The photograph she presented Octavia with was of a young girl hugging a soft toy rabbit. Black hair rained down from under her wide-brimmed hat, which was adorned with a white feather. That hair color was rare. Frills of white lace stood out plainly on her black dress, and she wore red shoes with buckles on them. She was sitting in a chair. Her facial features were refined, but her expression was dark. An air of gloom hung over the photograph as a whole.
This seems a bit irregular. Though the paintings and furniture one would expect were all there around the girl, they seemed to have been placed without much care, as if they were in storage. Octavia saw an antique doll on the floor and mused that a young girl would probably love to have such a thing; she also noticed a music box with an open lid, a stick of lipstick, and a perfume bottle scattered beside it. Octavia could find no sense of unity, no sense of purpose, in this tableau. It was difficult even to judge whether or not the girl was the subject of the photograph. That was the sort of picture it was.
“I can’t see any wings. Is she human? What’s her story?”
“She was a test subject.”
Huh? Octavia, without thinking, voiced her confusion. “A test subject... You mean, human experiments? What were they doing to such a young child?”
“I do not know. I don’t even know when this photograph was taken. In the first place, I only learned of this matter recently. Apparently there was a severe accident at the laboratory a few years ago, so their research is long since over. Almost no records remain, and the deaths of all the former researchers have been confirmed.”
“In that case, even this girl might already be...”
“Perhaps so. But look at the back of the photograph.”
Octavia turned the photograph over as she was told and saw that there was writing there. It was a script she didn’t know. Hat put it into words for her. “‘Successful subject,’ huh?” It most likely meant that she was a successful test subject.
“Depending on the details of the experiments, she may still be alive. Also, it seems that my uncle was involved in the experiments.”
“You mean His Highness the Prince, the queen’s younger brother? Edward was in his camp as well, right?”
“Quite right. It embarrasses me to admit it, but while assisting my mother in her efforts to seal away the Imperial Heirlooms, my uncle has always been conspiring to use them himself, or else to make his own.”
“I thought angels couldn’t create tools. At least, that’s what my grandmother told me.”
Eliza responded to Octavia’s question by nodding and sighing. “That’s true. The creation of tools seems to be an ability unique to humans. When it comes to the pinnacle of all tools, the Imperial Heirlooms, we angels cannot even use them. That was why we needed your cooperation to strike down a god. But this fact has always rankled my uncle. It seems that recently, behind the scenes, he has been making use of people to create counterfeit tools.”
“Counterfeits...of the Imperial Heirlooms? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes, though they don’t amount to anything more than cursed tools. They’re far inferior to the originals. Even so, they can certainly cause harm, and we can’t say for certain that they will have no influence on Demonic Heirlooms. Magic attracts magic, after all.”
“If that’s so, then that experiment might have been related to the Imperial Heirlooms as well.”
“Most likely. And if my predictions are correct, my mother won’t forgive my uncle for a deed like trying to create his own Imperial Heirlooms.” In some ways, the strength of Eliza’s voice was filled with faith in her mother, the queen. “If this girl is still alive, I would like to protect her. To see that she doesn’t fall into my uncle’s hands...or, depending on the details of the experiments, my mother’s.”
Octavia turned her gaze upward. If she craned her neck, she could see Hat nod. “Well, why not?” he said. “The counterfeiting of Imperial Heirlooms—by her uncle and whoever else—is not a desirable outcome for us, either. As with the Demonic Heirlooms, we can’t suffer them to be used as tools to revive our god.”
“Understood,” said Octavia. “Hat seems to be content as well. We’ll undertake your request.”
“Thank you very much. However, take great care in your actions. If my mother should discover your true identity, all will be lost.”
“In other words, you’re saying that I need to make sure I seem like a normal detective?”
Eliza smiled slightly and nodded in affirmation. “I shall inform you the moment that I obtain any new information.”
“That would be a great help, but I must ask that you be sparing in providing me with information. As a detective in my own right, it wouldn’t do for me to depend on you too much.”
“I suppose that’s true. Any assistance or contact from me shall be kept to a minimum. Now, then, please take these.” Eliza kindly offered up two keys in the palm of her hand. “I was given custody of these by your grandmother. She said that you might only lose them.”
“How mean. Well, I would say that, but the truth is that I’d completely forgotten about the keys, so I can’t really complain.”
“So you’re admitting that the previous Earl of Reine was correct. In any case, one of these is the key to the mansion itself; the other is the key to the basement.”
In the basement was a vault where the Imperial Heirlooms had been stored, dormant, for the time being. That was what Octavia’s grandmother had told her. Octavia squeezed the two keys tightly in her hand.
“I’ve heard that the fountain pen is stored in the basement. The previous earl said that you could use that to keep in contact with me.”
“You should be able to,” said Hat. “The fountain pen can write letters anywhere, at least within the range of your magic, Octavia.”
“As long as you’re within the Royal Capital, I think I’ll be able to write you messages.” After Octavia related Hat’s explanation to Eliza, she nodded and rose to her feet.
“Well, then, I’ll only be in your way if I stay any longer, so I’ll be taking my leave.”
Eliza then curtsied in front of Octavia and smiled. “Your Majesty, may good fortune be with your empire.”
“With your kingdom as well.”
At Octavia’s response, Eliza’s smile grew troubled for a moment, but then she jauntily turned on her heel. The motion revealed the white wings on her back, the very proof that she belonged to the royal family which bore the burden of this kingdom.
With a sigh, Octavia also rose to her feet. Keys in hand, she walked through the house that her grandmother had prepared, that she might live confidently in hiding. She soon found the door leading to the basement.
The wooden door looked flimsily built, like it would fall to pieces if she gave it a good kick. Down there was surely a place that the sun’s light never touched. All this time, the Heirlooms had been down there, waiting for her.
My empire, huh? Feeling some weight and resistance, she turned the key.
“It’s finally time, isn’t it?” said Hat.
“Indeed.” With a nod, Octavia opened the door to find no one there—nevertheless, knowing that the tools were waiting for her up ahead, she called out to them. “Everyone, it’s nice to meet you. I’m finally home.”
Yes, Your Majesty. It was no illusion that caused her to hear this.
What a pity. I really did want to see her mansion. Still, the young man smiled as the scenery flowed past the window of his coach. So that is Her Majesty, the queen of the old empire. He was surprised to learn that there was still a successor. He had been under the impression that they had all been wiped out by the queen of the angels.
But Octavia, she was the real thing. The heiress to the throne of the Empire of Ercadia, which had challenged God and fallen into ruin. The only person who could take the so-called Demonic Heirlooms and use them as intended, as Imperial Heirlooms. She was the queen of the humans, who handled the supreme tools that were beyond even the power of the angels.
Let’s call making everyone think I stole that map—when, in fact, I didn’t—and dumping the men who were after her in the middle of some field part of the celebration for her coronation.
However, the Royal Capital was the queen’s territory, the place where the angels were most watchful. Any mention of the United Empire in front of an angel was taboo. He had heard that, once upon a time, anyone thought to be connected with that bloodline had been hunted down, one by one, by the inquisition. That being the case, why had she decided to leap right smack-dab into the heart of enemy territory? What could she be thinking?
Don’t tell me she’s genuinely looking for a husband! If so, it would be an act of rebellion that would threaten to bring the enemy’s stronghold crashing to the ground. In this kingdom, in this world ruled by angels, it was an unforgivable thought.
But if one called it freedom—then, suddenly, things started to look a lot more interesting. He was overcome with excitement, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from curling up in a smile.
“All the same, I’d rather not have both my legs broken.” He would have to run away. Faster than she ran away from her destiny. Thus he spoke very quietly, so no one could hear, in a tongue that no one was supposed to remember anymore. “Catch me if you can, Miss Detective.” Detective. Surely that was a more appropriate term of address for her than Your Majesty.