“Aliénore…?” Berta murmured in shock. “Yes. She said, ‘If you want to lay hold of the world, search for Cornelia’s starry crown.’” It was just like the first line of a thrilling adventure story. “If Aliénore really hated this place, I doubt she would have sent her daughter searching for it.” To the contrary, she would have tried to keep her away. “Also, I don’t think Cornelia Faris intended to create a birdcage.” “…What do you mean?” “It’s true that, in the beginning, she probably built the shrine to protect her family—those who carried the blood of the starry crown. But over time, I think she came to want to protect all kinds of people.” “All kinds of people…?” “Yes. Just like you protected me yesterday.” Berta looked slightly shocked. “How could you know something like that?” “Just look at the name of the coffeehouse, and the travelogue by Sena Rilifarco. They’re both saying the same thing. They’re signposts for lost people. Nowhere does it say they’re only for Cornelia’s descendants. “I know someone a little like Cornelia,” Connie added. Cornelia Faris was a symbol of misfortune. The blood running in her veins could start a war at any moment. The same was true for her children and their children. Strictly speaking, she should have lived a solitary life and let her bloodline come to an end. But… Connie glanced behind her. There was her partner in crime, haughtier, more confident, and more beautiful than anyone in the world. If Scarlett Castiel had been in Cornelia’s shoes, she surely would have said, “And what of it?” No one could be sure, but Connie thought Cornelia was probably the same. That was why, as Sylvia Latué, she devoted herself so thoroughly to charitable work that people called her a saint, and why she contributed to economic advancement as Sena Rilifarco, and why she rounded up anyone who dared harm the Republic as a member of Il Rosso. She devoted herself body and soul to the Republic. Connie could think of only one wish that would have motivated her to do so much. A wish not only for her generation, but for all that followed. If you have a complaint, bring it on. Wasn’t this shrine’s existence proof of that? Of course, Connie had concocted this whole theory herself, but she had a hunch it wasn’t too far off target. After all— She looked again at Scarlett, who snorted and turned away. “That’s why I don’t think the starry crown is a curse,” she went on. She paused, looked straight ahead, and smiled brightly. “I think it’s a blessing.” Berta stared in surprise, then slightly—ever so slightly—she narrowed her eyes, as if looking into the sun. “…You really are cheeky.” She sighed theatrically. “How about a cup of tea before you go?” she asked, just like she had on Connie’s previous visit. Berta’s garden was very natural, to put it nicely. In truth, it was practically indistinguishable from a forest. A table with a tile mosaic top and some chairs with metal legs stood amid the wild profusion of plants. Berta sat Connie down in one of the chairs and made a pot of herb tea. It smelled like freshly picked peppermint. Connie could see herself getting addicted to the fresh, pale green drink with its bracing aroma. “To tell you the truth, I had no desire whatsoever to save you yesterday,” Berta announced calmly. Connie froze, teacup in midair. “Huh?” “But Daniella seemed to like you, and…there were Cornelia’s final words to consider.” “Cornelia Faris again,” Connie and Scarlett said in unison. “Yes. She said that if a Grail ever showed up here, we should shake them down for as much money as we could.” “You mean you were targeting my family specifically?!” Connie couldn’t believe Berta had just mentioned the Grails. “Sounds like Cornelia couldn’t stand your ancestors,” Scarlett said, astonished. Connie couldn’t exactly argue with her, so she just groaned. Then something occurred to her. “…She didn’t say to chase us away?” Shake them down… Didn’t that mean she was allowing them to enter the shrine? And taking it a step further, perhaps it was even an instruction to protect the Grails. Of course, Cornelia’s personality was difficult to understand and incredibly twisted, but… Instead of answering, Berta shrugged. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, standing and walking off. A few minutes later, she returned holding a book. It was bound in leather with gold leaf on the spine, and it looked quite old. The cover was peeling away in places. “Is that a book?” Connie asked. “It’s Sena Rilifarco’s diary.” “Diary?” Connie stared at the ancient volume. The pages were yellowing and looked as if they might fall out if she wasn’t careful. Sena Rilifarco. In other words, this was Cornelia Faris’s diary. “Well, to be honest, it’s less a diary than a coded message in the form of a diary.” “A coded message.” “I have a copy in the library, so if you’d like to read it, I’ll lend it to you.” “I—I am curious, but I’m not sure I can finish it by the time I leave…” “I didn’t expect you to,” Berta said with a snort. Connie looked at her curiously. Did she mean it was all right for Connie to take the book back to Adelbide? Before she got too excited, she wondered what the lending fee would be. She only had copper coins with her today. “Um, h-how much will it cost…?” she asked fearfully, but Berta just shrugged. “It’s free.” “What?!” Connie blurted out, caught off guard by this generous response. Berta raised her eyebrows in irritation. “Oh, stop it. Consider this your change.” “My what?” Connie said, her mouth falling open. When she realized how she must look, she slapped her hand over her mouth. “You mean change for Aliénore’s—” “That glass jar must have been a lot of trouble to bring with you,” Berta interrupted. She was still insisting it was all about the value of the jar. After that, Berta said she had something to do and told Connie to show herself out when she’d finished her tea. As she was leaving, she turned back. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “If you have time, pay your respects at Sena Rilifarco’s grave before you leave.” Late afternoon sun bathed the garden in peaceful light. Connie took a breath and reached for the old diary. The handwriting was smeared in places, but it was in a beautiful, flowing hand. Unfortunately, since it was written in Solditan, Connie didn’t understand it very well. It wasn’t that she couldn’t read it, but she needed a dictionary. As she scanned the words she knew, Scarlett peered over her shoulder with great interest. For a while, Connie flipped through the pages. Cornelia must have been rather careless, because although it was a diary, the dates were mixed up. Connie couldn’t read most of the words, but now and then she made out the name Percival. It wasn’t a terribly unusual name, but she wondered if it might refer to Percival Grail. “…I wonder if Cornelia Faris was friends with my ancestor,” Connie muttered. “Friends?” Scarlett asked. “Yes. Look, she’s written the name Percival here and there. She allowed him into the shrine one way or another, and she gave him her travelogue. Do you think maybe it was because she wanted him to know how wonderful the place she lived was—” “Seems to me their relationship was a total disaster.” “Huh?” “You’re right that she mentions Percival Grail’s name, but most of the time, it’s to hurl abuse at him.” “…Huh?” Connie stared down at the journal. It was hard to imagine the refined handwriting spelling out curses and insults. What in the world could their relationship have been like? She wanted to know more, but at the same time, she didn’t. It was hard to explain. She shut the journal firmly. The vaporette would be coming back to get her soon. As she walked down the forest path, she thought about the momentous secret hidden there. Cornelia Faris had devoted her life to that secret. “I’m sure Lady Aliénore wanted you to know about this shrine. Right, Scarlett?” “The cage, you mean?” Scarlett retorted sarcastically. “Come on, you know that’s not what it was. This is a place to return to. She got her freedom. Experiencing freedom—that’s what she meant by laying hold of the world, I think.” To Connie, it seemed that Cornelia’s starry crown was the shrine itself—and the sanctuary she created. The leaves on the trees shone in the summer sun, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Connie walked through the trembling pattern of shadow and light until she reached Sena Rilifarco’s grave. Scarlett glanced casually at the letters engraved on the stone marker and clicked her tongue. “Connie, we’ve been had,” she said. “Huh?” “I thought it was strange that she told us to pay our respects at the grave. Totally out of character for that woman.” “…Lady Berta, you mean?” “Who else could I mean? Look, Constance. See the year of Sena Rilifarco’s death on that gravestone?” Scarlett narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “According to that diary, she was still alive then.” “…Huhhh?” “I just read it a few minutes ago. I’m sure the entry for that day read, ‘I’ll take the secret of August with me to my grave.’” “…By ‘grave,’ she means here, right?” Scarlett looked like she was ready to bite Connie’s head off. “You honestly think she’d do something so straightforward? To start with, this isn’t a grave. There aren’t any remains here. It’s probably a message for those who read her diary. ‘August’ and ‘secret’ must be code words.” Connie’s stomach churned. She had a bad feeling about this. “Cornelia Faris was a member of Il Rosso,” Scarlett said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she had information that could turn the world upside down.” Scarlett was right. Cornelia had survived upheaval in the empire, and after fleeing to Soldita, she was constantly active behind the scenes. She must have been a formidable woman. “B-but that was hundreds of years ago, wasn’t it? It probably wouldn’t mean much today, right? Like, this person backstabbed that person, or this person did something bad, or—” “Who knows?” Scarlett interrupted. “Maybe it’s a recipe for a horrible poison that makes the victim’s entire body run with blood. Maybe it’s instructions for a bomb that would blow away this whole city. With something like that, you could control the world. Just like my mother said.” Connie’s face tensed visibly. “The question is, where is it? I have a feeling there’s a clue in that diary…,” Scarlett said. The amused glint in her amethyst eyes suggested she was joking, but Connie was too upset to notice. “You would never search for something so d-d-d-d-dangerous, would you?!” She looked up at Scarlett, her eyes pleading. The legendary villain smiled brilliantly. “Who knows?” “Scarlett…!” The kitchen at the end of the hall was deserted. Before long, it would probably be bustling with the chatter and activity of cooks preparing dinner. On the counter was a basket of freshly picked vegetables. The cabinet behind was lined with jars of food, and dried meat and bundles of herbs hung from the walls. Berta chose one of the jars from the shelf, set it on the counter, and opened the lid. Inside were lemons preserved in honey. She picked up several slices with a pair of wooden tongs and dropped them into a pitcher of cold water freshly drawn from the well. Next, she found a fresh lemon in the basket. She sliced it in half and squeezed out the juice by hand. The instant the fresh scent reached her nose, a young girl’s voice welled up from deep in her memory. Berta! The girl in her memory was always smiling brilliantly. Berta, look! I fell! The girl never addressed her respectfully, no matter how many times Berta scolded her. And the moment Berta looked away, she’d vanish. She was nothing but trouble. Berta had been raised through her teens as a completely ordinary noble girl and never learned to fix up bloody knees or anything like that. She remembered being utterly at a loss when Aliénore first arrived. That’s why I’m always telling you not to run! I wasn’t running today! I fell from a tree! It was around that time that Berta also learned what it meant to be struck speechless. From the day Aliénore Shibola came into her life, she was a friendly, endlessly cheerful child. Her parents had died when she was still at the age that children need the most affection, and Berta was sure she must be lonely. But she rarely revealed any sign of it. Every day, it seemed, she fell and hurt herself, but she never once cried. Berta had assumed that she must have a naturally high tolerance for pain. The first time she got a fever was about a month after she’d arrived at the shrine. She hadn’t said a word about it, so Berta didn’t even know she had one until she collapsed. That was when Berta realized that the girl simply didn’t say what she was feeling. The doctor who examined her said she didn’t have long to live. She had been born with a weak heart. Berta was incredulous. When she told the doctor that the child often ran and climbed trees, he was shocked. He said he couldn’t guarantee she would survive her next major attack. As Berta gazed down at Aliénore sleeping in the grips of fever, she heard her moan “Mother…” between labored breaths. Tears were streaming from her eyes. Ah, Berta thought. Now I understand. It wasn’t that she felt no sorrow over the death of her parents, or no pain over the blood she shed. She wasn’t strong—she was simply persevering. In that moment, Berta felt profound pity for the girl. She should never have come to the shrine. Yes, the shrine was safe. But it was also lonely. This girl who didn’t know how to complain would be much happier with someone who could love her properly. Of course, Berta understood on a rational level that protecting her here at the shrine was for the best. But she felt sorry the child had no other options. Berta was an emotionally distant woman—she didn’t know how to spoil a child, let alone serve as her surrogate mother. She made the lemonade out of guilt. She couldn’t reach out and hug Aliénore, but she might be able to ease her physical pain somewhat. That was the answer she arrived at. She studied medicinal herbs and ordered what wasn’t available on the island from the mainland. Aliénore liked sweets, so she used plenty of the best honey to be had. She hadn’t been sure if the girl would like it, but when she tried it, her eyes sparkled and she said it was delicious. Berta didn’t have words for the feeling that flitted through her breast at that moment. She still didn’t. The time she spent with Aliénore was unlike anything she’d experienced before, and it flew by. But what was that time like for Aliénore? She appeared reckless but in truth was clever. She appeared thoughtless but in truth was kind. If she hadn’t been here at the shrine, Berta was sure she would have soared through the world. This place must have been quite a cramped cage for her. So when the marriage in Adelbide was arranged, Berta was deeply relieved. Berta, if I get lonely, can I come back here? This isn’t your home anymore. She had answered in her usual brusque manner. Aliénore called her mean and pouted. But what else could she have said? What right did she have to tell the girl to come back whenever she wanted, let alone to welcome her back like family? And when Berta learned that the girl had died, she didn’t mourn. Like a dutiful daughter, Aliénore had sent regular letters after moving to Adelbide. Berta had never once sent a reply, but still the letters came sailing over the ocean as casually as a morning hello. Mostly they were about Adolphus Castiel. At first, she said things like, “He’s a handsome man, but cold.” Then it was, “What a blundering dunderhead,” and before long, “Such a darling man.” Eventually the Castiel household welcomed a willful little princess, and for the first time, Berta knit a small pair of slippers and sent them off. Before long, Aliénore fell ill. But she was the same as she’d always been. Just as she had silently put up with her suffering as a child, she continued sending letters to Berta. Each time Berta opened one, her fears that Aliénore’s health might fail were soothed. It seemed that finally, far across the sea, she had allowed herself to rely on someone. Berta could tell from how happy she sounded when she described the revolting lemonade Adolphus made for her. Berta felt sure that beautiful bird had spread her wings and lived her last years in freedom. How could Berta be sad? She didn’t put up a gravestone for Aliénore, and she refused to accept her remains. Adolphus was so insistent about it, she started to wonder if there was something wrong with him. But she did not give in. Of course she didn’t. The girl had finally won her freedom. She had finally spread her wings and flown where she liked. Wouldn’t it be cruel to shut her up in this place all over again? But… Berta thought of the girl with the pale green eyes. Was it true that Aliénore had told her daughter, Scarlett, to search for the starry crown? Hadn’t this place been a hateful cage to her? Berta took some soft silver-green leaves from a wooden basket on the floor, minced them, and placed them in her mortar. She had picked them from the bed of sage earlier. The pale purple carpet of flowers hadn’t always grown at the shrine. One day several years after Aliénore came to live with her, Berta realized that unfamiliar flowers were blooming all around the shrine. The smell was unmistakably that of the herb Berta hated. There were too many of them to be explained by birds randomly dropping the seeds. Someone must have intentionally planted them. Berta knew only one person who would do something like that. When she questioned her suspect, admittedly making more of a fuss than was merited, Aliénore confessed immediately. She shrugged, totally devoid of guilt, and asked with a smile, “Berta, don’t you know what sage means in the language of flowers?” The language of flowers? Yes, the language of flowers. Berta narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Aliénore smiled again, clearly enjoying herself. It means a happy home. Berta was at a loss for words. Still, she managed a sarcastic reply. “Then I can’t think of a worse place to plant them.” She couldn’t remember what Aliénore’s face looked like when she said it. All she remembered were her words. “You have bad eyes, Berta,” she said happily, as if she was sharing an important secret. That’s why I planted a lot, to be sure you could see them. Berta mixed the crushed sage with other herbs and dumped them all into the pitcher. From another jar she scooped a heaping spoonful of golden honey and mixed it into the water. Then she took a glass from the shelf and filled it with the freshly made lemonade. The glass, which had a small smudge on the rim, had been Aliénore’s favorite. The low-slanting sun shone on the small jar atop the table, casting a blue shadow on the wood grain. The color reminded her a little of the ocean and a little of the sky. When was the last time she’d heard that voice say her name? It must have been the day Aliénore left the island. Just before she stepped onto the boat that had come from Adelbide to fetch her, she looked back as if she’d remembered something. Berta! Her smile had always reminded Berta of the sun. One day I’ll come back to visit… Berta looked up. A little girl was sitting at the table, her chin in her hand, swinging her legs and smiling. Berta’s eyes went wide, and she froze. From somewhere, she heard the girl’s voice from her memory go on. I will, Berta. And when I do, make me that lemonade again! There was something she had been wanting to say for years. Something she had thought it would be wrong for her to say. To Berta, the words seemed almost like a curse. But that nosy, cheeky guest of hers had insisted it was a blessing. She said that Aliénore had been happy here. With lightly trembling hands, Berta placed the glass of lemonade before the little blue jar. The cup made a soft clinking sound. Berta let out a breath, almost a laugh. “…Welcome home, silly girl.”
Chapter 76
18 min read