Chapter 167

CHAPTER 9 Memories of a Gentle Prince and a Blue Rose As the glow of sunset poured into the attic room, Monica stood stock-still as an attractive noble fixed her with a sharp stare. It was Bridget Greyham from the student council. Her question—Who are you?—was so pointed, Monica found herself unable to hedge. As Monica stood trembling by the window, Bridget quickly moved up to her and grabbed her left hand. She squeezed it a little too hard to be a handshake. Monica’s face twisted in pain. “Ah, agh… Ow…” Her left hand had recovered enough from the curse to move it around, but a firm squeeze still hurt. As she groaned in pain, she realized her mistake and began to panic. Now she knows my left hand hurts! Felix was currently searching for a girl with an injured left hand at the academy. Monica had managed to hide her pain until now, but Bridget had seen through her. “I see. So it was you, after all…” Bridget let go of Monica’s hand, then took a step back. Monica could sense confidence in her every little motion—confidence Monica didn’t have. She pushed down her panic and tried to think over her options. How much did Bridget know? Had she realized Monica was the Silent Witch? …No, she asked me who I was. She hasn’t figured that much out. Bridget had seen her fly to the window, but she hadn’t seen her use unchanted magecraft. All she knows right now is that I’m a mage and that I’m the girl with the hurt left hand the prince is looking for. Just then, a question surfaced in Monica’s mind. Why had Bridget been hiding in her attic room? …Something’s wrong here. Bridget was a perfect noble girl and an honor student. All the other girls idolized her. But she had personally waited alone in this attic room just to learn more about Monica. Something about that didn’t add up. If she had wanted to track Monica down, she could have simply ordered someone else to do it. Monica carefully began to speak. “Um, Lady Bridget, how long have you been in here?” “I’m the one asking the questions.” “…You weren’t cold or anything?” Bridget was so pale that even her makeup couldn’t fully hide it. She must have been in Monica’s room for quite a long time, waiting alone for her to return. “You…you came here to negotiate with me over something, right?” Monica asked. “……” “That’s why you came alone. Without, um, an escort.” Bridget remained silent, and Monica returned that silence with her own. The sun was more than halfway behind the horizon now, and it was dark outside the window. Monica wondered if she should light a candle, then quickly rejected the idea. She always used unchanted magecraft to light them. She never carried matches. “First, I will tell you what I think,” said Bridget in the growing darkness. “I hired a detective to investigate every monastery in Kerbeck. They found no record of any girl named Monica.” The pieces snapped together in Monica’s mind. The man who had been sniffing around in the Duchy of Kerbeck over winter break had been working for Bridget. The noble girl continued flatly. “Count Kerbeck leads the eastern nobles. He’s neutral and hasn’t backed either prince. Even Prince Felix and Duke Clockford can’t carelessly interfere with him. You took the Norton name, which means you’re probably not an ally to the prince or the duke.” “……” “My theory is that you’re a mage hired by Count Kerbeck to gather intelligence on Prince Felix for some reason.” Monica wasn’t sure how to respond. Even Bridget hadn’t guessed she was a Sage—that she was the one doing all the work and that the count was only supporting her. Rather than confirm or deny the theory, Monica asked a question. “…What are you after, Lady Bridget?” Judging by what she’d said, she wasn’t collaborating with Felix or Duke Clockford, either. But without knowing her objectives, Monica couldn’t say anything carelessly. To her surprise, Bridget answered quite readily. “To be perfectly blunt, I don’t care who you are. I only looked into your background to give me leverage in our negotiations.” “…Huh?” “I only have one goal. The prince has a secret—and I must know it. Monica Norton, you will help me learn it.” This unexpected turn caught Monica off guard. “He, um, he does? What kind of secret…?” “I’ll only tell you if you promise to help me.” Monica was confused. What was this secret of Felix’s that Bridget wanted to know? If she was being honest, Monica had plenty of questions of her own about the prince. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. But she couldn’t simply agree. She was still tasked with ensuring his safety. “And, um, if I don’t help you…you’ll tell everyone my secret?” Monica trembled. Bridget shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m not powerful enough to make an enemy of Count Kerbeck. This matter is unrelated to my father, the Marquess of Shaleberry… I only want to know for personal reasons.” Monica was struck, once again, by Louis’s clever choice of Count Kerbeck as her collaborator. The Kerbecks weren’t just a family of aspiring actors. They were incredibly powerful nobles that even Duke Clockford and Marquess Shaleberry couldn’t afford to pick a fight with. Lady Bridget is acting only out of personal interest, so she doesn’t want to turn the count against her… Maybe I can get out of this by pretending that Count Kerbeck really is the one giving me orders. As Monica clung to this ray of hope, Bridget glanced at her left hand. “The prince is looking for a girl with an injured left hand. You match that description, and you want to keep it a secret… Am I correct?” Monica, who was a terrible liar, gave a visible start. Bridget continued immediately. “A girl with a wounded left hand. I don’t know what that means or why he’s looking for such a person. But I know you don’t want him to find out about your injury.” “W-well, I… Um…,” Monica stammered. Bridget held up three fingers and thrust them in her face. “Three days.” “…Huh?” “I’ll make the prince give up on his search within three days’ time. In exchange, I want you to help me.” This bargain only served to confuse Monica more. But if she refused and Bridget told Felix that Monica’s left hand was hurt, it would be the end of the line. Felix would realize Monica was the Silent Witch. After a long period of consternation, Monica carefully asked a question. “You can…do that?” “Just who do you think I am? When it comes to wars of information in high society, no one is my match,” declared Bridget, smiling darkly. Despite her beautiful countenance, her smile was ghastly enough to send shivers down Monica’s spine. She sensed determination and a powerful resolve beneath the expression. She’s…she’s serious… Monica gulped. Bridget’s smile faded. “I shall be on my way, then,” she said quietly. “We will talk again in three days… Good night, Monica Norton.” She put special emphasis on Monica’s cover name before leaving the attic room behind. Once Monica could no longer hear the other girl’s footsteps, she staggered over to her bed and fell onto it. “Nerooo…” When she called out to the cat sleeping in his basket by her pillow, she heard a satisfied half-meow in response. He must have forgotten all his instincts as a dragon. “Lady Bridget figured out so much… She doesn’t know I’m the Silent Witch, but still…” Bridget seemed to think she was nothing more than a mage hired by Count Kerbeck. But she now knew that Monica wasn’t just a regular student. And most importantly, she knew her left hand was injured. “What does she want from me…?” Bridget had said that she desperately wanted to know Felix’s secret and that she was hoping Monica would help her figure it out. Of course, I want to know more about the prince, too… Why did Felix do everything Duke Clockford told him to? Did he know the duke was involved in the cursed dragon incident? That he might be linked to the death of Monica’s father? There were so many things she wanted to know. I can’t…talk to Mister Louis about this. Louis had made it clear that he supported the first prince and that he didn’t like Duke Clockford or the second prince. If he found out about one of Felix’s secrets or weaknesses, Monica was sure he’d happily take advantage of it. As she thought, she felt her eyelids start to droop. She rolled over in bed, intending to simply go to sleep for the day. But then she heard a rustling in her pocket. Oh, right. The Witch of Thorns gave me a letter after we left the forest… Monica sluggishly got up, stuck her hand in her pocket, and pulled out Raul’s envelope. Then she sat on the side of her bed, used unchanted magecraft to light a candle, and unfolded the letter. In the dim light of her attic room, she began to read. Hey, Monica. Writing a letter to a friend like this is kind of exciting! Apparently, people write small talk about the seasons or what they’ve been doing lately at the beginning, so I’ll start with that! I invited Ray over the other day. We went out gathering wild veggies together! Ray said the sunlight was so strong he would melt, and I said, “Wow, you’re like an earthworm!” Then he got mad and cursed me so that bugs would swarm all over me. It really surprised me, you know, when all those bugs came out of nowhere. That curse would probably come in handy for flower pollination. I’m going to suggest it to him next time! I hope you can visit soon, too. We can have some of my best-ever vegetable soup! Somewhat overwhelmed by the eagerness evident in each letter and sentence, Monica unfolded the second page. Oh, right. Anyway, onto the real stuff. The Festival of Sheffield is next month, right? I’m going to Duke Clockford’s mansion that day to do some planting in his gardens. It’s the perfect chance to slip inside and uncover all the duke’s evil deeds! Ray keeps saying he won’t come since he’s sick of garden work, but I was wondering if you would. I’ll have to bring a bunch of servants for the transplanting work, so you can probably disguise yourself as one of them to infiltrate. We can go on a mission together. It’ll be so cool! Raul Roseburg, the Witch of Thorns Raul had just invited her on an undercover investigation as casually as he might have invited her over to hang out. But this was a great chance to investigate the duke. She might not get another. The Festival of Sheffield mentioned in the letter was a holiday to celebrate the King of the Wind Spirits bringing the winds that heralded spring. Serendia Academy would close for a week after the holiday, so she would be able to sneak out. Monica stood up and took a book out of her locked drawer. It was her father’s book, which Felix, using the name Ike, had bought for her at Porter’s used bookstore in Corlapton. She sat back on the bed and rested the book on her lap. Softly stroking the cover, she fell deep into thought. Her father, Venedict Reyn, had been executed. Peter Summs, a shaman whose real name was Barry Oats, had been involved in his death. Barry Oats had ties to Duke Clockford and had died in Rehnberg during winter break. If I assume the duke really was involved in my father’s death…then I doubt he’ll have left any evidence in his mansion. Still…I need any information I can get. Monica made up her mind. She’d accept Raul’s offer and participate in the undercover mission. Monica tended to yield to the whims of others and go along with whatever they asked of her, but in this matter, she’d decided her course of action for herself: She would uncover the truth of her father’s death. And that means…I need to find out if Lady Bridget is really on my side. After leaving Monica’s attic room, Bridget returned to her dorm with a casual gait. Dory, the young maid waiting there, bowed. “Welcome home,” she said. “It’s a shame ya have—I mean, that you must do student council work even on a holiday. Please, if there is anything I can help with, you need only say the word.” “Thank you. Could you make me some hot black tea, then?” “Right away!” Dory nodded enthusiastically and left the room to prepare the tea. The youngest maid in Bridget’s employ, Dory had charming, curly black hair and freckles. Her natural accent would occasionally slip out, but she was dedicated to her work and adored Bridget. …I can’t let her get any more involved than this. There was a limit to how much investigating Bridget could do on her own. In the past, she’d had Dory help her keep an eye on Monica Norton and relay messages from the detective she’d hired, but she couldn’t ask any more of her. She had to limit her requests to things a noble girl might reasonably ask. That was why she had changed into her uniform despite not having classes that day. She’d told Dory she had student council work to do, then she’d gone and hid in Monica’s cold attic room for ages. She rubbed her hands, which were practically frozen. When she took a seat, she noticed that the flowers in the vase on the table had been changed. They were now pink roses, their frilled petals layered one over the other. Dory must have arranged them for her. The rose at the center was a creamy yellow that blended into a deep pink closer to the edges. Bridget traced its petals with her cold fingertips, recalling bygone days. “Cheer up, Bridget. Duke Clockford has invited you to his estate. You have been chosen to serve as a companion to Prince Felix.” Bridget’s father, the Marquess of Shaleberry, was awfully cheery that day. She was just seven years old. The second prince, Felix, was the same age as she was. He was staying at his grandfather’s estate to recover from an illness. Because he was a sickly child and couldn’t go out, the duke had requested that Bridget serve as his companion, someone he could talk to. Bridget, despite her youth, correctly understood that she was being invited there as a marriage candidate for the prince, and she wasn’t very happy about it. The Kingdom of Ridill already had another prince—Lionel, who was nine years older than Felix. The sixteen-year-old was said to be a lively boy, skilled in horseback riding and the blade. The second prince, on the other hand, was sickly, almost never appeared at court functions, and spent his time at his maternal grandfather’s estate recuperating. How could a boy who couldn’t even endure life in the palace become king? Though his grandfather, the duke, was one of the most influential men in the kingdom, the second prince had almost no presence at court. Some even spread cruel, inconsiderate rumors that he wouldn’t survive to adulthood. Bridget was not happy in the slightest to be chosen as his potential bride. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Bridget Greyham. I consider it a great honor that you have invited me here.” At Duke Clockford’s mansion, Bridget gave a perfectly ladylike curtsey and introduction. The servants all watched her in admiration. Bridget was an incredibly charming girl, and everything—from the way she dressed to her conduct and even the way she smiled—was polished well beyond her seven years. In contrast, Felix seemed embarrassed. He looked down and mumbled while playing with his fingers. Felix took after his mother, Queen Aileen, a noblewoman beloved for her beauty, and he was a gorgeous youth. But his fair cheeks were now tinged with red from nervousness, and his gaze was locked on his feet. He made no effort to look at Bridget. Truly helpless was her first impression of him. And how long must I wait for the prince to grace me with a reply? As Felix fidgeted, she heard a young man waiting behind him—his attendant—say softly, “Sir, remember your practice.” He needs practice to perform a basic introduction? How pitiful! Bridget stood there, amazed. Felix began to introduce himself, his face bright red. “Um, pleased to, uh, meet you. I’m, er, my name is Felix Arc Ridiph…” In the end, he fumbled his words. This time, his reddened face turned blue. He began to tremble, and tears formed in his eyes. A wave of disappointment passed over the duke and the servants, who were all watching. This only made the young prince cringe even harder. Then his attendant interjected quietly, “Sir, why don’t you show Lady Bridget to the tea room? You picked the flowers there just for her, didn’t you? I’m sure she’ll be delighted.” “Huh? But you were the one who picked the—” “Sir.” The young prince shut his mouth, startled. He’d ruined his attendant’s goodwill in an instant. The adults seemed even more disappointed with him. Bridget shared their misgivings. I can’t believe I might have to marry this boy… On the inside, she was exasperated—but she offered a beautiful smile regardless. “Oh! What kind of flowers are they? I can’t wait to see them.” She’d asked an easy question, but Felix didn’t reply. He only stammered and mumbled some more. From time to time, he’d look up—but he was glancing at the duke, not at her. It seemed he was capable of nothing but worrying about what his grandfather thought. The prince’s attendant spoke up in place of his miserable charge. “We would be happy to guide you there,” he said. “Please come this way.” Polished tea utensils were set out in the tea room, with pink roses adorning the table. Duke Clockford, along with Bridget’s father and the others, was having tea in another room. Evidently, they expected the children to first get to know each other on their own. …Ugh. How long is His Highness planning to fidget? Apart from Bridget and Felix, the only ones in the room were Bridget’s maid and Felix’s young attendant. Even now, with so few people around, Felix remained tense, never trying to speak. Once again, he looked down and played with his fingers. Left with no choice, Bridget decided to start the conversation herself. “My, what lovely flowers! Did you pick these for me?” “Oh, um…” “I hear roses with frilled petals like these are quite popular right now. You must be quite knowledgeable about such things.” “…Oh, no, it’s just… Um…” “And the vase is gorgeous as well. Is it Corminet Collection? My mother loves those. She collects them, in fact. She is particularly fond of their teacups…” “…Corminet…Collection?” Apparently, the prince didn’t even know how valuable a vase it was. He merely repeated the term as if it were his first time hearing it. His attendant, unable to sit by and watch, casually interjected. “You must have taken care to select something Lady Bridget would like, right, sir?” “Oh, yeah. That’s right… I did.” After speaking, the prince looked down again. He was making conversation impossible. “Oh! I’m delighted,” replied Bridget, feigning joy. Inside, she was terribly vexed. Is it really his health that prevents the duke from bringing him to the palace? Or does he keep him away because of his pitiful shyness? Either way, she’d been handpicked to be his conversation partner. She had to fulfill that mission. “May I have a scone?” she asked. Felix bobbed his head up and down uncomfortably. He couldn’t even manage a “please do.” Bridget was utterly flabbergasted. The attendant slipped in a remark to cover for his master. “The scones today are served with three types of jam, as well as clotted cream. The black tea is a Florendian blend we heard you’re fond of, Lady Bridget. Please enjoy it straight, first.” Even the tea and scones had been chosen to match Bridget’s tastes. But Felix hadn’t been the one to prepare them. His attendant must have done it. He seemed quite thoughtful. …What a farce. Bridget fought down her displeasure, covering it with a brilliant smile. But her irritation must have affected—if only very, very slightly—the movement of her hands. A drop of raspberry jam dripped off her spoon and onto the front of her dress, near her chest. “…!” Bridget immediately held a napkin to the area, embarrassed by her own immaturity. She must not yet be a proper lady, for no proper lady would commit such a blunder because of some trifling emotions. “Please excuse me, my lady.” Bridget’s maidservant hastily wiped her clothes using a handkerchief, but the thin, watery jam had already stained the white lace of her dress. The red of the raspberry jam stood out plainly against the light-aqua material and pale white lace. As Bridget sat there, mortified by her mistake, Felix suddenly took off his neckerchief, further perplexing her. Don’t tell me he intends to have me wipe the jam off with that. Felix folded the blue material until it was small and rolled it up. Then he used the small broach decorating it to pin the ends in place. The blue neckerchief had become a rose. “Um, ah, well, um…” Felix trembled in embarrassment, his face bright red, as he held the blue rose corsage out to Bridget. “…I, um, I think b-blue would look, um, very good on you… So have this, pleaph!” Once again, he fumbled his words. Yet Bridget couldn’t find it in her to condescend to the fainthearted prince. She looked between the improvised corsage and Felix. Then, after a moment, she said, “Thank you. I gratefully accept it.” She picked up the blue rose with greater care than she would a real flower, then placed it on her chest to hide the stain. The brilliant blue rose looked wonderful on her pale aqua dress. “…Well? Does it look good on me?” “Um, yes!” Felix’s head came up vigorously, and he nodded again and again. For the first time that day, Bridget smiled from the heart. Later on, Bridget excused herself to use the lavatory. On her way back to the tea room, she spotted Felix and Duke Clockford in the hallway. They seemed to be talking about something. Given the circumstances, she imagined it was about her and how well she’d done. She hesitated, wondering if she should eavesdrop or simply pass by and pretend not to have noticed. But before she could act, the duke’s voice reached her ears. “What happened to your scarf?” “Oh, um, I, uh, I spilled some tea and got it dirty… I-I’m really sorry,” answered Felix, fidgeting with his fingers again. “How much shame must you bring me before you’re satisfied?” spat the duke, not hiding his displeasure. Bridget almost burst out into the hallway. It wasn’t Felix’s fault. He’d been kind to her—he’d tried to protect her honor. That was all. But just as she was about to protest his innocence, someone yanked her back. How rude! Her eyebrows shot up in anger, but whoever it was covered her mouth. That was when she saw—it was Felix’s attendant. The boy looked at her blankly, but his eyes were sharp. “Please do not waste my master’s kindness.” Annoyed, Bridget batted his hand away. As she did, her fingers brushed his long bangs. “…Ah,” Bridget sucked in a breath. She wasn’t surprised this boy had been chosen as an attendant to royalty. He had the blond hair and blue eyes desired in a noble servant. But his face contained an imperfection—a scar running over his right eye from top to bottom. The eye itself didn’t seem to have been injured, but the scar was deep enough that he would never be rid of it. She’d wondered about his awfully long bangs; evidently, they were meant to hide the scar. The attendant’s fingers immediately went to fix his bangs. “Please return to the tea room,” he said quietly. His cold gaze seemed to say, “If you waste my master’s kindness, I will never forgive you.” Bridget fell silent for a moment, then turned her back to Felix and the duke. “Very well. Please show me the way.” “At once, ma’am.” The attendant walked ahead of her as if nothing had happened. Bridget wondered if Felix was still being reprimanded by the duke. All because he’s covering for me. She put a hand to the blue rose now adorning her chest and reflected bitterly on her powerlessness and lack of experience. From then on, Bridget was frequently invited to the duke’s estate to keep Felix company. That didn’t only mean drinking tea with him and chatting. Bridget, proficient in languages, had already learned the Imperial tongue. She spent some of their time teaching it to Felix. Other days, she would serve as his dance partner to help him practice. The prince wasn’t exactly a quick study. Nor did he have very good physical coordination. He stepped on her feet many times during their practice sessions. Nevertheless, though she scolded him for it, she persevered and continued to serve as his partner. “You’re hunching over again, sir,” she chided. “Straighten up. Pull in your chin a little.” “Um, r-right…” He frowned uneasily and fidgeted, but even so, he put everything into learning how to dance, his face bright red with effort. Felix Arc Ridill was clumsier, duller, shyer, and less reliable than just about anyone. But he was also the gentlest person Bridget had ever met. As she directed his awkward dancing, she thought to herself, You had better master this, dear prince. After all, one day you’ll be my spouse. “The tea is ready, Lady Bridget.” As Bridget idly thought back to days gone by, Dory returned and placed a cup of tea in front of her. It was black tea with ginger cookies—Bridget’s favorite. “Thank you, Dory. Could I ask you to do one more thing for me?” “Anything, my lady.” Dory seemed very enthusiastic. Deciding that what she was about to ask fit into the category of just helping out, Bridget made her request. “I’d like you to spread a rumor among the servants.” There wasn’t much Bridget Greyham could do on her own. She needed an ally. She needed the mage who called herself Monica Norton.