Given the circumstantial evidence, the most likely theory was that an explosive magical device had been smuggled in and used to blast open the iron bars that had been weakened by my slapdash repairs, leading to the count’s demise. Not that any trace of such a device had been found. But what with the count falling to his death right after the sound of an explosion, it really did seem to be the best fit.
I had no doubt the case would go cold. It wasn’t like we had detectives or policemen around in this era. What about the suspect’s testimony, you ask? Well, as you can imagine, Acretia was keeping her lips tightly zipped.
That about covered the evidence and the deductions I’d made so far, all of which I brought Vera-Sylvie up to speed on. Incidentally, not much focus was being spared for figuring out the methods used to perpetrate the incident. Neither the Count Palatine nor the rest of my lords seemed to care overmuch about how exactly the murder was done. I couldn’t help but be curious, though, which was why I was asking Vera-Sylvie for her two cents.
Her answer ended up being rather absurd. “Maybe she...got emotional...and used magic,” she suggested.
“That couldn’t be—she was under mana-sealing wards,” I reminded. “I know you could manage it, but ordinarily, spellcasting is impossible within that tower. Besides, I’ve never heard anything about her being able to use magic.”
Acretia being magically capable would neatly explain the explosion, the iron bars, as well as the lack of any sort of device found in the aftermath. However, that was one hell of an initial premise to swallow.
“But she should...have the talent,” Vera-Sylvie said adamantly.
“For magic?” I asked. “What makes you think that?”
Vera-Sylvie proceeded to explain that previous generations of the imperial family had taken a proactive approach to mixing mage bloodlines with their own. That, I could understand. Historically, the capability for magic was closely linked to being of the nobility, to say nothing of the fact that magic itself was a symbol of power.
This had led to the imperial family absorbing mage bloodlines to retain its influence and authority, as well as the common practice of selecting an empress consort from such bloodlines—though, whether she was actually capable of spellcraft or not was often ignored as a concern. Regardless, this meant that every empress consort to date had either been magically capable themselves, or had belonged to an attested magical bloodline.
“That was why I was...chosen to be the crown prince’s wife,” Vera-Sylvie finished. “And why Lady Rosaria is studying magic.”
It was easy enough to test whether someone had the potential to become a mage with a magical diagnostic tool. That was how we’d discovered our crop of magically capable individuals during the army’s recruitment effort. However, possessing the potential was very different from actually being able to cast a spell. You see, the difference sprang entirely from the subject in question’s imagination, or rather the limits thereof. It was why there were so many grimoires out there that listed dozens of practice methods for or ways to mentally picture a single spell.
Would-be mages also faced another hurdle when it came to the very first step of sensing ambient mana. I’d picked up on it quickly, since I’d noticed there was something in the air that I’d never felt back on Earth, but others didn’t have the benefit of that comparison to help them. Apparently, there were quite a few people who had the potential to be mages, but couldn’t because they lacked the mana perception.
In Vera-Sylvie’s case, although she had never used much magic, she’d become the crown prince’s wife because she’d possessed the potential. It was only after she’d been imprisoned that her talent for spellcasting had truly blossomed. Taking that into account, it didn’t seem too unlikely that Acretia had undergone a similar blossoming after she’d been imprisoned.
Actually, that did make an odd sort of sense. As far as the people of this world went, magic could be considered a type of inherent combat instinct—a part of the “fight” half of “fight or flight.” It stood to reason that exposure to extreme circumstances, such as being imprisoned, could awaken that natural instinct. The fact that Acretia’s father had been the Minister of Ceremony—a descendant of the magically rich Bundartian imperial family bloodline—lent credence to this theory. Not to mention her mother had been a descendant of Ein, the Illuminatus. If that transmigrator in butler’s garb I’d run into all that time ago was anything to go off of, it seemed likely that Ein’s descendants had a strong magical bloodline too. Everything seemed to point toward Acretia having significant latent talent for magic.
Damn it, why had no one ever told me about this? Well, probably because it was considered common knowledge among this world’s aristocracy, now that I thought about it. In fact, did that mean that so long as royalty and nobility kept marriages among themselves, we’d basically never run out of mage bloodlines?
If I assumed Vera’s conjecture was correct, and Acretia had awakened as a mage within mana-sealing barriers, that meant the former regent was capable of escaping whenever she wanted. No, wait—that wasn’t true. If it were that easy, Vera-Sylvie would’ve managed it a long time ago. There were still the guards and all the surveillance in the way. Nevertheless, I would have to keep an eye out so that Acretia didn’t create even more hassles for me to deal with.
It really would have been a lot easier just to kill her.
Following the mage hypothesis, though, led me to another question. “Why did she become emotional, then?” I grumbled. “What drove her to kill the count? I cannot fathom in the slightest what she was thinking.”
“Maybe she wasn’t thinking at all,” Vera-Sylvie suggested. She went on to claim that Acretia had no desire to provoke my anger. Nor did she bear a grudge against me for imprisoning her, apparently.
Personally, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. She had been one of my foremost puppetmasters!
“I think, just because...she didn’t know how...to love you...” Vera-Sylvie said, her words gradually losing confidence until they became nothing more than a whisper. “Doesn’t mean...she didn’t...love you at all...”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No...”
Well, I’d figured as much. Vera-Sylvie hadn’t come into contact with Acretia for the last decade. This had to be her own opinion—an opinion with no basis, I would add. The former regent had abandoned me to devote herself to the child she’d had with her extramarital lover. To claim that she loved me stretched the bounds of belief.
There was no hard evidence that she was capable of magic, regardless. All of this had been nothing but speculation. I could’ve thought as hard as I wanted about how she’d done it, and I would probably never get the answer.
It seemed that, ultimately, the conclusion I’d reached matched that of my lords. Given the existence of magic in this world, the “howdunit” really didn’t matter all that much.
As for how I would deal with the fallout, I’d think about it another time. You know, come to think of it, Acretia was the person responsible for imprisoning Vera-Sylvie for so long. The young magical prodigy had to have the heart of an angel, if she was trying to defend her.
Nevertheless, it seemed that Vera-Sylvie had nothing more to say, leaving us to lapse into a long silence.