Milly went with Nicholas to the infirmary, where Lizbel, who was worn out from crying, still slept peacefully. Milly gently wiped away the faint traces of tears on her cheeks, then cast a simple soundproof barrier around the infirmary for privacy.
With the school physician escorting Sierra to the capital’s hospital, it was unlikely anyone would enter, but it was better to be cautious.
After quickly checking the barrier’s strength, Milly took her seat. Nicholas, watching her, narrowed his eyes in quiet admiration.
“Impressive,” he said. “You can raise a barrier without even a wand.”
“I always thought anyone could manage it with enough practice.”
“Well, that practice consists of an ungodly amount of time.”
Ordinary humans had to follow a set procedure when using magic: raise the wand and chant the spell. It sounded simple when put into words, but in practice it was both finicky and difficult. The stroke of the wand varied depending on the spell, and if the arc of its tip was off by even a few centimeters, or if the cadence of the chant slipped, the caster would fail to produce any magic at all.
Thus, spellcasters who could work magic without wand or chant were vanishingly rare in this world.
Milly had never once seen anyone but herself cast unaided, not even the magician she revered most, Edgar’s grandfather. Neil Franster could make use of anything vaguely rod-shaped—even a banana—as a wand, but he still required a wand and an incantation.
“You really are gifted, Lady Milly,” praised Nicholas. “As a magician.”
“You value me rather highly.”
“Of course. I like you, Lady Milly.”
“I see. And your business here was?”
“You’re really just going to brush that aside?” Nicholas let his shoulders sink. “That took me no small amount of courage, you know.”
The more Milly looked at him, the less he resembled a nobleman. Nicholas had none of the aristocratic arrogance, his appearance was unkempt for the heir of a ducal house, and his speech was far too casual. And yet, what lay behind those eyes remained impossible to read. Strangely elusive, as though he refused to let anyone glimpse his true intentions.
He must have something more than just his birthright if he’s serving as student council president here at Grandor. In that enigmatic sense, he was very much like a character on a page.
“Anyway. Now isn’t the time to dawdle.” Oblivious to her musings, Nicholas finally broached the matter. “It’s about today. The business with the poisoned cup.”
“I thought as much.”
“Mm. I was hoping to get your thoughts on it.”
“Mine?”
Nicholas, in his usual low, mumbled voice, went on, “If you’re willing, that is. What would you say to the two of us, just you and me, finding the culprit right here and now?” In other words, the two of them alone would uncover the whole poisoned-cup affair.
It took Milly a few seconds to grasp what he meant, then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Normally, this is the sort of thing you’d leave to the faculty.”
“Normally, yes.”
“Then why—”
“Because that doesn’t suit my purposes.” A surprisingly simple response. “Ah, it’s not such a huge deal, but if the faculty launches a formal investigation, they’ll have to report to the parents, right?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“And once that happens, the academy will be obliged to conduct a full inquiry. They’ll have to explain to the families: ‘This is what occurred, here’s how we resolved it, and here’s the perpetrator we identified.’ Of course, that’s how the school should respond, so it is what it is.” Nicholas spoke as though burdened, his gaze lowering slightly.
Milly frowned, not yet seeing where he was going. “And that would be inconvenient for you, personally?”
“Yes. To put it bluntly, I don’t want my family learning that an incident took place here at the academy.” Nicholas exhaled, then fixed his eyes squarely on hers. “My house, the Einzdohr dukedom, is...complicated. Though, given you couldn’t even remember my name, I doubt any of this matters to you.”
“Do I really strike you as such a heartless person?”
“Don’t sulk. I’m not blaming you. It’s just that this hardly touches your world.”
The remark stung, as if he were mocking her. Milly pursed her lips, but she couldn’t deny it: When it came to the politics of high society, she was utterly ignorant.
“In any case, that’s why I can’t allow this incident to become a full-blown school inquiry. Before that happens, I need to coax the culprit into confessing and handle it quietly, out of the public eye.” Nicholas let out a weary breath and tapped at his temple a few times. Perhaps a headache. Clearly, he was under no small strain himself.
“Ah, and don’t worry,” he added. “I’m not asking you to work for free. If you help me, there’s something in it for you.”
“Something in it for me?” Milly parroted.
“Yes. For example, you could earn the favor of the future duke of Einzdohr. Ah, no, bad joke. Forget I said that.”
Milly shot him such a withering look that Nicholas actually flinched. If he was going to cower afterward, he shouldn’t have said it in the first place.
“From the way you usually carry yourself, it hardly seems like currying your favor would be much of a prize,” Milly scoffed.
“Excuse me? I am next in line to be duke, you know.”
“Then stop wasting time and be serious.” She made a point of sighing, and Nicholas rubbed his cheek, looking faintly embarrassed.
After pressing his lips together for a moment, he finally spoke with real weight. “If you help me track down the poisoner here, and my family doesn’t have to deal with the fallout...”
“Yes?”
“Then the House of Einzdohr will pledge its loyalty to the grand duke’s house.”
“What?” The words dropped so casually that Milly almost missed how outrageous they were. “Wh-What are you even saying?!”
“Does it sound so implausible? I am the heir, and I already have some say with my father. You can trust me on that much.”
“That’s not the point! Why are you tossing around promises that decide the fate of entire houses?!”
“Loud as ever, Lady Milly.”