was suffering from a magical ailment. 

And it was not black magic. He had not been attacked by any demonic spirit. Nor was there any trace of a spell having been performed on him.

Pope Matthew's eyes slowly opened in realization. He could sense the holy magic that had Lord Alexander in its vice.

This was a curse.

One aimed to kill rather than cleanse.

And there was only one person who could have done this to him. The one with dormant powers who was closer to him in age and possessed a blood tie.