“Simon Darkian is in Daeg Gallus?” On hearing this news from one of his subordinates at the Royal Security Force, Commandant Duran Belsford raised his eyebrows. “That’s an exciting piece of information—but is there evidence?” “Not yet. But we may be able to pull some from a separate case.” Randolph, the subordinate in question, handed Duran the report. Duran flipped through it, his chin resting in his palm. “Saint Nicholas Hospital, eh? …Wait a second now, is Crown Princess Cecilia involved in this? That woman is a pain. Every time she’s accused of something, she cries lèse-majesté.” “I have no plans at present to pick on her. The hospital belonged to Kalvin Campbell until a few years ago, I hear. It was audited several times back then. None of the audits turned anything up, but…” Duran looked up from the report and grimaced. “Don’t tell me the auditor was Simon Darkian.” “Indeed it was.” Duran let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re right. It’s too much to be a coincidence. It’s like they’re asking us to suspect them.” “Then shouldn’t we fulfill their expectations?” Duran snorted at the joke—a rare occurrence from Randolph—and returned his focus to the report. “Unfortunately, that man doesn’t get his own hands dirty. If we’re going to find something, it’ll probably be at the accounting office that handles the books for the hospital. Have you looked into it yet?” “That would be Edmond Accounting in the Bath district. But several days ago, the company president, Edmond Park, disappeared.” “You think he figured something out? Or did they shut him up? Either way, you’d better find out where he went, and fast.” Randolph nodded, bowed, and turned around to leave. “By the way,” Duran said, “I heard Simon Ulster died.” Randolph’s hand froze in midair on its way to push open the door. “I was sure that old man wouldn’t die even if someone killed him,” Duran continued. “…He had a bad case of consumption for several years before his death,” said Randolph. “They told him he wouldn’t last long.” “That so?” Duran replied ambiguously, nodding. “You planning a funeral?” Randolph slowly turned around and shook his head. “He didn’t like to make a fuss. There will be a small gathering to inter his remains.” “When?” “Today.” Duran raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was sooner than he’d expected. He supposed Randolph’s black military uniform would work for mourning. Apparently, he planned to go straight there after giving some instructions to his staff. “You’re going alone?” Randolph frowned, confused by the question. Duran sighed and Randolph scowled, increasingly suspicious. This was a personal loss. Who in the world…? Who did he intend to suggest Randolph take with him? “Lieutenant Commander Ulster?” As Randolph was getting ready to leave, one of his staff approached him. “A messenger delivered this from your family’s domain.” The man was holding out a letter bearing the Richelieu seal. It was probably the regular report. Randolph frowned slightly, and the man flinched. After Randolph had thanked him and taken the message, he retreated. Without opening it, Randolph stuffed the letter into his pocket. A few minutes later, Kyle approached him. “You’re going out right—oh, it’s your Uncle Simon’s funeral, isn’t it?” he muttered, then cocked his head. “…Wait a minute now.” “What?” “Don’t tell me you’re going alone.” “…Is there something wrong with that?” he said. His tone was sharper than he had intended, probably owing to his earlier conversation with Duran. Kyle shook his head, a stiff smile on his face. “Nothing, nothing at all,” he said. At this point Randolph was just venting. He sighed and told Kyle he’d be back that evening, then left the office. Outside, a warm breeze was blowing under a leaden sky. Randolph had called a carriage, and after climbing in, he proceeded to open the letter from earlier. It was from his uncle, the current Duke Richelieu. It contained some formulaic condolences for Simon Ulster’s passing and the usual request for Randolph to take over the dukedom. Just as he’d expected. He stuffed the letter back into his pocket. Simon Ulster’s funeral was extremely simple and businesslike. There were hardly any mourners. Still, after they’d left, Randolph found the empty graveyard terribly quiet. As he knelt before Simon’s gravestone, a portly middle-aged woman approached him. “It’s been a long time, Junior.” Although the woman’s face was half hidden by the black lace veil on her brimless hat, he recognized her. “…Madam Smith?” Randolph blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to show up here. She must have sensed his confusion, because she smiled awkwardly. “I wanted to thank him, and apologize.” Although she went by Kimberly Smith these days, Randolph didn’t know her real name. She had been a student of his Great-Uncle Simon, but that was long ago. He had met her only a handful of times. Constance Grail had told him before that the Violet Association attacked her without reason, and his guess was they were probing for information. She’d said Madam Smith had asked her about Jackal’s Paradise. “About that ball,” she said to him. “You people tried to entrap Judge Campbell to save Abigail O’Brian, didn’t you? Your sweet little fiancée told me a few things that night, and thanks to her, we were able to catch one of the rats hiding in our garden. However, I must apologize—it seems the nest was deeper than we anticipated.” Madam Smith lowered her voice, glancing around. “The rat’s name was Edmond Park. He handled the books for the Violet Association’s Youth Committee and served as the accountant for Saint Nicholas Hospital, too. We only let our guard down for a moment, but they’ve already gotten to him. No doubt his body will turn up in a few days. I made sure his associates wouldn’t be able to get their hands on his accounting firm for now at least, but it’s only a matter of time. If you’re going to act, do it fast—before Simon Darkian does.” Edmond Park—the president of the very accounting firm Randolph had been discussing with Duran just a few hours earlier. Randolph nodded, narrowing his eyes shrewdly. Madam Smith smiled with satisfaction, then peered around in apparent surprise. “By the way, did you come alone?” she asked. How many times had he been asked that in a single day? He stared blank-faced at the woman in front of him. Duran, Kyle, now Madam Smith—what in the world were all of them after? Madam Smith must have guessed his thoughts, because she let out an exasperated sigh. “You foolish boy. Why do you think Simon left behind someone like me? Why do you think he let you join the Royal Security Force instead of keeping you by his side?” “I don’t—” “Times are changing. Before long, musty old traditions like Ulster will disappear. You don’t need to take on that responsibility. Take hold of what’s important right now. If you realize this after you’ve let go, it will be too late.” With that, Madam Smith turned and left. Randolph stood rooted to the spot, thinking about her unexpected words. He looked at the grave marker. All that lay beneath the words Simon Ulster was the man himself. He’d had no wife. But instead of being buried with the rest of the Richelieu family in their domain, he had chosen to be buried here, with the Ulster earls who had preceded him. Randolph withdrew a tin flask from his breast pocket and placed it next to the gravestone like an offering. He squatted before the grave. The flask held his great-uncle’s favorite brand of spirits. A drop of water fell onto the white gravestone, leaving a shadowlike mark. Randolph looked up. Rain was beginning to spill from the low, heavy blanket of clouds. As he watched, the storm gathered force until rain was pelting down on him. It had been raining on that day, too. Randolph slowly retraced the memory. That day—the day the carriage his parents were riding in lost traction—it had been raining just like this. The world outside his window had been dim, the whole mansion sunken in sadness. Even though it was spring, he felt the cold in his bones. All he could do was hug his shaking shoulders. “Listen to me, Randolph.” His older brother was trying desperately to stay calm, but Randolph could hear the trembling in his voice. “I’m here with you.” That was when he learned for the first time of the House of Ulster. Shortly after his parents’ funeral, a middle-aged man arrived, calling himself their great-uncle. With his loose black clothing, gray hair, and warped features, Simon Ulster was terrifying—like an evil slave trader straight out of a children’s story. In a voice that revealed no trace of emotion, Simon announced he had come to take Randolph and explained the duty imposed on the House of Richelieu. Randolph had accepted his fate quietly, with a frozen heart, but his brother was different. He grabbed Simon’s legs and flailed his fists against him, shouting again and again that he wouldn’t let him take his little brother. When he realized that his protests were having no effect, he wailed miserably, “How can such an idiotic thing be allowed to go on…?!” Never before or after did Randolph see his thoughtful, prudent brother fly into such a rage. “Wait for me, Randolph. I promise you I will bring you back. I am a powerless child now, but I’ll study hard and make connections and become a perfect lord of the domain. No one will be able to say a word against me. Great-Uncle, remember this! As long as I am lord of the House of Richelieu, we will never bring forth another Ulster…!” But his brother had died abruptly. Randolph heard that even as he lay in his sickbed, he had summoned his tutors, studying to take over the domain until the very end. Randolph would never return to the House of Richelieu, no matter how much they begged him. He would never become lord of the domain. Doing so would be going against his departed brother’s wishes. The House of Richelieu had no need for an Ulster. The rain beat down mercilessly on Randolph. The warmth had drained from his body, and his military uniform was heavy with water. In truth, he knew. Randolph was an awkward man, unable to grasp his brother’s true intentions, but he knew that wasn’t exactly what the man had wanted. And that was why the memories would probably keep coming, along with the steady rain falling in his heart. After Randolph had spent some time staring down at Simon’s grave, the rain suddenly stopped. No—he could still hear it pounding down and see it splashing onto the ground. It just wasn’t hitting him anymore. Thinking this was rather suspicious, he turned around and saw a familiar face. “…Miss Grail?” She was holding her umbrella out so that it kept the rain off Randolph as he crouched before the grave. When he looked at her, she frowned. “…It’s raining, so…” Randolph blinked at her. “…What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still fuzzy. “Um, I heard from Mr. Hughes that today was your great-uncle’s funeral.” She shrank back awkwardly. He nodded. “…Don’t you think I’m creepy?” he muttered. “……What?” she asked, giving him a confused look. “My parents, my older brother, Lily, my great-uncle—everyone around me dies. It’s like I really am some kind of Grim Reaper, isn’t it?” She stared at him as if caught off guard, then suddenly smiled. “Your fiancée,” she began in a nonchalant tone, “was cheated on by her previous fiancé, made a spectacle of herself at a ball, gets pulled into mishaps left and right, and above all, is possessed by a notorious sinner.” Randolph had no idea what to make of this unexpected response. Constance Grail grinned. “Don’t you think I’m creepy?” Randolph opened his mouth to say something, but then gave up and closed it. She smiled at him like a child who had just pulled off a prank. “Actually, Kate brought over a lemon pie today. The kind with the meringue baked on top. It’s so crispy, and when you eat it with the sweet-and-sour lemon custard, it melts in your mouth. It’s amazingly delicious. Of course, she doesn’t make it too sweet…” This fiancée of his had an awfully large appetite for her size. She particularly loved her friend Miss Lorraine’s homemade sweets, and if you left her alone with one of them, she was liable to scarf down the whole thing. He remembered how depressed she would get afterward, when her maid Marta scolded her for eating too much. He watched her animated expression as she described the pie. Suddenly, his gaze fell on her green eyes. They were like two clear worlds of their own, pulling him in. His heart thudded. A smile like a pool of sunlight spread over the face of this girl with hazelnut hair and pale green eyes as she reached her hand out toward Randolph. “Why don’t you come home with me and have some?” At the end of Diana, the seventh month, there was an incident in the Grail domain. Davis Richelieu, Randolph Ulster’s uncle and the current Duke Richelieu, paid a visit. He had, of course, announced this in advance, and the whole domain was in a state of nervous anticipation over the great lord’s arrival. The servants at the Grail family residence were particularly anxious and could be found day and night with their noses buried in the latest books on manners, ordered from the capital. Percival Ethel, the current Grail viscount, had told them they didn’t need to go to so much trouble, since the Richelieus would soon be family after all, and everything would be fine. But they dismissed him with frigid stares, pointing out that every time he said things would be fine, they weren’t. He simply didn’t understand. Apparently, Davis Richelieu had started out as a clergyman. That was why his older brother, Lewain, had belonged to the church in the Richelieu domain until the deadly accident. Maybe that was the reason Davis seemed like a fair-minded man, at least as far as Percival Ethel could tell from their written exchanges. He always treated the lower-ranking noble as an equal, and this time was no different. He could very well have settled the matter without going out of his way to visit the Grail domain in person. But he hadn’t done that. He must have been the epitome of a serious man. There was just one flaw in his personality… “Yes, yes, I do have a son. And I know he would like to take over my title. But I truly feel that the Richelieu land ought to go to Randolph. Don’t you agree that’s only proper? If it doesn’t, it would be such a wrong against the memory of poor Owen, who flew off to the land of the gods before he ever had a chance to realize his own ambitions. It would indeed be a crime against the reputation of my revered brother, Lewain.” “Yes, I see.” The man talked too much. “Don’t misinterpret that, now. Lewain was such a compassionate man, I’m sure he would have accepted any decision we made. He looked frightening, but in truth, he was the kindest person you can imagine, and his heart was as pure as an angel’s. The truly frightening one was that devil with an angel’s face—sorry, I meant my kindhearted sister-in-law, Sarah. I shiver to think of the abuse she is hurling at me from heaven at this very moment.” “I see.” “However, it seems that Randolph has no interest in carrying on the Richelieu line. Lately he hardly ever visits the domain, and he never replies to my letters. I remember how he used to adore me when he was a boy… I imagine this is how fathers of young ladies must feel…” “I see.” He had been repeating the same thing for nearly an hour now. The tea that the maid had so carefully prepared for them was completely cold. “I want that boy to have the Richelieu title.” Just as Percival Ethel was thinking what a waste it had been to open a fresh box of fancy tea for the occasion, Davis’s tone suddenly grew solemn. “I do not mean to say that there is some problem with your daughter. And of course a viscount’s daughter can become a duchess. But that is only possible with the understanding and cooperation of everyone involved. It is not an easy road to walk. I would be more than happy to introduce you to a suitable earl or marquess. I most sincerely hope that you will make the right choice.” Percival Ethel scratched his cheek. As far as he could tell, this was the situation: Davis wanted Randolph to become lord of the domain. But even though he was the son of the previous lord, he had been away for a long time. Percival had heard that both Davis and his son were excellent men, and no doubt their subjects objected to the idea of an unfamiliar master. The best strategy for a peaceful succession was no doubt for Randolph to marry the daughter of a powerful family in the domain—not the daughter of a poor viscount. The man before him had served as Duke Richelieu for over a decade. If he wanted to, he could certainly get his way by force. Percival Ethel was grateful that he had chosen not to do that. However, that was as far as his gratitude went. “Duke Richelieu,” Percival Ethel said as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. “Your proposal is not sincere in the least.” Connie learned about the incident several days after Simon Ulster’s funeral. “What, you hadn’t heard?” her gossip-loving friend Mylene Reese asked, her eyes wide. The latest trend in the capital was sparkling water with lots of frozen fruit floating in it. Supposedly it was refreshing for both the palate and the eyes. Mylene had taken her to try it at a stylish café on Anastasia Street that was popular with young people. Late Diana was the hottest time of the year. As the two friends sat under the burning sun with their fruit-filled drinks, Mylene was so taken aback, she stopped sipping entirely. Connie shot her friend a resentful glare in return. She hadn’t heard anything of the sort! “I heard it eventually came to blows, and they ended up in a tearful embrace as the sun set, and they pledged to treat one another like brothers forever after…” “That’s actually a little scary…” To put it kindly, Connie’s father, Percival Ethel, had a generous heart. To put it less kindly, he was careless about details. In fact, carelessness made up about ninety percent of his personality. He was stubborn despite his lack of forethought, and loose-lipped for a noble, but nevertheless weirdly bold and decisive. In other words, he was completely unreliable. Connie had inherited his ordinary looks, but she was secretly grateful she had been spared his personality. Just as she was thanking the Moirai for this, however, she glimpsed Scarlett nodding fervently and muttering, “So you take after your father! Now I understand.” Unbelievable. Still… Connie sighed. She knew she and Randolph must seem like a strange match from the outside. That was only natural. Randolph was a high noble. He was tall and manly and good at his job. Sure, he was a little scary, but underneath it all, he was kind and generous. He would never hesitate to help if she was in trouble. As for his unpredictability, she found it endearing. She, on the other hand, was the daughter of a poor viscount without any backing. She was short and plain and foolish, she came with a ghost, and she was always getting into trouble. She had seen His Excellency turn his poker face up at the ceiling in consternation countless times. They had both agreed to their fake engagement, but still, she could understand how people might see her as baggage. Even optimistic Connie knew the current situation couldn’t go on forever. Their relationship had begun for mutually selfish reasons. Randolph had said as much himself. She knew it must soon come to an end. But for some reason, as she sat there wondering just how much longer it might last, she felt a tightness in her chest. “What’s wrong?” Mylene asked, clearly puzzled by her friend’s unusually despondent expression. Connie hurriedly pasted a smile on her face. “Nothing. I was just wondering how to teach my father a lesson. Anyway, how is your work?” Mylene wanted to be a news reporter and had been writing unsolicited articles to submit to all the big publishing companies. “Very well, thank you!” she answered cheerfully. “Right now, I’m covering the Edmond Park murder.” “Edmond Park?” “Yes, the president of the accounting firm whose body was found in an alley in Bath the other day. At first, I thought it was just another violent theft, but it strikes me as awfully suspicious. The Security Force is involved, too. If it’s a reprisal killing, I’m sure it has to do with his work. He does the books for the Raven Trading Company, Saint Nicholas Hospital, and—” “Did she say Saint Nicholas Hospital?” Scarlett asked, raising her eyebrows. Connie gasped. “Wait, Mylene, is Saint Nicholas Hospital the place that Earl Campbell used to run?” she asked in a fluster. Mylene’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised you know that. Don’t tell anyone, but I heard Edmond Park and Earl Campbell were gambling buddies.” “Did this Edmond person, by chance, also do the books for a citizens’ organization?” “You mean the Violet Association? How in the world do you know that?” “A little bird told me.” “I heard they inspected the office but didn’t find anything. Nothing at his house, either.” Mylene didn’t sound at all sorry about that fact. To the contrary, the excited glint in her eyes reminded Connie of when Mylene had discovered Lady Purick, her avowed “enemy for life,” cheating on her husband. As Connie gazed at Mylene, the latter stuck out the tip of her tongue and gave in. “Actually, there’s a certain gambling den Edmond used to frequent. The place advertises itself as a cafeteria. I’m sure there must be some clues there.” The cafeteria was called The Goat’s Ankle. “What an odd name…,” Connie said. “I think it’s gambler’s lingo for dice,” Scarlett explained. “I heard that, in the old days, the ones made from ivory and deer antlers were expensive, so commoners used ones made from sheep or goat bones.” In other words, experienced gamblers would know right away that the place wasn’t just a cafeteria. It was located in a neighborhood some distance north of the castle district. Not far away was a bridge over the Nuer River, which cut through the city from north to south, and on the other side was a slum. Maybe that was why people said the neighborhood wasn’t very safe. Even though the sun was still high, Connie could smell alcohol, cigarette smoke, and various rotten things here and there. The main street was lined with the kind of sordid establishments that made her want to hide her eyes. Even Mylene had said she relied on an informant rather than coming here herself. And yet… “Here it is,” Scarlett announced boldly, her hand on her hip. Connie covered her face with her hands and slumped her shoulders. Why was this happening? “Let’s go in—hey, what’s the matter with you?” They had split up with Mylene a few hours earlier. It was bad enough that Scarlett had pressured her into rushing over here, insisting they had to act before the enemy. An informer would be too slow, she’d said. But now, as they stood outside The Goat’s Ankle, Connie realized she had a bigger problem. What was she supposed to do when they got inside? If she came right out and asked about Edmond Park, the best she could expect would be for the gamblers to wrap her in a straw mat and toss her into the Nuer. “Leave it to me!” Scarlett announced proudly. But Connie was worried her attitude, risky enough at a fancy ball, would be like a spark on tinder here, where everyone was itching for a fight. In fact, all Connie could imagine was an imminent explosion. Just then, someone addressed her from behind. “…What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Flinching, she turned around to find a small, plain, plump woman standing behind her. Connie figured she must be someone who lived in the neighborhood. “Oh no, not Kimberly Smith!” Scarlett exclaimed in surprise. Connie’s eyes widened. This woman was Kimberly Smith? She didn’t seem to be a vagrant, but her cheeks were sunken, her skin was sooty, she was wearing rags, and most importantly— “You’re not wearing pink…!” Connie couldn’t help shouting. The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “Well, well, you’re not as dense as I thought,” she muttered, sounding surprised. Scarlett snorted disdainfully. Connie coughed. “So? What are you doing here? This isn’t exactly the kind of place innocent noble girls come for a cup of tea.” “Um, well… I’m just…” As Connie glanced around nervously, Kimberly Smith sighed. “Damn it, you’re worse than a rabbit who fell in with a pack of wolves. If I leave you alone, you’ll only get in the way, so I suppose I have no choice. Come along.” With that, she pushed open the door to The Goat’s Ankle as casually as if it were the entrance to her own house. Even in midafternoon, the place was dark inside. There weren’t many customers, but the ones who were there looked shady. When they noticed that two women had just walked in, they started whistling and ogling them with interest. Connie shrank back reflexively, but Kimberly strode confidently into the establishment, which wasn’t especially large. A man so tall Connie had to look up to see his face stepped into her path. “Whad’ll ya have?” he asked coldly, piercing them with his gaze. “Let me see. Can you recommend something?” Kimberly asked. “The bone-in meat.” “I’ll have that,” Kimberly said, stepping toward the proprietor. “Oh my, that’s large. Can you cut it into bite-sized pieces?” She smiled slightly. “You know, so the front and back add up to seven.” The man squinted and looked her over from head to toe. Then he shrugged. “Oh, that’s what you’re here for. Sorry, the basement’s not open yet.” “What a pity. I could wait here, but I don’t think I will. After all, I only came to get my friend’s special reserve. Ed told me you keep it here for him. See, I have the key.” She pulled something the size of her pinky from her bosom and flashed it at him. The man scowled, apparently thinking it over, then nodded. “This way.” He gestured with his chin for them to step behind the counter. A storage area with a handle was built into the floor of the narrow passage. He lifted the lid. Instead of provisions, it revealed a staircase leading underground. Connie gaped. The man went in first. Kimberly followed without hesitation, and finally Connie stepped gingerly down after. In contrast to the ramshackle cafeteria upstairs, a luxurious, stylish room stretched before her eyes. Apparently, the man had not been lying when he said it wasn’t open yet, because there was no one else in sight. There were several round tables with cards and dice set out on them. This must have been the gambling house. Toward the back were several rooms that seemed to be reserved for special guests. The man led them into one of the rooms and told them to wait. Kimberly took the liberty of selecting a glass from the bottle-lined shelves and pouring an amber liquid into it. “Did you come here to find out about Edmond Park?” she asked Connie. “Y-yes.” “Who told you?” “A f-friend. An aspiring journalist.” “My, you have good connections,” she said, looking interested. “You’re Randolph Ulster’s fiancée, aren’t you?” She took a sip of the shimmering amber liquid. “I’ve got a connection to the House of Ulster myself.” “You do?” “Do you know what the name Ulster means?” It was simply a subsidiary title held by the Richelieu family, as far as Connie knew. Or was there something more? Maybe her uncertainty showed on her face, because Kimberly set down her glass and whispered in her ear. “The Ulsters were originally executioners who dispatched foreign enemies of the royal family. Of course, none of that was made public.” Her tone was casual, but her words were not. Connie froze. “In that sense, I’m an Ulster. There aren’t enough of us to call it an organization, but for generations, members of the Richelieu family have served as its leaders. Oh, but in Lewain’s generation—Randolph’s father, that is—the Richelieu family didn’t put forward an Ulster. At the time, Simon was still in good health, so they didn’t need to. Now, as you know, Randolph has carried on the Ulster name. Even in the Richelieu family, only the duke himself and the man who takes the name know about this.” “Exe…cutioners?” Connie couldn’t think straight. “That’s right,” Kimberly said, drinking down the rest of her spirits. “In other words, they were secret agents of the royal family. Of course, this all ended several decades ago. These days they have the Royal Security Force, so there’s no need to use the Ulsters for such matters. In particular, since King Ernst took the throne, the Ulsters have become a mere shell of what they once were. It’s true that’s one reason why Faris was able to play off our weakness, and you could say the king and his advisers have taken peace for granted. But look at Randolph. He trained as a secret agent, but now he’s in the army. And yet he’s still so stuck on the old traditions. It must be the way Simon raised him.” I wonder, thought Connie. What if this was the reason Randolph didn’t want to inherit the Richelieu title or get married? “Why are you telling me this?” Connie asked. If Kimberly knew that much, she probably also knew that Connie’s engagement to Randolph was fake. “Simon Ulster was a hopelessly stubborn man,” she said abruptly. “That blasted old fool went and died without the least concern for my feelings. He didn’t call for me, not even at the very end. Ultimately, I couldn’t overcome that damned Ulster curse. But after his funeral, I had a thought. Maybe I had already given up the fight from the start. After all, I told myself he wasn’t interested, and I didn’t push it any further.” Kimberly stopped talking and peered into Connie’s face with an amused expression. “But you’re not very good at reading the room, are you?” “Huh?” “You’re bad at lying, and your face is like a window straight into your thoughts.” “Huhh?” “And when left alone, you go and do the most infuriatingly absurd things…” “Huhhh?” Was Kimberley insulting her? If so, should she accept the challenge? As she was earnestly trying to decide what to do, the man returned, interrupting their conversation. He was holding what looked like a ledger. “Ed was killed, wasn’t he? This thing seems dangerous. I didn’t know how to get rid of it.” He handed the ledger to Kimberly, glanced around, then playfully held up his empty hands. When they went back upstairs, the cafeteria was a little livelier. Connie wondered if it was just a busier time of day. As before, the customers all seemed to be shady men. She thought Kimberly would leave right away, but instead she sat down at a table toward the back of the room and ordered two beers. “Oh, um, I, I don’t drink…!” “You’re going to burst, you say? Unbelievable…” “What?!” Connie exclaimed in confusion. Just then, she felt Kimberly hand her something under the table. She started to pull it out to see what it was, but Kimberly sent her a piercing stare. “Don’t look down. Put it in your purse without taking your eyes off me.” Connie realized she was holding the ledger. She gasped and looked at Kimberly, who smiled placidly. “This is all the help I can give you.” “What do you mean?” “There’s a door near the back of the cafeteria. Pretend you’re going to the restroom and just leave. I’ve called someone to pick you up.” Connie blinked in confusion. “He’s an employee of mine. He ought to be posing as a merchant at a stall. Find him and ask him what he’s selling. The passwords are brandy and soda water.” “But what about you…?” “I have some business to attend to.” Kimberly smiled and glanced around the cafeteria. Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “I did think it was strange that a godforsaken place like this would suddenly get a rush of customers,” Scarlett sneered, narrowing her eyes. In other words, the new customers were— “I can handle this alone. I don’t need you here holding me back. If you get my drift, run along to the bathroom! And make sure you’re back before the foam is gone from my beer!” Connie hesitated. “I’ll let you choose,” Scarlett jumped in threateningly. “You can either tell those little feet of yours to start walking, or you can let me do it for you!” Connie slowly stood up. As she stepped away from the table, Kimberly said, “I never expected to see an Ulster at a loss for what to do.” Connie heard the click of a gun being cocked. “So look after Junior for me, will you?” Connie bit her lip, turned away from Kimberly, and started to walk. As she pushed open the back door and stepped outside, she heard a roar and then a gunshot, perfectly timed with her exit. Her heart skipped a beat. She was about to walk back inside when she felt the sting of static electricity. It was Scarlett. “That is not your job right now.” Words of protest flew to Connie’s lips instinctively, but she swallowed them back. Scarlett was right. As she walked forward, she caught sight of a merchant’s stall, just as Kimberly had promised. A man was sitting cross-legged on a tarp spread on the ground in a dusty alley. He seemed to be selling spices and dried fruit. Connie walked up to him. “Excuse me, what are you selling?” she asked. “Whatever you need,” he answered. His voice sounded young; he was probably in his twenties. He was nimbly peeling an apple with a knife held in one hand. Perhaps it would be his lunch. Connie wasn’t sure if he was the backup Kimberly had been talking about. “…Do you have brandy?” she asked timidly. The merchant slowly looked up at her. He stopped peeling the apple and asked, “How do you take it?” “With soda water.” The man silently stood and, leaving his wares where they lay, wrapped his arm around Connie’s shoulder. “Let’s go. The carriage is waiting over there.” “Wait, Kimberly is still inside,” Connie said. “If you’re here, that means you have the ledger, doesn’t it? That is our objective. Or did Madam Smith tell you to rescue her?” His tone left no room for argument. When he noticed that Connie was staring at him, frozen in shock, he smiled soothingly. “It’s fine, I’ve already called in support. And she’s no amateur herself. She’s the only female disciple the legendary Simon Ulster ever accepted.” Long after sunset, Randolph Ulster was sitting in a room at the Security Force headquarters, pressing his finger to his temple and sighing. “How many times do I have to tell you? Never act on your own!” He was absolutely right. Connie slumped her shoulders, hunched her back, and apologized. “I’m s-sorry…” Instantly, Scarlett devilishly lifted her chin and said, “Oh, but she wasn’t alone. I was with her.” The word remorse was clearly nowhere in her vocabulary. Obviously, that argument was absurd. Connie hurriedly placed her pointer finger over her lips. “Scarlett, be quiet! You’ll make His Excellency angry!” “Idiot! He can’t hear me.” “Oh, right,” Connie said, relieved. “…You know, I can generally guess what she’s saying,” Randolph interjected coldly. He lowered his eyelids and glared at her. Connie felt the blood drain from her face. Randolph sighed again. “As for Edmond Park’s ledger, which you so kindly provided, it did contain evidence of illegal activity. This will allow us to have Simon Darkian dismissed from his post. Deborah, too, if things go well. Kyle looked happier than I’ve seen him in years as he prepared the warrant request. I haven’t heard the man hum like that since he broke up that ring of southern slavers a few years back.” This was no doubt Randolph’s way of thanking Connie. But she wasn’t the one he should be thanking for safely retrieving the ledger. She bit her lip and asked him the question that had been bothering her. “Um, what about Miss Smith…?” “She’s safe. She hurt her arm and is being patched up at the public hospital, but I think they’ll let her go home in a few days.” “Oh, thank goodness!!!” Connie was so relieved, she thought she might collapse to the floor then and there. “…What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?” Randolph asked, gazing at her. Connie blinked at him in confusion, then shook her head. “I see,” he said, and stood up, his face blank as ever. “There’s a carriage waiting for you downstairs. I’ll walk you to the front door.” Randolph said he and his colleagues would be up all night preparing to arrest the Darkians. If all went well, the warrant would be issued the following morning, and they would go straight to the couple’s home to lay siege. “If we drag our feet, who knows what they might do to interfere.” “Yes, indeed,” Connie said. Thinking back on recent events, she couldn’t help agreeing. Having run out of things to say, they fell silent. Connie was beginning to feel anxious, but no topic of conversation magically presented itself. They walked silently through the hallway and down the stairs. Finally, when the spacious entryway came into sight, Randolph spoke. “By the way, I got a letter from my uncle last night. He said I didn’t have to inherit the title if I didn’t want to. In exchange, he asked that I come see him more often.” He was probably referring to the incident Mylene had told her about. She could see her father and the duke vividly in her mind’s eye and couldn’t help grimacing. “I’m so sorry my father caused so much trouble for Duke Richelieu…” “Sorry?” Randolph asked, sounding puzzled. “I’d say if anyone was being unreasonable, it was my uncle. But he’s finally been freed from the curse of obligation.” Randolph seemed genuinely pleased for his uncle. For some reason, Connie’s chest tightened. Then what about you? But she wasn’t brave enough to voice the question. Noticing her sudden silence, Randolph cocked his head. “What’s the matter?” His cerulean eyes were as still as a calm sea. Connie took a moment to catch her breath before shaking her head. “Nothing,” she said. Shortly thereafter, Simon Darkian was imprisoned for the crime of falsifying public documents. But the charges against his wife, Deborah, were dropped owing to insufficient evidence of her involvement. However, during the investigation, her part in other crimes, including smuggling of illegal drugs and human trafficking, came to light, and she was sent for the time being to the Rudolph Convent outside the city. “Which means Daeg Gallus has lost its biggest backers,” San said with a vicious smile, wrapping her arm impolitely around the back of a luxurious divan in the O’Brian residence’s drawing room. She looked completely at home, like some old family friend. In addition to San, Connie, Eularia, and the mistress of the house, Abigail, were also present. The group of four had assembled under the guise of a ladies’ tea party. Abigail took a sip of her tea and tilted her head. “But what about Cecilia? She’s a crown princess who can make grown men quake in their boots.” “Of course she’s powerful, too, but not like the Darkians,” San answered. “Her position is too prominent. Plus, her main weapon is popular support. If she slips up and loses that, she’ll have nothing. Her job is background assistance. For instance, she might receive orders from a trader acting as messenger and communicate it to moles like the Darkians. Given her status, no one would think twice about her meeting regularly with the most elite nobles.” San gave a wry smile. “I’d bet anything it was Cecilia who helped kidnap Ulysses.” The day the prince was kidnapped, Cecilia’s favorite trader, Vado, was at the Elbaite Detached Palace. What’s more, he was carrying a wicker basket more than large enough to hide a child. “I wonder how deep Simon Darkian’s involvement was in the kidnapping,” Abigail muttered to no one in particular, before turning to the visitors from Faris. “By the way, do you have any news on that front?” “Nothing much right now,” San answered. “Roderick, the second prince, is still shutting himself away like a hermit, and Theophilis, the fourth prince, is already acting like he’s king. Apparently, he and his lackeys have decided on a date for the coronation. Allie is locked up in the tower, and if nothing changes, she could be burned at the stake any day now.” Connie guessed that by Allie, she meant the imprisoned third princess, Alexandra. It seemed all the other royal offspring had already officially given up their right to the crown. “Actually, we heard Roderick was thinking of giving up his rights, too, but his mother, Queen Anna, clearly wanted him to be the next king,” Eularia interrupted. “After she died, the old retainers still loyal to her managed to change his mind.” “I’m sure things would have gone differently if Queen Anna were still alive. She was a terrifying woman. Her rank wasn’t all that high, but before anyone even realized it, she’d seized control of the inner palace.” She had died of disease several years ago, but San said she had been quite a schemer. For better or worse, her son Roderick was apparently nothing like her. Then did that mean Theophilis and his aides were the ones pulling the strings? Abigail, who had been listening silently up till then, broke into the conversation. “…Nearly a month has passed since Prince Ulysses was kidnapped. I don’t want to say this, but shouldn’t we consider the possibility he’s already dead?” Everyone fell silent. The thought had surely crossed all of their minds already. Suddenly, a scornful voice shattered the heavy silence. “My, my, you really are a bunch of fools!” Needless to say, Connie knew only one person that irreverent. She looked up in surprise to find Scarlett peering down at the despondent group from above, near the ceiling. The apparition gracefully crossed her legs midair. “There’s no way he’s dead. Faris wants a war, don’t they? If they killed the boy, I’m sure they’d parade his body around for everyone to see. The fact that a body hasn’t been found means he is certainly still alive. It’s strange, though. It would be to their advantage if he did die, so why haven’t they killed him?” “What are you saying…?!” Connie exclaimed, springing up, fists clenched, at Scarlett’s cruel words. “What is it, Holy Grail Girl?” “Nothing, Scarlett just—” “What?” San looked confused. Realizing what she’d done, Connie peered nervously around at the others. Eularia, who was sitting next to San, was staring at her suspiciously. Across from them, Abigail was all but shouting “Oh no!” Connie coughed and sat back down on the sofa. “Um…I’m sorry, I just thought of something terrible.” “Something terrible? What is it?” “Oh, I couldn’t say it out loud.” “If you thought of something, I want you to tell us. What we need right now is information.” She could hardly say no to that. She hesitated for a moment, then repeated what Scarlett had said. San’s eyes widened in surprise. “…You’re right.” “What?” “I had assumed Theophilis’s supporters hadn’t acted yet because they have a double of Ulysses in Faris. The boy wasn’t originally supposed to go with the diplomatic mission. I had assumed that nothing would happen until the diplomats went home. But if you think about their objective, there’s no need for them to wait. They want to start a war. They can make up any number of explanations for why Uly is here.” Eularia rested her chin in her hand, lost in thought. “…San. It was originally Jerome who was supposed to come along as an observer, wasn’t it?” “That’s right. Then, at the last minute, Kendall set Jerome up. Uly doesn’t have any supporters, and despite how he seems, Kendall takes good care of his people. He’s been Uly’s tutor practically since the boy was in diapers. He must have been worried about him and thought Adelbide would be safer than Faris.” “That would mean the switch was unexpected for Daeg Gallus. Prince Jerome is small for his age. They could easily have used the same strategy with him as they did with Prince Ulysses. In other words, if they were planning to kidnap Jerome…” San groaned. “…If I remember right, Jerome’s eyes are—” “Unfortunately, ordinary blue,” Eularia said, finishing her sentence. San grimaced. “It’s not that they don’t want to kill him, it’s that they can’t.” “You’re probably right.” “…What do you mean?” Abigail asked, her expression stern. “Uly’s mother is a noble from Soldita,” San answered. “It’s not a direct line, but she’s a descendant of Cornelia Faris. Of all her siblings, she had the most ideal shade of violet eyes. Do you know what is most valued in our kingdom?” Connie wasn’t sure how to answer. San smiled cynically. “Blood. The blood of the fallen imperial family of Faris. Eye color is said to reflect the purity of that bloodline. They all had the most extraordinary violet eyes. Your royals have magenta eyes, don’t they?” Indeed, purple—or more specifically, magenta—was the color of royalty. Both King Ernst and Crown Prince Enrique had eyes of that color. “In that sense, Scarlett Castiel was perfect. Her eyes were neither the violet of Faris nor the magenta of Adelbide. Just like the eyes of Cornelia of the Starry Crown, hers were a perfect amethyst blend of red and blue.” Scarlett had said her mother was descended from Cornelia Faris. She must have inherited her beautiful eyes from her mother. “To get back to the point, Uly’s mother’s rank may be low, but the blood of the Faris Empire runs in her veins. The boy may not have the eyes of the Starry Crown like Scarlett, but they’re still an impeccable violet. What if, for that reason, the plotters have decided to install him on the throne? Then it would make sense that they haven’t killed him.” San clicked her tongue, as if she’d just realized something. “If Theophilis was the one who planned the kidnapping, he probably would have killed Uly right away. He has no need to put the boy on the throne. After all, he has high noble blood himself. In fact, having a brother with the blood of the Starry Crown, even if he’s not a direct heir, would only cause him problems.” San looked down, her face full of regret. “…We’ve been such fools. Not all heirs to the throne want to be king. Sometimes it’s easier to install a puppet and hold the real power yourself. And if you give up your rights to succession from the start, no one will suspect you. I’m sure this is all the plot of that wicked woman. They must have had an easy time of it up till now.” San frowned. “We must send a message home right away.” “Theophilis isn’t our enemy. Roderick is.”
Chapter 41
41 min read