Once upon a time, there was a woman often likened to a bird that sang in the night, heralding the coming spring. It was like something right out of a stage play penned by a renowned playwright of the time. The story told of a lone bird that showered her beloved in single-minded affection and came to his rescue even after she’d been betrayed. The reality, however, was that the woman had met her end all alone, still estranged from the one she loved.
The play began in a port town, didn’t it? I thought, my eyes cast heavenward as a light snow began to flutter from the overcast sky.
After we reached our destination, I’d occasionally hear talk of the woman who had saved the northern lands. Disease had spread, and the people had holed themselves up in their homes for fear of infection, trying to avoid days spent in the company of death. Amid all that, one woman had quelled the brewing violence and found a cure. Everyone claimed that she had brought spring to the snow-covered north.
Was it like this back then? I wondered as I reflected on the past. Nearly forty years ago, another woman had led these lands to restoration. It was said that, at the time, there had been no shortage of voices singing her praises. I’d only heard that part of the tale secondhand, but I could still vividly recall the sound of her voice.
“Theodore,” she had once murmured, calling my name.
The cadence of her voice had been sweet and wholly gentle. She had meant the whole world to my younger self. She was kind and indulgent...but there had been an odd air of tension about her. Those memories of her still held me prisoner, and her voice still called to me from a box I’d pushed deep down inside me.
I huffed lightly. All the evidence I’d gathered had made it back to Chris in the capital—and this was the inevitable outcome.
That nephew of mine would never cut corners when it came to hunting down his enemies. He would investigate the matter down to the last detail, gather irrefutable evidence, and convict those he’d deemed his foes without a shred of mercy. It mattered not if ties of kinship or lingering childhood affections were there; he would expose all their crimes and drive them into a corner. That was how he had been raised—all too aware of his responsibilities as the son of Sauslind’s king. Thus, I’d known this future would come to pass. Still...
“You’re too soft, Chris.”
If anyone who knew me had heard the voice that just escaped my lips, it might very well have sent a chill down their spine. A sharp-witted fellow could discern the implicit rebuke in my words: This isn’t going to cut it. The rot still remains. Now that you’ve gotten to the bottom of the matter, you must eradicate every last trace of it. Even if the culprit is your own relative, show him neither mercy nor compassion.
Sauslind had likely reached a transitional phase since the reforms brought about by the Hero King long ago. There would always come a time in a country’s history that called for change, and the kingdom was in need of a catalyst. First had come the tensions with their neighboring countries and the state of the continental highways. Now, a much-needed wave had swept the Ars Continent and its principal countries.
By that, I referred to the Ashen Nightmare. The spread of the illness had left the kingdom primed for change. I’d calculated as much, so I’d made my move, yet here we still were.
My breath, white puffs in the cold air, melted into the snowfall. I’d emerged from the tranquility of the royal archive for a reason. Had my nephew, as kind as he still was, picked up on that?
I’d planned to take his side until the bitter end. I’d intended to stay the man he called his uncle, the one who had accepted all the familial love he had to give, yet I had hidden ambitions of my own. I’d long since sealed them away in a box and sunk it with a heavy stone before others could be any the wiser, and I’d thought I’d never open it for as long as I lived.
“Well then...”
Had the time come to open the lid, or had the time come to dispose of the box altogether? Had a desire even I couldn’t fully grasp begun to stir within me?
Nothing was harder to handle than one’s own emotions—not even a woman’s heart. Who had been the first to say that? I put my feelings behind me as I pretended not to remember, turning on my heel as I heard my guards call out to me from behind.
There was a chance I would never make it back to those archives again. A cold wind began to blow with a cutting force, as if to sever my lingering ties.