“Let us take her from here,” one of Hannelore’s apprentice knights said. “It is better that we carry her.”
Kenntrips nodded and acquiesced; even as her suitor, it would be scandalous to embrace her much longer. “She will remain on the brink of death until she regains consciousness,” he cautioned. “So said the Goddess of Time.”
“What?!”
“Be calm. Lady Rozemyne swore to return her safely.”
In the goddess’s absence, they could rely only on the facts as they understood them. Kenntrips gave Hannelore to her guard knights, then called out to stop a rather pale Cordula, who had turned to depart with them.
“One moment, Lady Cordula. Lady Rozemyne has instructed one of her attendants to advise us on treating Lady Hannelore.”
“Yes, that would be me,” came a young woman’s voice. “I am Lieseleta, Lady Rozemyne’s head attendant.”
It had taken Lieseleta a moment to make her presence known; her smaller mana capacity had meant she could only move so close to the gazebo. She was young enough that one would never have thought her the head attendant of an aub, but she had seen to Rozemyne’s well-being both before and after the latter’s possession by a goddess. Cordula seemed to recognize her, and the color quickly returned to her face.
“Your wisdom is greatly appreciated. Before we speak, may I send the others ahead to our dormitory?”
“Of course,” Lieseleta answered with a smile. Then she held out a veil and continued, “Please use this to cover Lady Hannelore’s face, if you do not mind the fact that my lady has worn it many times before.” It was a means to prevent one’s unconscious charge from becoming a spectacle, and the revelation that Rozemyne carried it at all times said a lot about her health.
“I would be glad to accept it,” Cordula said. “I am more grateful than I can put into words.” She used the veil to cover Hannelore’s face and watched as the other retainers rushed their lady back to the dormitory.
“If she does not regain consciousness quickly now that the goddess has taken her leave, soak her body in a jureve so her mana does not harden,” Lieseleta insisted, launching straight into her advice. “If she has not prepared one, then a jureve belonging to her brother or mother will suffice.”
Although students learned to brew jureves during their fifth year at the Royal Academy, Hannelore had yet to make her own. Cordula formed an ordonnanz before uttering even a word in response.
“Forgive my rudeness,” she said at last. “I can waste no time in passing on your guidance, lest our teleportation circle be closed for the night.”
On that note, Cordula sent a message to the knight stationed by Dunkelfelger’s teleportation hall, asking whether Lestilaut still had the jureve he made before his marriage, or if Sieglinde simply had one to spare.
“If there is still divine power within her when she wakes, then others will struggle even to touch her, which will cause all manner of problems in her day-to-day life,” Lieseleta explained. “You will need to contact the Zent”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“for you will need to borrow silver cloth.”
Her caution was fully warranted; only a select few knew of the silver cloth, even among the duchies that had participated in the war against Lanzenave.
Lieseleta’s advice largely related to Hannelore’s attendants; Kenntrips could not help but feel out of place when the conversation turned to bathing Hannelore with silver cloth. Unable to hide his discomfort, he stepped away to look around. The sun had long since set, but the commotion outside the scholar building and the curious professors attempting to enter the gazebo meant things were far from quiet.
I see that Lords Wilfried and Ortwin have yet to leave.
They shouldn’t have had any further business at the gazebo, but they were deep in conversation. Kenntrips strained his ears to listen to them.
“Wilfried, it’s no small miracle to have won the affection of a divine avatar. Why not propose to her back?”
“I stand by what I said. The daughter of a greater duchy’s first wife was already too much for Ehrenfest; a divine avatar is completely out of the question.”
It seemed that not even the descent of a goddess had changed how Wilfried felt. Kenntrips was relieved, to say the least.
“I never once thought I would be able to support Rozemyne, so I can’t be so arrogant as to think I could support Lady Hannelore,” Wilfried continued, with sincere concern in his voice. “Instead, I pray she finds a man who can ease her heavy burden as Uncle does for Rozemyne.”
Kenntrips recalled the many times Hannelore had praised Wilfried as kind. He had assumed she was blissfully unaware of the truth, given how stubbornly she defended the man who had betrayed his promise to her and burdened her with such great hardships—but evidently not. She had seen a side of him that Kenntrips and the others hadn’t known existed.
“So you won’t mind if I propose, then?” Ortwin asked.
Kenntrips was taken entirely by surprise. Hannelore had refused Ortwin’s proposal outright, from what Cordula had told him, and the day’s events made her true feelings abundantly clear. To pursue her nonetheless would be to scorn not only her and her suitors but also Aub Dunkelfelger himself.
This is no joke.
Ortwin was an archduke candidate of Drewanchel, which made him far more troublesome to deal with than Ehrenfest. At a time when Dunkelfelger already had its guard up against Korinthsdaum, a formal proposal from a greater duchy would make things all the more unpleasant.
And are other duchies not likely to approach us, seeking to marry Lady Hannelore?
Only then did it dawn on Kenntrips what Rozemyne had meant when she had asked that he protect Hannelore in the midst of all the chaos to come. And yet...
“I could trust you to care for her, Ortwin,” Wilfried said. “You have my approval.”
Don’t just concede to him!
Drewanchel might have appeared to be a powerful greater duchy from the perspective of a middle duchy like Ehrenfest, but it still placed below Dunkelfelger in the rankings. It was on awful terms with Korinthsdaum due to Adolphine’s divorce, and its ties to the new Zent were practically nonexistent. Hannelore would be far safer at home than anywhere else.
A union based on love might have been acceptable, but Aub Drewanchel had already expressed an interest in making Ortwin the second husband of either Aub Alexandria or Zent Eglantine. Combined with the fact that Hannelore still clearly wished to be with Wilfried, a marriage to Ortwin would have no personal basis, only a political one. Drewanchel would use her status as the second divine avatar to better trade blows with Korinthsdaum and the Zent.
No matter how Kenntrips thought about it, Drewanchel was far from the ideal environment for Hannelore, the former Lady Crybaby. She had a tendency to overthink things and stubbornly kept her opinions close to the vest. Though such behavior was overlooked in Dunkelfelger, owing to the duchy’s focus on warfare, Drewanchel specialized in knowledge; its archducal family would almost certainly not approve.
“Wait a moment. Do not get ahead of yourselves,” Kenntrips said, moving to intervene. “Rasantark and I are Lady Hannelore’s chosen suitors.”
“Perhaps, but is either one of you truly capable of protecting her?” Wilfried asked. “Archnobles do not have the status to marry a divine avatar, be they from the top-ranked duchy or not. If you cannot plan countless steps ahead and eliminate her enemies as Uncle does for Rozemyne, Lady Hannelore will be stolen before you can even get a handle on your allies.”
That is not true.
Kenntrips wished to protest but said nothing. Given their respective statuses, any further disagreement could escalate into an interduchy incident.
“Protect her well,” Wilfried said. “Otherwise, the treasure of your duchy shall naturally be drawn to where she belongs. Perhaps... Drewanchel, for instance.”