Chapter 27

For the past several days, Scarlett Castiel had been in a rotten mood. As for the reason… “I feel like you’ve been ignoring my revenge lately!” That was the crux of it. “Plus, I don’t see why you have to go out of your way to meet with Abigail O’Brian!” Scarlett was cross. The depths of her amethyst eyes were blazing, bringing a new brilliance to her almost unrealistic beauty. Wasn’t it a bit unfair of the goddesses to make her so beautiful even when she was angry? Connie sighed, looking over the letter Randolph had sent her. Mostly an account of recent developments, with a buried aside mentioning that he would need a little more time to obtain the present that she wanted. In other words, he still hadn’t unraveled the mystery of Lily Orlamunde’s key. Connie gulped down her cup of cold tea and turned to Scarlett. “But you want to talk to Aisha Huxley about what happened ten years ago, don’t you? And the Huxleys are viscounts, aren’t they? I’m only a lower noble, just like them, and an insignificant girl at that. If I were to go directly, they would be sure to ignore me. But with an introduction from the Duchess Abigail, I don’t think they’ll be able to weasel out of it.” Scarlett didn’t have a sharp answer to that. Instead, she held her head up haughtily and pronounced, “I was just thinking the same thing myself.” Aisha Huxley. Connie had only glimpsed her briefly at Emilia Godwin’s ball. She remembered the gaudy dress encasing her thin form and the dark-red lipstick on her mouth. According to Scarlett, ten years ago she’d been a gloomy, plain young girl. And there was more. “That girl was one of my followers—a fan, you might say.” Perching lightly on the top of Connie’s dresser, Scarlett crossed her legs gracefully. Strangely, while her manners were horrible, her movements were refined, somehow giving her an overall impression of elegance. Yes, the goddesses truly were unfair. “I think at the time, Aisha thought I was some kind of goddess. I mean, the first time she talked to me, she cried.” Cried? Connie blinked in disbelief. True, Scarlett’s beauty was otherworldly, but… “I can tell from your face you don’t believe me. But she wasn’t the only one,” Scarlett said, shrugging as if it was trivial. “Even so, Aisha was extreme. For instance, if I wore a red dress, without fail she would wear a red dress at the next ball. If I wore a blue one, she’d wear a blue one. Even the style would be the same. Her hairdo, too. But she was so gloomy, she never danced with anyone. Always a silent wallflower. She used to stare and stare at me, like she wanted to say something. But if I looked at her, she would look down. Then right away she’d start looking at me again. Honestly, I had no idea what she wanted. Not that I understand her any better now, acting like she’s back to normal.” A chill ran down Connie’s spine. Scarlett’s tone was casual, but most people would find the behavior she was describing fairly bizarre. “There was only one time she looked me in the eye and talked to me. I’m sure it was before the Cecilia incident,” Scarlett said, as if she’d just remembered. “What did she say?” Connie blurted out. Scarlett rested her chin on her folded hands and said with amusement, “‘I wish I were you.’” They both fell silent. What could she have meant? Was she simply jealous? Jealous of the girl with beauty and status and a perfect fiancé? Or was it a meaningless joke? Connie had no idea. And was this sudden feeling of bottomless terror simply her imagination? “…And what did you say back?” “That’s obvious, isn’t it?” Scarlett grinned and tilted her head with her habitual elegance. “The world doesn’t need two Scarlett Castiels.” Connie sent Abigail O’Brian a letter saying she wanted to ask her advice about something, and Abigail promptly replied by inviting her to the O’Brian residence. Connie climbed into the carriage with the O’Brian family seal that Abigail had sent and was carried off toward the family’s town house in the central part of the city. A handsome, silver-haired butler led her into a tastefully appointed drawing room, saying that Abigail would be with her shortly. Connie sat down in a comfortable chaise lounge. A cup of black tea and a plate of cookies were set out on the table. But no sooner had Connie reached for the porcelain teacup than someone jumped out from behind the armchair across from her. Connie gaped in surprise. “You must be the ‘charming guest’ Abby told me was coming!” The person speaking to her with sparkling eyes and an excited voice was a young child. She had big eyes with curly lashes and a misty halo of fine, golden hair. She looked as sweet as a storybook fairy. “…Huh?” But who could she be? As Connie stared at her, the girl tilted her head in confusion. “Did I mistake you for someone else? But your eyes are the prettiest green, just like Abby said. You are Miss Constance Grail, aren’t you?” “Um…” Connie didn’t know what to say. Scarlett snorted. “What a rude little child. Doesn’t she know she ought to introduce herself before asking so many questions? I’d like to know who her parents are.” She was absolutely merciless, even toward a child. It was a good thing the girl couldn’t see her; this could have been traumatizing. Just as Connie was breathing a sigh of relief, however, the girl spoke up. “Yes, that’s very true…! I was just so happy, I couldn’t help it…! I’m terribly sorry, I know it wasn’t very ladylike of me…” The little fairy’s face was growing sadder by the second, until her shoulders slumped pitifully. “…Hm?” “My name is Lucia O’Brian… Will you forgive me?” “Um, yes, but just now—” “Oh, I’m so glad! I’d be so grateful if you could keep this a secret from Sebastian. He’s been acting just like an evil stepmother lately.” “Every house has a fussy old man in it. And as long as you understand your mistake. Be more careful from now on.” “I know! He is fussy! And he’s always saying, ‘Ladies this, ladies that’! I’m getting sick and tired of ladies!” “He sounds exactly like my Claude.” Connie was staring at them with her mouth hanging open. “J-just wait one second…!” Her voice came out high-pitched with panic. But how could it not? After all, this girl was acting like… “Can you see her?!” Connie squawked in a most unladylike voice. At almost the same moment, the door rattled open. “Lou!” A tall young man wearing a white button-down shirt and no jacket strode into the room. “What are you doing in here, you naughty little tomboy? I know Abby told you we were having guests today! You’re leaving this instant.” The young man wrapped his arm around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As Constance looked on in shock, the little fairy shrugged her shoulders precociously from her awkward perch, as if to say, “My, my.” “You’re hardly one to speak, ‘careless Rudy’!” “What was that?” The man raised one eyebrow and turned toward Connie with an embarrassed expression. “…You?” he groaned, taking in the visitor as she stood there, unsure what to do. It was Aldous Clayton, the Mayflower reporter and Abigail’s “hound.” Connie nodded awkwardly. Just as she was wondering what else to say, a familiar, incongruently cheerful voice broke the silence. “Oh my, what in the world are you two doing?” Abigail had finally arrived. She surveyed the awkward scene before tilting her head in question. “Abby!” Lucia cried excitedly, breaking free from Aldous’s arms and throwing herself into Abigail’s embrace. “Your visitor brought the most beautiful lady with her!” “The most interesting things always, always happen when I’m not there,” Abigail said, pouting slightly from her spot on an indigo sofa across from Connie. The little fairy was perched beside her. Aldous was sitting in a saber-leg armchair, his elbows resting on the arms as he wearily pressed a finger between his eyebrows. “It seems the rumor about Scarlett Castiel rising from the depths of hell to attend the ball at the Grand Merillian wasn’t entirely wrong after all,” Abigail went on. “Scarlett, are you listening right now? We only spoke a handful of times, but your execution grieved me deeply.” Lucia’s explosive announcement had forced Connie to tell Abigail about meeting Scarlett and everything that had happened since. Even though she left out some of the details, she knew it was a fishy story. Perhaps Lucia was to thank for the fact that both Abigail and Aldous seemed to accept it at face value. “I’ll thank you to limit the joking to your face, which looks like a squashed frog,” Scarlett snapped. Although this rude comment didn’t reach Abigail’s ears, she nevertheless giggled. “I’m sure she’s saying something spiteful right now,” she said shrewdly. Scarlett grimaced, while Abigail glanced down at Lucia with the expression of a dignified elder. “This is unusual for you, isn’t it?” “Yes. I don’t often see them this clearly… She’s so pretty, Abby,” she answered, whispering the last part so only Abigail could hear it. She was staring at Scarlett with sparkling eyes the color of a clear aquamarine lake. Apparently, this little girl could see the ghosts of the dead. “It’s not just the dead,” Abigail explained. “She also perceives strong emotions visually or aurally. Anger, sorrow, things like that. So even if someone isn’t dead, she might pick up their strongest emotions as voices or colors. But I don’t think she’s ever seen anything, living or dead, as clearly as this. There’s some kind of compatibility at play, I believe—although I must admit it’s in character for Scarlett Castiel to stand out even beyond the grave.” Scarlett scowled grumpily at these words, which were completely in earnest. Anyhow, who was this little girl? Connie was puzzled. She’d introduced herself as an O’Brian, and at first Connie had assumed she must be Abigail’s daughter, but she called her “Abby,” not “Mother.” Also, if she was honest, she had to admit they looked nothing alike. Abigail was an attractive woman, but she was no beauty. In fact, the girl’s even features bore more resemblance to those of Aldous Clayton. Having gotten that far, however, Connie shook her head. What was she thinking? But Aldous had called the mysterious girl “Lou,” as if he knew her well, he acted like he belonged in the O’Brian house, and he was dressed casually. Was he really only an ordinary employee of Abigail’s…? “You know, Connie, your face is showing every thought in your head right now,” Scarlett announced with exasperation. Lucia gave her a carefree smile. “I’m sorry to say that I’m not the fruit of Rudy and Abby’s love.” Someone made a choking sound. Connie glanced over and saw Aldous spewing black tea. “I swear…that little girl has the mouth of a twenty-year-old!” Sorry, my fault, Connie thought with a grimace. Abigail giggled. “Yes, it’s an easy mistake to make. But Rudy and I don’t have that kind of relationship. He’s just my little pet. Around the house, I tell everyone he’s my favorite lover, but the servants who have been here a long time know he’s my hound.” “Then who in the world is that little girl? She can’t be the duke’s, can she? After all, Theodore O’Brian is a homosexual.” Connie’s eyes widened at this sudden revelation from Scarlett. “S-Scarlett, what are you talking about…?” “Oh, everyone knows. You didn’t?” How would she know that? She was at a loss for words. A troubled look came over Lucia’s face. “Teddy is kind to men and women alike,” she said. Apparently guessing what they were talking about, Abigail smiled wryly. “We all call Theodore ‘Teddy’ at home, so I hope you don’t mind. Teddy is not able to be intimate with women. Of course, that doesn’t make him a flawed person. Unfortunately, the world doesn’t currently see it that way. But I love Teddy as a family member, and he feels the same about me. Doesn’t he, Rudy?” “Don’t ask me,” he snapped coldly. “He’s embarrassed,” Abigail said with another wry smile. “I’m not embarrassed!” he bit back. No doubt she brushed it off as a friendly tussle with her pet dog, because she smiled angelically and continued talking. “Teddy and Rudy and I were childhood friends. That was back when I picked up Rudy on the verge of death in the slums—over twenty years ago now. Teddy looks like a bear, but he’s a kind and sensitive person. He doesn’t much care for the capital, so he stays in the domain painting pictures. And this little girl…” Abigail glanced down at Lucia, who finished her sentence with a bright smile. “I’m his niece.” “…His niece?” “Yes. We took her in several years ago after there was a little incident. She’s got O’Brian blood, and Teddy and I treat her as our adopted daughter.” She paused, as if she was trying to decide whether or not to say any more. Lucia looked up at her. “It’s all right, Abby, you can say it.” Abigail caressed her head before turning back to Connie. “Her father is Nathaniel O’Brian, Teddy’s younger brother by just a few years. The Nathaniel I knew was a timid boy who was always trying hard to read the moods of others.” Connie listened quietly as Abigail retraced her memories. “Still, back then he tried very hard to live up to the expectations of those around him. But after he married and moved to the capital, he changed. Or perhaps he’d always been like that, only we hadn’t noticed it. “In any case, Nathaniel started acting differently. Before we knew it, he was bringing lovers and friends to the guest houses of his mansion and staying up all night raising a ruckus, living a life of dissipation. His wife soon reached the end of her patience and returned to her parents’ home. I don’t think she divorced him, but it seemed like only a matter of time. “Soon, he began gambling and came crying home to the domain, unable to pay off his huge debts. But no matter how many times my father-in-law, the Duke of Orlamunde, scolded him, he would fall again into the same pattern. Everyone already knew that Teddy didn’t like women, so I’m sure Nathaniel thought one day he would become duke. At the very least, I doubt he imagined he’d be disowned. “And at the time, Teddy did, in fact, intend to give up his right to the family title. I had no objection. You don’t have to be a noble to live, do you? Before I married Teddy, I traveled the world on a trading ship. I wouldn’t have minded going back to that lifestyle, but…” She paused to grin playfully at the notion of a duchess sailing the world when most of her peers had never even walked barefoot. “Now that I think of it, Abigail was famous for preferring barbaric voyages to balls,” Scarlett mused. Connie could definitely imagine Abigail not only enjoying a journey over the sea but maybe even becoming a pirate. “Because I’d known Nathaniel when he was young and hardworking, despite his timidity, I thought he would eventually get back on the right path. I should have kept a closer eye on him. I didn’t learn he had a child by his lover until five years after she was born.” Abigail looked down regretfully. Lucia squeezed her hand. “It’s not your fault, Abby. After all, Nathaniel himself almost forgot that he had a daughter. And when he saw me, he would hit me and kick me without warning.” Now it was Connie who was speechless. Was such inhumanity acceptable in the world? “…Nathaniel and his crowd were not normal at that time. They were abusing a certain drug. They shut themselves up in the guest house and raved like madmen. Some of them died from overdoses.” “If I’d been there much longer, I would have joined them,” Lucia said nonchalantly. Connie didn’t know what to say. The angelic little face looked up at her and smiled. “But Abby rescued me.” “It wasn’t only me, was it?” Abigail asked her. “Of course not!” she answered with an enthusiastic nod. “Rudy was the one who beat those worthless bums to within a hair of their lives, and it was Teddy who walked over fire for me by sitting down to talk with the father he hated to death. I’m so proud that the three of you are my family.” After the story was finished, Aldous and the little lady left the drawing room. Apparently, it was time for her etiquette lesson. The butler took their place, carrying in a fresh tray of tea and cookies. It was the same handsome silver-haired gentleman who had shown Connie in. “She’s laughing now, but…,” Abigail muttered, watching Lucia’s small form scamper off with Aldous. “When I found her in the guesthouse, she truly was in a wretched state. He didn’t feed her properly, and he beat her, so what would you expect? For a month after I brought her back here, she wouldn’t cry, smile, or even speak. She must have had to shut out all her feelings to survive that cruel life.” The Lucia O’Brian that Connie had met was a precocious child with an adorable smile. “Almost everyone at Nathaniel’s mansion was horribly addicted to drugs. He and his lover were especially bad, and even now they are receiving treatment for the aftereffects at a facility. Later, I learned they were taking an illegal hallucinogen…but I never did find out who their dealer was, despite my best efforts.” Abigail looked down regretfully. When she lifted her head again, Connie thought she glimpsed a faint fire in the depths of her deep blue eyes. “…Next time, I won’t let them get away.” Her voice was sharp with determination. “The drug that destroyed Nathaniel was Jackal’s Paradise. Though it’s quite a bit worse than the Jackal’s Paradise that was around when I was young.” Just then, Aldous returned from delivering Lucia to her lesson. “We learned recently that the same drug was being sold on Rosenkreuz Street,” he said with the same sharp look on his face. Abigail narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what they’re trying to do, but I do know that spreading that kind of thing around is trouble. Whoever they are, I won’t let them swagger into my backyard and do as they please,” she declared, then turned to Connie, her expression softening. “…You’ve always puzzled me, but everything makes sense if you had Scarlett by your side. She was always like the eye of the storm.” “Whatever could she mean by that?” Scarlett asked, losing her temper. Connie stood up in a panic and tried to calm her by dramatically patting the air with both hands. Abigail burst out laughing. “It’s fitting that you two met at Viscount Hamsworth’s ball.” “…Why?” Connie couldn’t see how any of this related to the viscount. “Don’t you see? Why do you think a man as gluttonous as him became a priest? Because of his monumental donations? I can’t deny that, but the church has a reason for wanting him as a clergyman.” “A reason?” “Yes. It seems that Dominic Hamsworth has the favor of the goddesses.” “Favor…?” Connie remembered him walking into the church smelling like a barrel of wine. He was the personification of depravity. He surrendered to every suggestion the devil whispered in his ear. Her thoughts must have been obvious, because Abigail explained with a smile, “The viscount says he can see things that aren’t human, like Lucia does. Doesn’t that ring a bell? I’m certain that was why he agreed to file the paperwork to break your engagement to Neil Bronson. After all, that man would bend over backwards to obey an order from Scarlett Castiel.” Connie was more puzzled than ever. “You see,” said Abigail, lowering her voice, “the viscount is a hopeless masochist who loves nothing more than to be abused by queenly women.” That makes sense, Connie thought as she took a sip of her freshly poured tea. The tea was very fragrant, a perfect match for the rich, crumbly cookies. Yes, it all made perfect sense now. “Oh, the nouveau riche pig? It made me sick the way he would grovel happily no matter what I said to him, so I decided to stay away. Even that seemed to please him, though. Anyhow, it’s none of my business,” Scarlett declared. Connie wished it wasn’t any of hers, either. She willed her consciousness far away as Abigail gave her a questioning look. “But was it all just a baseless rumor?” asked Abigail. “I did meet the viscount several times, but he never did anything to make me think…” Suddenly she frowned. A handful of faded memories welled up from the back of her mind. The odd direction of the viscount’s gaze when they talked at the Earl John Doe Ball. The words he said after she and Randolph had made their vows of commitment. May the gods protect you all. She had simply assumed he was referring to herself and Randolph, but now she wasn’t so sure. Only Viscount Hamsworth himself could know his true intention. She didn’t plan to get anywhere near him in the future, so it seemed the truth would remain forever shrouded in mystery. “And speaking of balls, do you remember the kerfuffle at Emilia Godwin’s residence?” “You mean between Teresa Jennings and Margot Tudor?” “Yes. Teresa’s husband, Kevin, is currently in rehabilitation, apparently for drug addiction. Probably Jackal’s Paradise. They say he’d been spending all his time at the brothels on Rosenkreuz Street, and his behavior was just like the addicts at Nathaniel’s mansion.” “That’s…” “I wanted to look into it, but Teresa is dead and her lover, Linus Tudor, has apparently gone back to Faris. I feel like something else is going on. Do you think your fiancé would be willing to look into it for me at headquarters?” The information would no doubt be useful to Randolph as well. Connie suppressed her eagerness and nodded. Abigail’s face brightened. “Thank you, Connie. Oh yes, and I’ll arrange for you to see Aisha Huxley as well. Sebastian?” “I shall write you the most splendid introduction to Lord Huxley,” the butler announced knowingly, bringing his hand to his chest for a bow before jauntily exiting the room. “Sebastian is very talented,” Abigail said with a giggle. “I’m sure the Huxleys will be contacting you very soon.” “Oh!” Connie exclaimed when she saw the look on her face. “What’s the matter?” Abigail asked. Connie shook her head. It wasn’t anything important. Only that she had thought Lucia and Abigail looked nothing alike— But they had exactly the same sunny smile. The girl was made of air. Nobody paid any attention to her. Even when they looked at her, they acted like they couldn’t see her. Which made sense, if she was made of air. She liked shiny things. She knew that people laughed at her behind her back for being gloomy and dismal. That was why she never told anyone. Shiny things that drew everyone’s attention existed in a separate universe from her. Maybe that was the reason she was pulled so strongly to them. Lately, what she liked more than anything was Scarlett Castiel, who had debuted in society just last year. The debutante ball was a grand affair held only once a year at Moldavite Palace, where the king and queen lived. The girl happened to be the same age as Scarlett, and they were together in the grand hall. Dressed in a fiery red dress, Scarlett was more beautiful than anyone else there. Her overwhelming presence outshined even the king and queen. From that day on, the girl’s eyes were always on Scarlett. She was all the girl saw. Maybe she was obvious about it, but it didn’t matter. After all, she was made of air. Nobody noticed her. Or so she thought. “You’re Aisha Spencer, aren’t you? Did you want something?” It happened after they had been to several balls together. She was staring at Scarlett as usual when their eyes suddenly met. Scarlett’s words pierced her like an arrow, and she shrank back. There were the glossy black waves of her hair and the jewel-like amethyst eyes. The porcelain skin and the moist lips. The supple limbs. Scarlett Castiel was standing right in front of her, the invisible Aisha. “You were looking at me, weren’t you? You were doing it last time, too, and the time before that. What in the world do you want?” “U-um, m-my name…” It was all she could do to stutter a few words. Scarlett frowned slightly. It was enough to make Aisha’s heart contract. “It’s Aisha, isn’t it? Aisha Spencer.” “H-how did you know…?” She’d said her name again. The girl’s face felt hot. She didn’t understand what was happening. “Because we’ve already met. At the debutante party at Moldavite Palace.” “You r-remembered…” That was several months ago. To Aisha, it was a lifetime, but to Scarlett, the time must have passed in a flash. Her heart pounded. She could hardly breathe. She pressed her hand to her chest. “Just who do you think I am?” Scarlett gazed down at her intimidatingly, her chin held high and her jewel-like eyes narrowed. Aisha gasped at Scarlett’s haughty beauty. Then she realized something. She was a goddess. Scarlett was a goddess—Aisha’s goddess. Her eyes grew blurry. She blinked, and a hot tear rolled down her cheek. She realized she was crying. “So then, let’s get everything in order.” Connie was sitting at her bureau, her sleeves pushed up and a feather pen in her hand. Several sheets of paper were on the desk in front of her. She was preparing to write down all the information she had so far. At the top of the first sheet, she wrote, Ten years ago. “First, there’s the attempted assassination of Crown Princess Cecilia ten years ago. The incident with the poisoned water jug at her house. I’ve heard the rumors—but why did you become a suspect in the first place, Scarlett?” “Like that scheming woman said, one of my earrings was found next to the water jug at the Luze residence. It was a moonstone teardrop. Cecilia’s maid supposedly found it. Pieces of moonstone large enough to make into jewelry are very rare, so she must have thought of me right away. Unfortunately, I had visited the Luze residence a few hours earlier. I went there to get Enrique. We had a date to see a play that day. Even if he was a prince, I wanted him to feel ashamed for jilting me.” Connie had heard the story about her marching into the Luze residence. It was one of the legends about Scarlett Castiel, the wicked vixen. According to the rumors, she pushed past the servants who tried to stop her, barging into the drawing room to slap Cecilia across the face and drag Enrique out by the scruff of his neck. Judging by the look on Scarlett’s face right now, that probably wasn’t far from the truth. Below Ten years ago, she wrote, Cecilia. “I’ve been told that when the Viscount Luze first heard about it, he planned to pretend it never happened. Most likely he didn’t want to make enemies of a duke’s family. However, it seems that the maid who found the earing loved her mistress very much. Fearing for Cecilia’s safety, she went straight to the Security Force with the earring and filed a report.” “…Wait a second. Was the earring really yours?” Moonstone was a milky mineral with a rainbow sheen. No commoner and very few nobles could afford such a mystically beautiful and rare jewel. Only the highest-ranked nobles would be able to wear something like that on a regular basis. “No,” Scarlett said immediately. “I did own teardrop moonstone earrings, but at the time of the incident, both of them were in my possession.” “Did you tell—” “Of course I did. I told the investigator who came to my house to question me. I think he only came as a formality. At the very least, I don’t think I was their prime suspect at that stage. He asked me to show him the earrings, so I thrust them right under his nose. Then he asked if he could take them with him to verify, and I smiled and told him to do as he pleased. After all, everything I wore was made expressly for me by jewelers. Even if the earring the maid found looked like mine, if the investigator had gone to the workshop and asked for the drawings used to design it, he would have known I was telling the truth. That’s what I thought.” Custom-made earrings would be slightly different from off-the-shelf ones, and some jewelers put their own stamp on their work. It did seem that if they’d looked into it, they would have learned Scarlett was telling the truth. So why hadn’t her name been cleared? Scarlett must have guessed Connie’s thoughts, because she narrowed her eyes and continued. “A few days later, they came out with the results of their investigation. They said that one of the earrings I gave them was fake. They accused me of having it made in a hurry when I found out the investigator was coming. In other words, someone switched my earring in the safe at the Security Force headquarters with the one that was dropped at the Luze residence.” Connie stared at her in shock. Her feather pen rolled out of her hand and onto the sheet of paper. “I was charged with lying to the investigator and obstructing his investigation. After some other developments, they decided to search our mansion, and the king gave them permission to do so. Or rather, if the king hadn’t ordered it, no one would have been able to do such a thing at the Castiel house. As you already know, they found a bottle of half-used poison in my room—and arrested me on the spot.” According to the rumors, Cecilia had tried to stop the execution even though she was the victim. When Connie asked Scarlett if that was true, she snorted. “Sure, on the surface. She did come to see me once when I was locked up alone in my cell. She said it was a pity things had turned out like this. I don’t know what her true feelings were, but we’re talking about the kind of she-devil who would make a move on another woman’s fiancé. And the crown prince, at that. That alone should prove she’s rotten to the core.” “Did you think she was the one who set you up?” Connie asked, pulling herself together. “You think she’s suspicious?” “Yes. Until recently, I thought it was all an act she’d orchestrated herself. After all, she benefited more than anyone else from my death.” The daughter of a country viscount had become crown princess. It was like a fairy tale. “But wait,” Connie said, puzzled. “Only until recently?” “Yes. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure anymore. I mean, the woman doesn’t seem satisfied at all.” Connie thought back to their meeting at the Elbaite Detached Palace. From start to finish, Cecilia’s smile had been coldly artificial. “…Then do you think she might not be involved at all?” “No. At the very least, she’s keeping a secret.” “A secret?” “That redheaded journalist talked about it, remember? How Cecilia Luze was the daughter of a whore and grew up at an orphanage?” Connie set down her feather pen, crossed her arms, and groaned. “We can’t exactly trust what Amelia Hobbes says…” “Maybe not, but Kevin Jennings, who seems to have discovered the truth, has been immobilized. And it’s a fact that no one had ever seen Viscount Luze’s daughter until she showed up at the debutante ball. It’s odd when you think about it.” Connie jotted down “prostitute’s daughter,” “Luze domain,” and “Kevin” beneath “Cecilia.” “If that’s true,” Scarlett went on, “then the rumors about Cecilia sneaking out to the castle district might have to do with her meeting that boy at the orphanage she was close with. Cici, was it?” The girl seems to have pledged her love to a boy at the orphanage. I think the name was Sarsy or Cici, something like that. That was what Amelia had said. “But if she had someone like that, why would she marry His Highness…?” “People often marry without love. She’s a noble, after all. I always thought she’d arranged the assassination attempt to become crown princess, but even after ten years, she still seems to hate Enrique, and she doesn’t seem obsessed with money or power. I wondered if her family was pulling the strings, but a country viscount wouldn’t have that much power. Also, she seems to have cut most of her family ties. So what in the world can that woman be after?” Connie had no idea. After thinking for a moment, she left a gap on the paper and wrote, Cici. “And it’s not just what happened ten years ago,” Scarlett went on. “Something is going on right now, and Cecilia is part of it. On the day the seventh prince of Faris or whoever it was got kidnapped, a trader came to see Cecilia at the palace. The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence.” She was talking about the trader named Vado. He had apparently been banned from the castle over the miscarriage herbs, but Cecilia had supposedly been close with him for a long time. “Speaking of which, the young man Kate Lorraine mentioned in her testimony was called Salvador, wasn’t he?” Scarlett asked. Connie wrote down the words “Vado” and “Salvador,” and then noticed something. They were similar. “Both are unusual names. Could that be a coincidence?” Scarlett asked. “But what—” “Randolph said the kidnapper and the man named Salvador both belonged to Daeg Gallus. If the trader named Vado and Salvador are one person, then we can probably assume Cecilia has some connection to the organization. And according to Kate Lorraine, the kidnappers had something to do with Jackal’s Paradise being sold on Rosenkreuz Street. Ugh. That would mean Cecilia is a truly wicked person. Enrique really has no taste in women.” Jackal’s Paradise. Connie was hearing that phrase a lot lately. “…The woman who collapsed at the Earl John Doe Ball had it, the dealers were selling it on Rosenkreuz Street, Duke Theodore’s brother was addicted to it…and it’s all the same hallucinogen,” she mused. “And don’t forget Kevin Jennings,” Scarlett added. Connie looked down at the paper. Kevin’s name was connected to Cecilia’s. Which meant it was possible that Cecilia also had some connection to Jackal’s Paradise. “Does that mean the kidnappings of Ulysses and Kate and the plan to get more people hooked on Jackal’s Paradise are all the work of Daeg Gallus…?” Randolph had said it was a huge organization that he had been tracking for years. She felt like the closer to it she got, the more insidious it appeared. As she wrote, something occurred to her. She’d started out talking about what happened ten years ago, but before she knew it, she was writing about the present. Did that mean the events of a decade ago were connected to what was happening right now? “We’ve forgotten something important,” Scarlett said with an unusually serious expression. “You were attacked by Daeg Gallus, too.” Connie gasped. She was right. “The man who kidnapped Kate Lorraine was looking for Lily’s key, wasn’t he?” Scarlett said. Kiriki kirikuku. A spell to show you who the bad guys are. Who had the boy who told it to her said he’d heard it from? And what had Lily Orlamunde hidden behind the painting? “A moment ago, I said that something is going on right now. That wasn’t quite right.” Scarlett’s voice was terribly quiet. “Something has been going on in this kingdom for the entire past ten years.” That “something” was probably to blame for Lily’s death. “And it must somehow be related to my execution.” “…Yes.” Connie nodded, looking down at the sheets of paper covered in a jumble of words and lines. She shouldn’t have tried something she had no experience with. It didn’t seem like looking over her work would lead her much of anywhere. Still, she wanted to add a few more words—Lily Orlamunde’s last words. Destroy the Holy Grail of Eris. “D-don’t you think this looks funny on me…?” Connie was standing in front of a full-length mirror, gazing intently at her reflection. She was wearing a creamy-lemon-colored dress with a white collar and a narrow yellow ribbon around the waist. The design was nice, but she felt like it looked out of place on someone so plain. Scarlett raised her eyebrows slightly. “It looks good on you. After all, I’m the one who chose it,” she declared flatly. That thought put Connie at ease. Randolph had asked her out a few days ago. Apparently, Kyle had advised him that “men who can’t arrange dates send a message that they’re incompetent.” Connie couldn’t help smiling when she received his letter full of sincere apologies. Still, the point of their outing wasn’t to deepen their relationship. It was so he could report the progress he’d made on Abigail’s request regarding Kevin Jennings and explain the details of the attempted poisoning ten years ago. It was all business—as was to be expected from a temporary fiancé. That didn’t bother Connie. Nevertheless, the realization flitted across her mind that this was the first time they were going out alone on a “date.” It wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t especially excited. Absolutely not. Still, Randolph was the well-born son of a duke, and was himself an earl. Connie couldn’t disgrace him by showing up in a shabby dress. That was her only concern. She looked at her reflection again. The face that looked back at her was plain and completely lacking in confidence. Her hair was prettily braided and pinned up with an ornament decorated with tiny pearls. She was wearing light makeup, and her lips were the color of ripe fruit. Her brother Layli had told her she looked pretty, but she still threw an anxious glance back at Scarlett. “D-don’t you think this lipstick is too bright…?” Scarlett raised her eyebrows again. “It looks good on you. After all, I’m the one who chose it.” Connie nodded, somewhat reassured, and gave herself a final look. The girl in the mirror was more done up than usual, even somewhat presentable. But something felt off. She felt somehow silly. “S-Scarlett,” she wailed, looking for help. Finally at her wit’s end over Connie’s nonsense, Scarlett scowled. “Oh, come off it! I wouldn’t make a mistake in judgment, would I? All you have to do is hold your head high!” She was like an earthshaking bolt of lightning in midsummer. His Excellency the Grim Reaper arrived precisely on time to pick Connie up and take her not to some scenic riverbank or fashionable play or street lined with stylish shops—but instead to the history museum next to the city hall in Saint Mark’s Square. “Mr. Unpredictable…,” Scarlett moaned, pressing her temples as if she had a headache. “B-but I’d fall asleep if we went to a play…!” “Dammit, I should have said from the start I didn’t want to go to the square.” In fact, Randolph had asked her before they got into the carriage if it was all right to go to Saint Mark’s Square, even though Scarlett said she had no memory of the execution. Scarlett had indicated it truly was fine by her, so Connie had told him it wouldn’t be a problem. “What in the world can he be thinking, taking you to a moldy old place like this for a date? If I were you, I’d turn around and take that carriage home without a single word.” “B-but the building is new…! And it doesn’t seem moldy…!” “That’s not what I meant, idiot!” The museum had been built only a few years earlier. On the day of Scarlett’s execution, a bolt of lightning had struck city hall and set it on fire. Fortunately, it hadn’t destroyed the building, but some documents had burned up. A few of them were quite valuable historical papers. The history museum had been built as part of the recovery effort. Scarlett had been grumbling about it, but she quieted down just before they went inside. Slowly, she turned around to look out on the square. She was surveying the site of her own execution. “…I really don’t feel anything. I can’t remember any of it. Was I really executed here?” she asked. Scarlett might not remember, but Connie did. Connie had seen the moment ten years ago when Scarlett’s head was sliced off. The color of the blood. The smell of it. The human cruelty that made her hair stand on end. But she hesitated to say any of that to Scarlett. Instead, she nodded vaguely. Although it was the middle of summer, the inside of the museum was dark and cool. Items of historical value were vulnerable to light and heat, apparently. Stifling a yawn, Connie pretended to be interested in the rows of old suits of armor, swords, and insect-eaten books. “Actually, Kyle gave me the idea to come here,” Randolph said as if he’d just remembered. “He said I ought to take my fiancée somewhere quiet, natural—where we didn’t ordinarily go. I figured this place met all the requirements.” “I finally understand. This man is fatally lacking in good taste,” Scarlett declared solemnly. There was an awkward silence. Perhaps noticing his fiancée’s expression, Randolph tilted his head. “Have you been here before?” Connie lowered her eyebrows in consternation and shook her head. “No. Is this your first time, too?” “Actually, I’ve been here once before. The Orlamunde family donated something to the museum. The director gave Lily and me a tour.” For a moment, Connie didn’t know what to say. She could hear Scarlett clucking and calling someone an idiot in an exasperated voice. That was nothing strange, Connie told herself. After all, they’d been married. Lily Orlamunde had been Randolph’s wife for real. Married couples did things like that. It was only natural. All the same, for some reason Connie felt a pang in her heart. A voice whispered in the back of her mind. So he used to call her Lily. Her feet grew heavy, as if her shoes had suddenly turned to lead. “See that book over there? It’s one of the holy scriptures Saint Anastasia is said to have received from a messenger of the goddesses. They say that, a few generations ago, the Marquess Orlamunde won it in a black-market auction. The original manuscript is badly damaged, so the museum almost never exposes it to open air. That’s it there, in the case. The volume in front of it is a reproduction—what’s the matter?” Having noticed that his fiancée was no longer beside him, Randolph looked around in surprise. Connie, who had stopped walking a few paces back, looked down. She didn’t want him to see the expression on her face. He stared at her for a moment before nodding like he understood. “We’ve been walking a lot this morning. You must be hungry. Why don’t we get something to eat?” Outside, the square was sparkling under the brilliant midday sun. Oddly enough, a fashionable café with an outdoor terrace shared the same building as the history museum. After Connie had ordered a glass of fruit water, Randolph told her he would need a little more time to do the favor Abigail had asked of him. “The crown princess owns the hospital where Kevin is being treated, and some complicated paperwork is required. Plus, I can’t figure out where Linus Tudor went, though I’ve heard he’s back in Faris.” Connie nodded quietly. There did seem to be more than met the eye to the case of Kevin Jennings. The conversation shifted to the events of ten years ago and the fact that Scarlett’s earring had been switched with a replica. “So she thinks it was someone with access to the safe? Just about any investigator from headquarters can get in there whenever they want. There’s a log of when people go in and out, but that could easily be falsified.” “Oh, I see…” That would make identifying the criminal difficult. Connie was sighing over this fact when her fruit water arrived. Randolph had ordered a cup of tea and a sandwich. Fluffy slices of well-browned bread filled with sliced steak smothered in sauce sent up a mouthwatering aroma. Randolph must have noticed her eyeing it, because he nudged the plate toward her and told her to help herself. “I checked for records of the earring that Scarlett was supposed to have dropped at the Luze residence…” Connie took a sip of her fruit water as she listened. It was icy cold and refreshingly tart. “It seems the fake earring wasn’t real moonstone. It was a type of what they call silver-shell. That’s rare and expensive itself, but nothing like moonstone. The appearance is similar, but silver-shell is more fragile and harder to work with.” Since Randolph had said she could have his sandwich, she unabashedly dug in. Juicy meat filled her mouth. “What about the design?” Scarlett asked, evidently having run out of patience with Connie, who was devouring her meal with relish. Connie gulped down the bite in her mouth—and promptly choked on it. Randolph stood up wordlessly and patted her back until she tearfully swallowed a mouthful of fruit water and cleared her throat again. “Scarlett wanted to know about the design,” she said after a deep breath. “Identical to hers,” he replied, handing Connie a napkin. When she gave him a confused look, he pointed to her mouth. Apparently, there was some sauce on it. She hurriedly wiped it away. “That’s where the records ended, but not many people trade in silver-shell. I asked around about who was buying it at the time, and I recognized one of the names the dealer mentioned.” Randolph paused and lowered his voice. “Spencer, as in the earl.” Spencer? Connie recognized that name, but she couldn’t remember right away where she’d heard it. As she was racking her brain, Scarlett gasped softly. “That was Aisha’s maiden name. Aisha Spencer. Ten years ago, she was still a Spencer.” Her quiet words echoed like raindrops, sending ripples across a calm pond. “Scarlett told me Aisha was an admirer of hers…,” Connie said timidly. “She was,” Randolph agreed. “And the Spencers own a number of precious metal workshops.” Scarlett folded her arms and drew her brows together in thought. “…It wouldn’t have been strange for Aisha Spencer to make a pair of earrings exactly like mine.” As Scarlett had said earlier, Aisha had a habit of ordering clothes that looked exactly like hers. “…You said you were going to the Huxley residence to speak with Aisha, didn’t you?” Randolph asked. “Yes.” As Abigail had promised, within a few days of Connie’s visit, the Viscount Huxley had sent her an invitation. “Even if Aisha was involved in the incident ten years ago, it would be hard to prosecute her unless she turned herself in. And there’s a possibility she’s involved with Daeg Gallus. Please be careful.” Connie nodded meekly. “…I will be.” Aisha was chewing her nails in irritation. She knew it was a bad habit, but she couldn’t stop. That’s how wretched her mood was. She had underestimated Constance Grail. As it turned out, she wasn’t a mere child; she was a horribly cunning and unfair young woman. She had used Abigail O’Brian of all people to get close to Aisha’s husband. Her husband, who knew nothing, was overjoyed by the opportunity to forge a connection with a duke’s household and immediately invited the Grail girl to their residence. Ever since, Aisha’s mood had been steadily worsening. Her nails were a ragged mess. If they split, it would be a pain to deal with. She took an amber-colored pipe from a drawer. This was another bad habit of hers, but she couldn’t resist the urge at the moment. The round bowl was already packed with the specially ordered leaves. She struck a match with her practiced hand and lit the pipe. She puffed until it was burning well and then took a long, slow pull. Her unsettled emotions instantly melted away as if they’d never existed. Purple smoke curled into the air and dissipated. By the time the last puff of smoke was drifting toward the ceiling, she was utterly calm. Aisha set the pipe on the table and walked over to the window. Since her rooms were on the second floor, she had a good view of the front gate. Presently, a carriage rolled onto the grounds. A girl with hazelnut hair stepped out. The second Aisha laid eyes on her, her chest began to roil again. The harder she looked at Constance Grail, the more ordinary she looked. Why did everyone say this girl reminded them of Scarlett? Emilia Godwin had told her she’d understand when she met her. Emilia was just the same as she’d been ten years ago: shrill, brainless, and obsessed with men. Constance might have been able to fool silly old Emilia, but she wouldn’t fool Aisha. Aisha knew all about Scarlett Castiel, better than anyone else. With her jewel-like amethyst eyes and her peerless noble, haughty air, she had been Aisha’s goddess. No one could take the place of Scarlett. Aisha had learned that all too well over the past ten years. She had learned her lesson. A ball without Scarlett was like a hearth without fire. Every time Aisha wished she were like Scarlett, a voice answered back. Just who do you think I am? Glancing down, Aisha tucked a knife into her dress for self-defense, just in case. A moment later, the maid announced that her guest had arrived. “Welcome to our home, Miss Grail.” “Thank you for inviting me, Lady Huxley.” Constance Grail’s curtsy did remind her of Scarlett’s. But it was just a resemblance. She wasn’t her. She lacked that divine presence that made you want to kneel at her feet. “What a surprise it was to see a messenger from the House of O’Brian arrive at the home of a lower noble. Of course, when I opened the note, I saw it was about the Grail family.” “I’m sorry about that. I simply had to meet with you.” Aisha had intended her comment as a veiled insult, but Constance responded with extreme earnestness. Aisha had been on guard, ready for a hostile response, but now she felt deflated. The words she had prepared hung uselessly in the air. She couldn’t imagine the girl had planned it that way, but in the pause, Constance continued talking. “To get straight to the point, there’s something I’d like to ask you.” So here it was. She didn’t need to hear the rest to know. The girl was going to ask about Scarlett. Chatty Emilia Godwin had only needed a few drinks to tell Aisha everything Constance had said to her. Knowing the girl’s intent in advance should make her easy to handle. Aisha was confident that she could remain calm no matter what the girl said about that time ten years ago. But she hadn’t predicted what came next. “What is that smell?” “What?” “Is it tobacco? Yes, but there’s something else.” Aisha’s heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be. “…What are you talking about?” “I have a friend with an outstanding sense of smell and memory. It seems she recognized it right away when you walked in.” The eyes looking straight at Aisha may have been ordinary, but they were also bold. “Please tell me, Lady Huxley. Why is it that you smell like Jackal’s Paradise?” She’d been found out. Gooseflesh spread on her arms. Her legs quivered. But Aisha suppressed her panic and shook her head as if nothing were wrong. “Whatever could you be talking about?” “I’m not sure if you mixed it with tobacco or bought it already mixed, but I’m certain it’s Jackal’s Paradise. Am I wrong?” “…Jackal’s Paradise? Oh, you mean that hallucinogen that was in fashion ten years ago?” she said, clapping her hands as if she’d just understood. Constance Grail stared at her silently. Cold sweat trickled down Aisha’s back. She forced a smile onto her lips and shrugged. “You must be mistaken. I’m wearing an unusual perfume today. Perhaps that’s what you smell.” “Perfume?” “Yes… It’s quite exotic. Even if I told you the name, you wouldn’t recognize it. I don’t think you can buy it anywhere.” She knew her lie was obvious, but it didn’t matter. If only she could get through the present crisis, she could smooth it over later. Constance Grail could doubt her as much as she wanted, but she had no way of proving Aisha was lying. Constance seemed to have realized Aisha wasn’t going to give her a real answer. She looked down, maybe out of frustration. But the next moment, she snorted. “You’re so bad at lying, it’s laughable.” The girl’s scornful tone brought the blood rushing to Aisha’s head. “You’re a very rude girl. I’ve had enough. Please go home.” She turned her back, pretending she was in a huff. She still had time. If Constance Grail left now, she could go to them for help right away. “Come now. You’re acting like a spoiled child, throwing a tantrum because I’ve discovered your mischief.” The amused voice most definitely belonged to the girl standing before her, and yet its suddenly haughty tone made Aisha uncomfortable. She knew that voice. She couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. There was the ordinary-looking girl with hazelnut hair and green eyes. But no, something was different. “Remember this, Aisha Spencer. You’re far ruder for trying to fool me.” The girl glaring at her, chin tipped up and eyes slightly narrowed as if she were looking at a worm, was not Constance Grail. “Just who do you think I am?” Aisha’s eyes widened. She couldn’t help wanting to prostrate herself before that overwhelming presence. “Scarlett…?” There was no way she could mistake it for anyone else. After all, Aisha knew her better than anyone. Ten years ago, Scarlett Castiel had been the center of Aisha’s world. She had high status and rare beauty, but what drew Aisha most powerfully was her fierce personality. If she deemed someone an enemy, be they young or old, man or woman, she ridiculed them, insulted them, and left them in the cold. She was probably the only one in her social circle at the time who could get away with that. Her engagement to His Highness Enrique was announced when she was twelve years old. Evidently, the two of them, along with Lily Orlamunde, had known each other since they were young. They were what people called “childhood best friends.” And considering the standing of the House of Castiel, the engagement was only natural. True, the relationship between Scarlett and His Highness may not have been the best. As one might guess from his frail appearance, Enrique was sensitive, serious, and kind. His role was always to bring Scarlett back in line. Needless to say, Scarlett was not one to bow her head in servitude. They often fought fiercely.