Chapter 8

Destroy the Holy Grail of Eris. Those were not peaceful words. But whatever could the Holy Grail of Eris be? Connie didn’t have a clue. Thinking there might be some hint in the text, she examined the scrap of paper again, but the only things written on it had to do with the climate and geography of the kingdom. It seemed to have come from some sort of tourist brochure produced by the city hall. The kind of thing you could pick up anywhere. “Do you have any idea what this means?” she asked Scarlett. “Not a clue,” she answered, shrugging. “But in the Myth of Faris, Eris is the goddess of discord and strife. She is a wicked deity said to have once driven a kingdom to utter ruin. Back when I used to go out on the town undercover, Eris was the name I used.” Although she added the last bit casually, Connie latched on to it. It was scary how well it seemed to suit her. The Kingdom of Adelbide where Connie lived had once been a territory of the Faris Empire, a monumental aggressor that had at one point been on the verge of swallowing up the entire continent. Faris had taken advantage of turbulent times to seize control of governance, and because of Adelbide’s location in the east, it had been named the Principality of East Faris. Later, when the empire began to decline, the Grand Duke of Amadeus claimed the title of New King and renamed the territory Adelbide, becoming its founding father. This happened about a few centuries earlier. This was also the era in which the Grail family’s own founding father, Percival Grail, had lived. This history explained why so many things—including Adelbide’s language as well as much of its culture and customs—were rooted in those of the former empire. The Myth of Faris was among them. “I think the Holy Grail comes up in the old myths, too, as some sort of sacred object that brings happiness and prosperity to the land. It was originally a vessel of good harvests, with healing powers.” Ruin and prosperity, strife and healing. Connie felt as if the Holy Grail of Eris must possess two completely opposite natures. “You mean…this evil goddess brings blessings?” Connie asked. But then why would Lily be telling them to destroy it? Scarlett drew her brows together in thought but seemed to arrive at no answer. She sighed, apparently giving up. “What about the key?” Scarlett asked. Connie shook her head listlessly, looking at the simple skeleton key in her palm. P10E3, the model number needed for reproducing the key, was imprinted on the top part, but the all-important crest of the workshop that had produced it was missing. Without that, it would be impossible to search for the vault or storehouse it opened. Nothing was working in their favor. “Normally, you’d think…,” Connie began, crossing her arms and choosing her words carefully, “…that this is a key to the Holy Grail of Eris, and that’s what we’re supposed to destroy.” Normally, of course. “Yes. But unfortunately, Lily wasn’t normal.” She was absolutely right. Connie gripped her head in frustration. Connie felt like she was going to get a fever from thinking so much—or maybe she already had one. It was past noon by the time she woke up; all the exertion of the previous day was partly to blame. Sunlight beat down into her room. She touched her forehead, but it wasn’t hot. Bewildering. With nothing else to do, she went down to the living room. As she was sipping a cup of hot tea, the servants suddenly began rushing around. It seemed an unexpected visitor had arrived. After a few minutes, Marta, the head maid, came into the room. For some reason, she looked furious, and her already-stout form seemed even more puffed up than usual with indignation. “Marta, what’s wrong? Judging by your face, has Father gone and done something intolerably sincere again?” “We have a guest.” Connie knew that. That was when she started to feel uneasy. Why had Marta come to her about it? Who was this guest? She had a bad feeling. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and in an attempt to calm herself, she brought her cup to her lips. “Sir Neil Bronson is here.” Connie spewed out the sip of tea in her mouth. Marta held up a handkerchief for her. “Neil?!” “Yes. He said he wanted to apologize to you. What shall I do? Would you like me to kick that shameless, fetid pustule straight out the front door? Or shall I punch him in the face? Or perhaps you’d like me to chop him to pieces?” “What horrid choices you’ve given me!” Connie exclaimed, but the truth was that she didn’t want to see him. She had no idea how to act toward him now. She didn’t need his apology. An apology wouldn’t bring her back to blissful ignorance of his unfaithfulness. She decided to turn him away. Just as she was about to say so, however, an unexpected voice rang in her ears. “Oh, it’s fine. Just meet with him.” Scarlett sounded as casual as if she was telling Connie to go say hello to an old friend. What?! She shot her a reproachful glance, but of course no look from Connie could make Scarlett flinch. “After all, you’re still bothered by the fact that he cheated on you, aren’t you? You really ought to talk it out. You won’t feel better until you do.” “Ugh.” She had no retort for Scarlett’s surprisingly sound advice. “Also,” Scarlett continued, “I had a look in your closet just now, and you haven’t got a single proper dress in there even though Emilia’s ball is just around the corner. The Bronson Company carries dresses and accessories, don’t they? This is the perfect opportunity for you to extract something from Neil Bronson in place of monetary compensation.” Connie pushed her stray hairs into place and headed for the drawing room. Neil was already waiting for her. His eyes widened when she came in. “…I didn’t think you’d actually meet with me.” Connie felt exactly the same way. “You really are a sincere Grail.” To tell the truth, I had no desire to see you, she thought—but didn’t say that. Instead, she smiled and looked away. Neil seemed to have lost a few pounds since she last saw him a few days earlier. The exhaustion was evident on his face. “I heard you were under confinement…” “I am. I received special dispensation to leave the house to visit you,” he admitted. “…Oh, I see. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. You waltzed in here unannounced.” She figured she could get away with this much sass, but when she looked at him, he was smiling uncomfortably, like he’d accidentally put salt in his tea. “I know it was rude of me, but I thought you’d turn me down if I asked first.” Then he apologized. “What I did to you was inexcusable. I’ve ended things with Pamela. She’s paid plenty for her crime. I think right now, she’s probably in the provinces, reflecting on what she did.” “Idiot!” Scarlett suddenly broke in. “That sort of woman would never admit she’s done something wrong. You’d be a fool to think she’s learned her lesson!” There was something peculiarly convincing in the boldness of her declaration. Connie glanced at her. Interesting. The girl standing in front of her had been executed—and apparently still hadn’t learned her lesson. “Father offered financial assistance as the very minimum in terms of compensation, but Viscount Grail wouldn’t take it.” Connie froze in surprise. She hadn’t heard anything about that. Scarlett scoffed. “Of course he did. You’re a businessman. When things go wrong, you offer a bribe. What do you mean, assistance? The very thought of a commoner with the veneer of baronet giving a handout to a viscount is unbelievable! Know your place, man!” Connie wasn’t sure if her father had shared the same sentiments as Scarlett, but she could see why he hadn’t told her about it. And why he’d refused the offer. He hadn’t wanted to burden Connie any more. She looked down, burdened instead by a sense of responsibility. “You wouldn’t consider forgiving me, would you?” Neil squeaked out. “…What?” “No, you don’t have to forgive me. But I do hope that you will direct your anger at me alone. I beg you not to bring the Bronson Company into it.” “…What?!” “Ever since the ball, the masses have started to boycott the company. Someone broke the glass in our headquarters, too. This is all your doing, isn’t it, Constance?” “…What?!?!” “I’m not trying to interrogate you. You have a right to be angry. It’s only natural. I’m the one in the wrong here. But you’re going too far. This issue is between you and me. I want you to leave the business out of it. My grandfather is bedridden from the shock.” Connie herself felt like retreating to bed in shock. She couldn’t even speak. Her chest was bursting with sorrow and anger. Did Neil really think she would do something like that? Did he think she was that kind of person? Connie bit her lip and stared straight ahead. “…I didn’t do it.” She felt like she was reliving the incident at the Grand Merillian. She was being interrogated for a crime completely without grounds. “But…” The difference now was that she had the will to fight back. She was sad. She was hurt. She was furious. But strangely enough, she was not afraid. “I swear on the name of Percival Grail the First, I did not do it.” Constance Grail looked Neil Bronson straight in the eye and flatly denied his accusation. Neil gasped. For a member of the Grail family, swearing on the name of Percival Grail the First was equivalent to putting their life at stake. It was something they almost never did—and always meant when they did do it. Neil had known the Grails long enough to know that. “Then why…?” For a moment, his face had been uncertain, but it quickly twisted in distress. “Oh my!” Scarlett exclaimed, floating into the air. “The Bronsons do rely on the lower nobility for their business.” A giggle spilled from her lips, ripe and red like fruit. “Perhaps he didn’t apologize in quite the right way. Even after three generations, I suppose he might not truly understand what it means to deal with the nobility.” Confused, Connie shot Scarlett a questioning look. She grinned. “The masses aren’t mad for Constance Grail. They’re simply irritated that a family of upstarts is trying to twist the eminent nobles around their fingers. Now they’ve found a wonderful cause to cover up their nastiness. Perhaps the situation roused their lower-noble complex? Humans are frightening creatures.” She giggled. Connie wondered if she was right. The truth was, she didn’t understand it. But since she couldn’t let his false accusation stand, she parroted Scarlett’s words. “That’s just…,” Neil said, going pale. Since he didn’t try to argue with her, however, she assumed it must ring true for him. The criminal wasn’t Connie but rather his own customers—he couldn’t hide his shock at this revelation. His face was so white, she thought he was going to keel over then and there. There was only one thing she could say to him in this situation. “…Is there anything I can do?” An awkward silence passed. “What? You want to help him?” Scarlett scoffed. “You’ll help me?” Neil said at exactly the same time. Connie shuddered. “I mean, the Bronson Company hasn’t done anything wrong.” They’d simply been caught up in the storm. Connie didn’t know what everyone else thought, but at the very least, the Grail family logic—or rather, her own—told her that was the case. “…This is disgusting. He’s made this mess himself, and you don’t need to fix it for him.” Of course, Scarlett was correct that Neil Bronson was unquestionably the guilty party here, and if she wanted to, she could punch him in the face right this second. She could smash that innocent-looking nose right into the floor. Constance Grail—and only Constance Grail—had every right to do that. “…Constance,” Neil said, looking at her in confusion. Connie shook her head as if to say, Don’t take this the wrong way. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for the people who are suffering because of your actions.” All of this had begun with the incident at the ball, so in a sense, Connie did bear a scrap of responsibility. Scarlett’s eyebrows were practically at her hairline. “…You’re such an idiot! What on earth can a fool like you do to help him…? Oh, it’s intolerable…but it can’t be helped. Who’s your best customer, little upstart?!” Scarlett shrieked, poking him. Needless to say, he didn’t notice her. Connie had no choice but to translate. “Um, who is the Bronson Company’s most valued customer?” “The Countess of Custine…,” Neil answered, looking suspicious at the abrupt question. Scarlett instantly began spouting off. “So that show-off is still alive, is she?! Well, that makes things easy. You deal in Lucca silk, don’t you? Take the very best of it and have a dress made up at a good place—the Moonlight Fairy would be perfect. Be sure to have it embroidered. Make it as intricate and ostentatious as possible. Have them use plenty of gold thread, too. When it’s complete, get down on one knee and offer it up to her, begging for her mercy. Make sure you sound pitiful.” Scarlett stared into Neil’s face. “You’re fairly good-looking, so you ought to do it yourself. It’s important to be obsequious. She may very well whisk you off to her bedroom, and you must be prepared for that. She’s rumored to be very skilled in that department, so if you’re lucky, she’ll take you to paradise. That should be enough to smooth things over. Old hags like her have a fair amount of influence…and sweet little Constance Grail doesn’t have to lift a finger!” The Countess of Custine sounded terrifying. Connie grimaced but nevertheless suggested this to Neil as a method of apology sometimes used by nobles. When she got to the part about the bedroom, she kept her eyes glued to the floor. As for Neil’s virtue, that was a matter for the Countess of Custine and the gods alone to decide. “…I see. I’ll bring it up with Father,” Neil replied, then gazed at Connie with what seemed to be a conflicted look. She looked straight back at him. Neil was the first to look away. He bowed deeply to her. “I truly am sorry.” As she watched him, Connie made up her mind to tell him something she’d never shared with anyone. “Do you remember the first time we met?” He had been wearing a shirt with a stiffly starched collar and an ivory vest. She could tell at a glance that the young man Damian Bronson had brought to the Grail house was elegant and handsome, and that made her feel terribly timid. She’d scarcely been able to greet him properly, but Neil hadn’t smiled or made fun of her for being so plain and dowdy. Of course, she didn’t know what he’d been thinking—and she’d kept her eyes down, because she didn’t want to know. As she cowered there, unsure what to do, she heard someone speaking to her. “Me too.” The words sounded uncontrived, as if they’d flown unbidden from his mouth. Connie looked up in surprise. Neil had the same awkward expression on his face as she did. “Actually, I’m nervous, too.” Connie blinked, and then they both smiled at the same time. That had probably been enough for her to fall in love. “At that moment, I thought to myself how lucky I was that such a wonderful person was going to become my husband. But you probably didn’t share this sentiment… At first, I didn’t believe the rumors about Pamela, and it hurt, but now I understand a little. It’s not entirely your fault that things turned out like this. It’s fine. I’m over it.” The next words came naturally. “Good-bye, Neil Bronson.” She had loved him, but not enough to cry over. So she was fine. She grinned. Although the tip of her nose did tingle just the slightest bit. “…I completely missed my chance to ask for a dress,” Connie mumbled as she watched Marta evict Neil from the premises with feigned politeness. Scarlett narrowed her eyes as if she couldn’t care less. “Excellent decision not to take a dress from a tasteless man like that. I’m sure he would have sent you something horrid,” she declared. Her indifferent tone was so thoroughly Scarlett-like that Connie just stood there sniffling, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Kate Lorraine lifted the brass boar’s-head knocker and rapped it on the door. After a moment, the familiar face of the Grail family’s maid, Marta, appeared. Kate held out the present she’d brought with her. “I baked a raspberry pie,” she said. Raspberry pie was the Lorraine family specialty, and it could be made only in the month of Mars. It was her friend’s favorite, and she hoped it would lift her gloom over the broken engagement. She’d spent the whole morning holed up in the kitchen baking it. Marta gave her a bewildered look. “Raspberry pie? But Miss Connie just baked one with you a few days ago.” “She did?” There was a silence. Marta’s expression grew steadily more suspicious. Kate widened her eyes and clapped her hands, scrambling to save the moment. “Oh yes, right! The thing we did the other day! That’s what you meant! I forgot all about it! Yes, Connie and I baked a raspberry pie together at my house!” “…And?” Kate was looking fixedly at Connie. “When exactly did I bake a raspberry pie with you?” The buttery, flaky, slightly salty crust was a perfect match for the filling of raspberries simmered with sugar to jammy perfection. It wasn’t too sweet or too heavy, and Connie always ended up demolishing the whole thing. Sitting before this bewitching baked good, Connie paused her fork in midair. “No, um, I mean…” She glanced around nervously. Kate frowned in exasperation at her careless friend. “It’s so like you to miss these details! I did tell Marta you came to my house, but I don’t know if she bought it!” “Tha—” “But what’s this all about? Since you used me as your alibi, I assume you’re going to explain yourself?” “Uh…” She couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, which was that she needed a maid’s outfit to fool the innocent people at the orphanage. Connie grimaced, searching desperately for an excuse. “Um, it’s just that I wanted to be by myself…?” Unfortunately, the explanation that came out of her mouth was unbelievably shabby. She was doomed. “Really now,” Kate said, squinting at her. Her voice was scarily devoid of emotion. “Um, Kate…,” she said reflexively, but no more words followed. As Connie was panicking over what to do next, Kate broke the silence with a loud sigh. “Oh, it’s fine.” Connie looked up, surprised by her friend’s calm tone. Kate was frowning at her. Her eyes were filled not with anger or accusation but instead with pure concern. “I won’t ask you any more about it until you’re ready to talk. So you’d better tell me if you need help.” “Kate…” Her heart was full of both remorse and affection. Kate smiled mischievously. “But next time, I’m not going to cover for you!” Evening arrived before she knew it. Connie examined herself in the mirror: There was the dull hazelnut hair, the green eyes, and the entirely ordinary face. Nevertheless, wearing a pale blue dress, with her hair up and a hint of makeup on, she looked quite a bit more eye-catching than usual. “We managed to make you presentable, I think.” Scarlett smiled with satisfaction. She had turned the house upside down looking for clothes and jewelry, and what she found seemed made-to-order for Connie. Normally Connie had the maids do her makeup, but tonight she followed Scarlett’s instructions to the letter. She’d applied emerald powder to her eyelids and a brighter-than-usual blush to her cheeks. She topped her light-colored lipstick with honey. Now she was finally ready. Tonight was the night of Emilia Godwin’s ball. “Oh, my dear, you look even prettier than usual tonight!” Percival Ethel Grail’s imposingly bearlike face dissolved into an indulgent smile. He praised his beloved daughter for a few more minutes before a distant look suddenly came into his eyes, and he murmured in a voice thick with emotion. “To think that my shy daughter stood up to Neil Bronson, and now here you are going off to a ball on your own initiative… Watching you grow into such a kind, strong young woman is just…just…!” Overwhelmed with feeling, he dabbed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. His wife, who seemed to have appeared at his side out of nowhere, rubbed his broad back and whispered soothingly to him. Connie’s mother, Aria Grail, was a beautiful woman, with green eyes and wavy golden hair. When she saw her daughter looking so different from usual, she brought her hand to her cheek and tilted her head. “My, my. Make sure you don’t have too much fun tonight, now.” Connie stiffened, wondering what, exactly, her mother meant. But Aria just smiled gently. “Connie!” “Oof!” In a flash, Connie’s little brother, Percival Layli, had thrown his arms around her stomach. He was almost ten, and with his mother’s aquamarine eyes and golden curls, he was as pretty as an angel. He looked up at his sister with sparkling eyes. “Ooh, you look so pretty today!” What was that supposed to mean, today? She didn’t know how to take that. Of course, since Connie was a lady, she would never poke at a thicket where she knew snakes were hiding. “I heard about Neil Bronson. I’m glad you got rid of that terrible man! I’ll knock him out for you next time I see him! Bam! Just like that!” “Uh…” “And don’t worry about the money. I’m sure that if you do the right thing, the three Fates will show us the way forward.” Connie nodded at her brother, but she felt suddenly uncomfortable—even though the old Connie would have unquestioningly agreed with him. “Connie?” Layli was a good boy. A sincere boy. Her expression must have become suddenly harsh, because Layli was looking at her uncertainly. Snapping back to the present, Connie ruffled his soft curls and smiled. “It’s nothing,” she said. A moment later, Marta came in to tell her the carriage was waiting. “Are you ready, Constance?” Scarlett asked melodically. Their ride was outside the open doors. The sky was dark and heavy, as if it had been blotted out with a thick layer of black oil paint. Connie’s hem fluttered in the night breeze. Scarlett turned toward her with evident pleasure. “And now, the beginning of a delightful night!” Her amethyst eyes sparkled as brightly as if a treasure chest were buried in their depths. Emilia Godwin was in excellent spirits. The hall was filled with a pleasant din, and her guests were overflowing with praise for her. The reason, of course, was Constance Grail. The girl of the moment had made an appearance for the first time since the incident at the Grand Merillian—here at Emilia Godwin’s own ball. Constance had chosen Emilia for this honor, despite the fact that Emilia was neither a countess nor a viscountess, but only a baroness. This tickled her pride immensely. That wasn’t all. She wasn’t sure where they’d heard about it, but a certain someone had also asked to attend the ball. It must have been ten years since they had talked. Her heart was aflutter. Emilia had always secretly looked up to this person who was consistently fair and never looked down on anyone because of their low rank. She had Constance Grail to thank for all of this. So when the girl came over to greet Emilia, she couldn’t help blinking. What a disappointment. True, she looked a bit more elegant than Emilia remembered, but she was still the ordinary kind of girl you could find just about anywhere. Her fashion sense wasn’t bad. She carried herself quite beautifully as well. Of course, she was nothing like Scarlett… Suddenly, she realized she was comparing this insignificant girl to Scarlett Castiel and froze. Why had the thought even occurred to her? As she stood there trying to suppress her discomfort, Constance Grail curtsied to her. Emilia gaped. The gesture was just like Scarlett’s. The shape of her fingers when she held up her hem…her perfectly straight back…the timing with which she moved her foot back…her expression when she cast her eyes down and lifted her face…all of it was a mirror image of Scarlett. That woman had been wicked inside, but on the surface, she was more graceful than anyone else on earth. “Good evening, Emilia Caroling.” Her voice had always been as airy as a chime, and her first words were as predictable as a script. “What a lovely dress you have on tonight. It sets off your sunflower locks perfectly.” Emilia had taken that to mean that only her dress was lovely, and she had always had a complex about her hair, which was more like yellow paint than gold. For that reason, she’d hated Scarlett’s standard greeting. She’d hated it and found it so frightening, she would shrink away from Scarlett whenever she heard it. “Thank you for inviting me tonight, Lady Godwin.” What unpleasant memories. Emilia bit her lip and decided to cheer herself up by taking it out on the girl standing in front of her. That’s why she had invited her in the first place. The nail that stuck out got hammered down. The only ones who survived were those who didn’t flinch when they were hammered. Which category did this girl fall into? Would she break like Pamela Francis, or—? “What a lovely dress you have on tonight. It sets off your sunflower locks…perfectly, Lady Godwin.” Emilia looked at her in shock. She had precisely the same innocent smile on her face that Scarlett used to have. Had she made some sort of mistake? Connie racked her brain. She was certain her curtsy and manner were presentable, thanks to Scarlett’s ruthless training, and she’d perfectly carried off the greeting that Scarlett had promised had always made Emilia so happy in the past. So why had Lady Godwin gone white as a sheet and walked off without saying a word? Scarlett burst out laughing when it happened. “She’s still as cowardly as ever,” Scarlett announced, although Connie wasn’t sure what she meant to imply. Connie glanced at her, but Scarlett just shrugged and looked innocent. “All I did was make it easier for you to get information from her later.” But if this method was causing her to run away, wasn’t Scarlett getting her priorities wrong? Of course, Connie could never say that to Scarlett’s face. For a while after that, Connie was treated like an exotic animal in a show tent. The gentlemen’s greetings somehow had a whiff of poison to them. The young women whispered among themselves loudly enough for her to hear. The noblewomen dropped sarcastic comments as they passed her. As they’d planned ahead of time, Connie let Scarlett manipulate her like a puppet. From her restraint when people talked behind her back to her responses to the sarcastic comments and the timing of her smiles, she relied on Scarlett for everything. Otherwise, she might have broken down under the pressure. “I think you passed,” Scarlett said, surveying the ballroom as if she were trying to imprint it permanently in her memory. It had occurred to Connie before that Scarlett had a good memory. Now she was certain of it. She must have some sort of grand palace in her mind where she stored her memories. She was meeting most of the guests at tonight’s ball for the first time, but without exception, she remembered not only their names and faces but every other point that came up in conversation, from their domains to their hobbies. Connie was taking a break from chitchat to have a glass of chilled fruit water when she spotted Emilia Godwin in a corner of the ballroom. She was talking to a noblewoman Connie didn’t know. The woman was skinny as a stick. Neither of them was smiling. Both were holding fans over their mouths and glancing repeatedly in her direction. Emilia looked as if she had seen a ghost. Bewildering. “…Is that Aisha Spencer? Why, she’s changed completely,” Scarlett muttered. “I didn’t know those two were friends. But this is a good opportunity. We’ll go talk to both of them at once.” Connie didn’t really want to, but she didn’t have much choice. Just as she took a step in their direction, however, she was interrupted by loud voices. “What did you say?” The strained voice rang out across the ballroom. “Would you mind repeating that one more time?” “I’d be happy to tell you a hundred times, Teresa. I’m quite appalled by your husband. It seems he’ll never tire of spending his nights at the whorehouse. The women in the Ladies’ Association can’t stop gossiping about him. They say Kevin Jennings is giving noblesse oblige a bad name. My husband works with him at the royal palace, and even he is keeping his distance. I do wish you’d do something about it.” Two noblewomen were facing off. The one with the tense expression was average-looking, while the one who was berating her was a beautiful woman with defined features. “Who are they?” Connie asked. “Teresa Jennings and Margot Tudor. The two of them came over to greet you a few minutes ago—don’t you remember?” Scarlett replied smoothly. Now that she mentioned it, Connie did remember them, mainly because the combination of the strong-willed beauty and the self-effacing woman in her shadow seemed unusual. She hadn’t remembered their names, of course. Their exchange wasn’t loud enough for everyone at the ball to hear, but Connie and the others nearby were all witnessing the tense exchange. Beautiful Margot sneered condescendingly at plain Teresa. “But of course, that might be impossible—for you. You really ought to make a little more effort to win his affection.” Teresa’s face went white as wax. Her lips trembled slightly, and she looked down. After a few moments, she mumbled, “…And how is Linus?” Her voice was very quiet, and Connie couldn’t read the emotion in it. “What?” “Hasn’t he been…working an awful lot of nights lately?” “…That’s because your husband is always out having fun at night. My husband has to pick up the slack for him.” Teresa raised her head. Her expression had brightened, but not in a pleasant way. “Oh, is that what he told you? Then three nights ago, he must have said he was working again.” “…What are you trying to say?” “Did he give you that bouquet of sea holly like he said he would? He told me that as long as he brought you presents, you didn’t complain about him working nights, so I’m sure he must have. They were such unusual flowers, with thorns and blue petals. He ordered them just for you, you know.” The blood was draining steadily from Margot’s beautiful face. “Shall I tell you exactly what I mean?” Teresa Jennings smiled triumphantly. “We’re having a secret love affair.” Connie shuddered. What a terrifying world this was! She thought she might as well head over to talk with Emilia and Aisha now—but no sooner did she look back in their direction than a very unladylike noise escaped her lips. Aisha had vanished, and a black-haired man had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to take her place. He had a compact, muscular figure and masculine face. He asked Emilia something, and she pointed toward Connie with her fan. His cerulean eyes turned in her direction. For an instant, Connie was pierced by the gaze of Randolph Ulster. Eeeek! Naturally, he was not in his military uniform tonight. Nevertheless, his black formal dress was simple to the point of austerity. It made Connie think of mourning weeds, and in that sea of showy attire, he stood out glaringly. She couldn’t help interpreting it as an expression of inner attitude. Which is to say, he hadn’t come tonight to enjoy the dancing. He had come to slaughter some prey or another in a bloodbath. S-S-S-Scarlett, I need you…! Connie involuntarily took a step back and clung to Scarlett. But Scarlett herself looked nervous. “I—I can’t help you! I’ve never gotten along with that man!” she shrieked, then vanished. She was shockingly fast. Before Connie even realized it, she was nowhere to be seen. So this is what they mean when they say it’s all over. Randolph took a step toward her, then another. Connie spun on her heel, but his deep voice reached her before she could flee. “Good to see you again, Sister.” With a sense of doom, she turned slowly around. “Y-you must be mistaken…” “Mistaken?” She nodded convulsively. “I see. In that case, let me introduce myself. My name is Randolph. Randolph Ulster.” She knew that. “I’m C-Constance Grail.” “I know.” Unfortunately, the mood was nowhere light enough for her to remark that she’d had exactly the same thought. “Let me ask you point-blank. What are you trying to do?” “Wh-what are you talking about?” Of course, she knew exactly what he was talking about. She knew all too well. She just couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say, I’m currently helping Scarlett Castiel exact revenge. “What did you steal from the Orlamundes’ chapel? The suicide note of the deceased lady? Or—?” “No, um, it’s…” Her eyes darted around the room. No excuse came to mind. Cold sweat dripped down her body. She was silently screaming for help. S-somebody save me! “Oh, fine!” Apparently unable to stand it any longer, Scarlett had reappeared from who knows where. Fuming, she shouted, “I suppose there’s no other way! Step back, Constance!” What’s happening? She felt something enter her body. The last time, she’d felt like she was being hit with a mallet, but this time, it was like she was being pushed into a corner of her own body. And she was still conscious. “If you’re so certain, then of course you must have some evidence?” Someone was borrowing Connie’s mouth to speak. The extremely confident voice sounded like hers and yet was unrecognizable. She guessed that her expression must look different, too. Her chin was tilted up, and she was glaring straight into the terrifying face of Randolph Ulster. Randolph had been stone-faced up till now, but for just an instant, she saw his cerulean eyes lose their focus. “Or could you be calling an innocent young girl a thief? That’s hardly behavior worthy of His Excellency the Grim Reaper. I’ve never been so insulted in all my life. If you don’t take back your accusation immediately, I might run to the Ladies’ Association in terror and tell them the impeccable Randolph Ulster simply won’t leave me alone.” “You’re most welcome to do that, provided you come with me first to the Maurice Orphanage so the director and children can tell me you’re not the Lettie who works for the House of Orlamunde.” H-he knows—! Connie cowered, but Scarlett smiled fearlessly. “I’ll have to turn down that invitation. As they say, all of us have a doppelgänger or two in this world. I’m honored that you asked, but I’m not so cheaply won. I would never agree to a date with a gentleman upon our first meeting.” He must not have expected her to be quite this defiant. He pressed his lips together in shock. It must be over now—wasn’t it? Her heart was in her mouth. Just as Randolph frowned and began to speak again, she heard the sound of glass breaking. This was followed by a series of screams. Connie looked around in surprise. Teresa, the self-effacing noblewoman who had been arguing with Margot a few minutes earlier, was curled on the floor, her hand on her cheek. Someone must have hit her. Blood was streaming through her fingers and dripping from her chin. A spot of fresh red blood bloomed on her collar. Margot was looking down on Teresa, panting. She was holding a broken wineglass. She must have hit Teresa with it, because red rivulets were streaming down the jagged edges. “This woman…” Margot’s eyes were bloodshot, and her voice was shaking with anger. “This whore is to blame…!” Randolph Ulster was the first to move in the hushed ballroom. Rushing to the side of the fallen woman, he lifted her in his arms with no concern for bloodying his formal clothes and examined the wound. “The cut doesn’t appear to be very deep. However, there’s a chance that glass fragments are lodged inside. It should probably be washed immediately. Someone get a bottle of disinfectant and a clean cloth. The doctor will take some time to arrive. We can perform first aid while we wait.” Several manservants rushed to his side and politely hauled Teresa away. The maids ran to the laundry room. Connie heard someone being scolded for standing around and ordered to send a fast horse for the doctor right away. “Margot Tudor,” Randolph said in a completely emotionless, businesslike voice. She was standing rooted to the spot, but her shoulders twitched when he called her name. “You probably know this, but you’ve inflicted bodily harm. As a person charged with enforcing the law, I cannot overlook your offense. I will draw up a report while I wait for my subordinates to arrive. Lady Godwin, I’m sorry to trouble you, but is there an empty room I may use? If possible, I’d like a female attendant as well.” Under the influence of his tranquil demeanor, the uproar in the ballroom gradually calmed. Connie heard someone whispering behind her. “…It’s over already? He’s spoiled our fun!” “Have you forgotten? This is what happens whenever that boy shows up.” “I heard he’s in the Royal Security Force now, but he’s still doing the same thing he did ten years ago. He’s like some kind of watchdog.” “Seems his new job has made him even more straitlaced.” Having finished giving orders to the servants, Randolph returned to Connie’s side. Given the circumstances, he seemed disinclined to continue interrogating her, but his eyes said he wasn’t done yet. “About our conversation earlier…” Connie looked around the ballroom. It was in terrible disarray. A trail of blood dotted the floor, following Teresa’s path out of the room. The music had stopped, and the younger ladies were gathered together, pale and anxious. The older guests displayed a mix of emotions. Some were worried, others looked pleased, and still others looked bored that it was over already. Connie had never been to a ball like this before. That sort of argument never happened. No…she shook her head. Something like that had happened. Just the other day at the Grand Merillian. Blood hadn’t been shed, but Pamela Francis had been driven into a corner with vicious words. By whom? Scarlett Castiel, of course. Not by Connie. But… A warning bell rang in the back of her mind. Just then, a low voice seized Connie’s heart like a pair of talons. “Can you honestly say you had nothing to do with it?” Naturally, the ball came to a premature end. As the guests departed one after another, Connie searched for Emilia. She found her sitting on a bench in the courtyard outside the conservatory. She looked utterly exhausted. And with good cause. As the hostess of the ball, she most likely would have to go to the Jennings household and explain what had happened, and on top of that, the on-site investigation by the Security Force had only just begun. As Connie walked toward her, she glanced up. “You’re just like her.” She turned away, as if in resignation. “It’s funny, because you don’t look like her at all.” “…Like Scarlett Castiel?” Perhaps because she was surprised to hear that name come out of Connie’s mouth, Emilia jerked her head up. Then she smiled self-mockingly. “I’m sure I’ll be scolded for saying that to an ordinary girl like you…” Connie heard longing and hatred and envy in her voice and, behind that, perhaps just a hint of affection for the departed. Without really meaning to, she asked Emilia a question. “…Do you know why Scarlett had to be executed?” “Because she tried to poison Crown Princess Cecilia,” she declared, as if that was completely obvious. “But…” Until recently, Connie had believed that explanation. But the executed woman herself had told her it wasn’t true. Yes, Scarlett was appallingly prone to tricking and entrapping people, but she had been genuinely angry when she told Connie that. Emilia stared at Connie as she stood there clenching her fists and trying to think of some counterargument. “…You really do remind me of her.” With that, she stood and gazed up at the white moonlight seeping through the clouds. “In the seventh division of inmest Mars, at the old Montrose residence. The invitation will be in the hat of Earl John Doe,” she mumbled, as if to herself. “What…?” Ignoring Connie, Emilia hurried off toward the ballroom, as though completing her duty. Before she disappeared, however, she turned toward Connie and whispered, as if she were reminding a forgetful child, “In life, the survivors are the winners. Take care that you don’t lose your place out of carelessness, Constance Grail.” “You want me to sneak into the Castiel residence?” Connie sounded shriller than she’d intended. John Doe meant someone with no name, and Earl John Doe was what everyone called the host of a masked ball that had been held for decades—or so Scarlett told her. The role of host rotated among members of the high-noble ranks, but since they were always called John Doe, the ball itself was called the Earl John Doe Ball. “Yes. The seventh division of inmest Mars is the Old Farish way of saying Mars seventeenth. That’s less than a week from now. Which means we have to sneak into my house as soon as possible.” Connie blinked in confusion. “…Your house?” “Yes, my house.” “…The Castiel house?” She didn’t understand how any of this was related to the Duke of Castiel. As Connie continued to blink in confusion, Scarlett gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you ever listen? I told you it’s a masked ball where people conceal their identity. Do you have a mask?” Of course she didn’t. And she might add that she’d never needed one before this moment. Her silent objection must have shown on her face, because Scarlett snorted. “As I suspected. That’s why I plan to lend you mine… Y-you leave me no choice, so I’ll let you use it as a special favor. I hope you realize what an honor that is!” “What?! But I don’t need it. I mean, we don’t need to sneak in there—” “Were you going to say you could just buy a new one? Idiot. You probably don’t know this, but masks are far more expensive than one would imagine.” That would be a problem for a debtor like her. She didn’t know what to say. Scarlett wasn’t done. While guests at the ball hid their identities behind masks, they tacitly understood who was who, for the most part. They only pretended not to know. Apparently, Scarlett was a regular at the Earl John Doe Balls, lover of nightlife that she was. Therefore, if Connie wore Scarlett’s beloved mask, she was more likely to be approached by someone who knew about the circumstances surrounding her death. Connie was convinced, but carrying out the infiltration was another matter. Scarlett seemed to think of it as merely popping by her old house to pick something up, but from Connie’s perspective, it was flat-out breaking and entering, plus theft. Instead of commenting, she changed the subject. “…Do you really think Emilia Godwin doesn’t know anything?” “Probably not,” Scarlett said breezily. “Despite appearances, that woman is a coward. The only thing she’s good at is running away. I have no doubt that ten years ago, if she sensed danger, she would have run in the opposite direction from the truth. Anyhow, she’s not particularly smart. It’s quite possible that even if information was dropped at her feet, she didn’t notice it.” “Then why did she invite me to that ball?” “Even she must realize that someone knows something. The Earl John Doe Ball is ideal for gathering information. Those parties have always been packed with fools who fear no gods.” In other words, Emilia must have been saying that she’d give Connie an opportunity in exchange for not hanging around her anymore. Having explained that much, Scarlett paused, and an uncharacteristically innocent smile spread over her face. “Plus, this could be a good chance for you, Constance!” “A good chance?” “Yes, to pay off your debts. I told you that you still had prospects, didn’t I?” Scarlett had said something like that on the day she asked Connie to help her reap revenge. “It’s not as if I couldn’t help you.” In other words…this ball was a perfect opportunity for someone like her who had so few chances to meet men. But… “I can hardly imagine warming up to someone if we’ve both got masks on…” Connie crossed her arms and silently mulled over the issue, a serious look on her face. Scarlett furrowed her brow in exasperation. “Idiot. Did I ever say you were supposed to look for a new fiancé? Listen to me. People who go to dances with masks on usually have some sort of secret to keep. Men and women both. So here’s what you do. You find someone, anyone, and take advantage of their weakness to extort some money from them.” A soft rain was falling. Connie had just put out the oil lamp. She stared up at the expanse of darkness on the ceiling above her bed. The sound of the rain echoed through her body, hounding her. She couldn’t see Scarlett. Apparently, she had recently learned how ghosts sleep. That didn’t mean she was really sleeping, of course. But if she closed her eyes and told herself to fall asleep like she had when she was alive, she would apparently lose consciousness. Oddly enough, when that happened, Connie couldn’t see her. Although that didn’t seem to mean she had disappeared. “Can you honestly say you had nothing to do with it?” She suddenly heard Randolph Ulster’s voice in the dark. When she closed her eyes, the miserable scene at Lady Godwin’s ball rose in her mind’s eye. Everyone was looking at Connie. Looking with fear, anxiety, exuberance…and malice. “Take advantage of their weakness to extort some money from them.” It was possible that Scarlett wasn’t as terrible a person as the rumors made her out to be. But she certainly wasn’t a good person. She viewed right and wrong in an entirely different way than Connie did. The rain continued. Connie pressed her interlocked hands to her eyes and sighed. Unable to sleep, she got up, thinking she’d go have a cup of warm milk or something, and walked down the west stairs leading to the kitchen. She noticed a candle was lit in the stand. Someone appeared to be bustling around down there. She approached the noise suspiciously. “Father…?” Percival Ethel was standing in the hall, fully dressed. Her mother was standing next to him in travel clothes. What was going on? Hearing her voice, Connie’s father turned toward her. “Is that Connie?” he asked, looking somehow stern. “I know this is sudden, but I am returning to the Grail domain. Aria will be coming with me. I’d like you and your brother to stay here.” “At this hour…?” And in the rain? But her father simply nodded and went on as if that didn’t matter. “A post horse has just arrived from the domain. For the past several days, it seems the usurers have been clamoring for their money. Most likely, that’s because our prospects for returning it have evaporated—although the deadline is still a ways off. It seems some young folks who tried to resist them today were assaulted. Fortunately, people were nearby and came to their rescue, so they escaped with only minor injuries.” He fell silent for a moment. Connie could see the pain in his eyes. “If they’re going to hit someone, they ought to hit me. If they’re going to curse at someone, let them curse at me. I don’t know why they don’t. It would be infinitely better that way. But I suppose that would be meaningless to them. The truth of the matter is, this is what hurts me most, and I’m at a loss for what to do.” Ethel sank back into silence. Aria quietly wrapped her arms around him. A moment later, a manservant announced that the preparations were complete. Ethel brushed Connie’s cheek with his large, rough hand. “Take good care of Layli.” Percival Layli had been sulking all day. The moment he opened his eyes, he learned that his parents had returned to the domain, but when he asked why, no one would tell him. His sister seemed to know something. Layli was the only one who’d been left out. That wasn’t very sincere. His smoldering dissatisfaction suddenly exploded on his way to the courtyard to practice fencing with Cid, one of the family’s servants. If no one in this house will tell me what’s going on, then I’ll find out for myself! “…I forgot something in my room. I’ll be right back, so would you start getting ready without me?” Layli was ordinarily a well-behaved child, so Cid didn’t question him. But instead of going to his room, Layli slipped out of the house. “Layli has shut himself up in his room?” Connie asked, confused. Cid hung his head as he apologized. His face was pale. “He snuck off the grounds. I realized right away and ran after him… I caught him talking to someone on the street. I think he may have found out what happened in the domain. That’s most likely why he’s upset. I’m very sorry, Miss Constance. I am prepared to be punished for what I’ve done.” “Oh, no, that’s not necessary—” “I should have gone with him when he said he was returning to his room. That would have been the proper thing. He’s so young; I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. If my useless neck will do you any good, I will offer it up on the spot—” “Did you even hear what I said…?!” Connie couldn’t help shrieking. Meanwhile, the pale-faced Cid had pulled his short sword from its holster. She desperately tried to convince him no punishment would be necessary but, failing to succeed, finally promised to turn the matter over to her father when he returned if Cid would only wait until then. Having delivered this plea, she hurried off toward Layli’s room. “Layli, I’m coming in.” He hadn’t responded to her repeated knocks, so Connie finally pushed the door open. Percival Layli was sitting on his bed with his arms around his knees and a blanket pulled over his head. He didn’t react when Connie called his name. He looked terrified. As Cid suspected, he must have heard what happened in the domain. When Connie placed her hand on his arm to calm him, his little shoulders shivered. Connie blinked. Had she surprised him? But something was strange. He wasn’t surprised. He was— Connie forcefully grabbed his wrists. He resisted. But he had only the strength of a young child. She rolled up his sleeve, and he let out a squeal of pain. His thin white arm was marked with maroon bruises, as if someone had grabbed him hard. He hunched over further in fear. “…When I went outside, a person suddenly came up and started talking to me.” He said that a man with a scar next to his eye had grabbed his arm and yelled at him. “If you don’t return the money,” he’d said, “I’ll make the people of your domain pay. Every night I’ll rip off a toenail or carve out an eyeball or slice off a nose. And it’s all the fault of your family—no, you—for not paying your debts.” What an awful thing to say! She felt her gut go cold, then hot. Anger, sadness, and helplessness swirled in a burning mass in the pit of her stomach. “Everything will be fine, won’t it? As long as we’re sincere, it will all be fine, right?” “It will be fine, Layli. Of course it will. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Perhaps because her words soothed him, Layli dissolved into sobs. Connie drew his small body toward her and stroked his soft curls over and over. It was true—her brother hadn’t done anything wrong at all. The ones in the wrong were that man and the usurers who had hired him and, if she took it a step further, Pamela, who had destroyed their prospects of returning the money at the Grand Merillian, and Neil—and Connie. It went without saying that the origin of all their problems was a certain friend of her father’s, and if only Percival Ethel Grail hadn’t taken on responsibility for his debt, none of this would ever have happened. There was no free pass that said it was to be expected because they were Grails. To put it bluntly, her father was a fool. An enormous, incurable fool. But there were plenty of incurable people in the world. Scarlett was one of them. She was a horrible, wicked girl who had defended the first punishment dealt at a ball in ten years, pulled the wool over the eyes of innocent orphanage workers, and planned a theft from a marquess. Connie was a victim. She had simply been wrapped up in things. She couldn’t have avoided it. After all, Connie had always strived to be sincere. And see? This word, sincerity, had done a wonderful job of protecting Connie’s heart. But could Connie truly say she was sincere? Really, truly? Could she say she hadn’t covered up the uncomfortable truth and used the mask of the victim to escape? When Connie returned silently to her room, Scarlett was waiting. “Well, well, I was certain you’d collapse in tears,” she said. Maybe she would have in the past. She would have ignored her helpless self and instead moaned about the absurd situation she found herself in. But all her crying wouldn’t fix Layli’s swollen arm, or heal the wounds of the residents of her family’s domain who had been attacked, or reduce the amount of money her father owed. She had been too happy-go-lucky to realize that before, even though it was completely obvious. Over and over, she heard a reproachful voice asking her if she really had nothing to do with it. She bit her lip. She did have something to do with it. It wasn’t only Scarlett’s fault. Maybe it had started with her, but Connie had chosen her own actions after that. No matter how many excuses she told herself, she knew what she’d done was wrong. Connie let out a long breath. She had no idea what expression was on her face at that moment. But when Scarlett looked at her, she smiled excitedly as if she’d just discovered something unusual. After all… After all, she’d realized something. Connie’s sincerity and her father’s sincerity weren’t the same. Even if many people suffered in the end, like they would this time, her father’s understanding of sincerity did not budge. If someone appeared before him asking for help, he would absolutely do the same thing again. Even if it wasn’t the right thing to do as a father or as the lord of the domain, at the very least, it was the right thing for the human being Percival Ethel Grail to do. Because even when things got as bad as they were right now, he would never, ever use the word sincerity as an excuse. Ethel’s sincerity wouldn’t save Connie and her family. That made her frustrated and angry, but she still felt a little jealous of him. Connie could never be like that. That wasn’t what sincerity meant to her. For her, it easily became an excuse. She silently apologized to Percival Grail the First. I’m sorry…but I can’t swear on your name anymore. There were things she wanted to protect. And people. She would do anything for them. She would dare! She would become a wicked woman if she had to. She was ready to take the blame now. She didn’t care if she was punished for it. “So what are you going to do?” Scarlett asked in her usual casual tone. Connie had already made up her mind on how to answer. “I’m going to the Castiel residence.” On that day, Constance Grail threw away the shield of sincerity.