The Noble Lily
Thanks to its geographic position, the magic city of Lyceum ranked among the greatest trade hubs on the continent.
Merchants from every corner of the land gathered here, and trading houses of many nations had already opened branch shops along Lyceum’s commercial streets.
“As expected, Imperial goods are everywhere.”
For Pel, who dreamed of one day running a trading house of her own, Lyceum’s markets were a classroom—a place to read the currents of the continent and to learn.
Simply walking the stalls, noting what sold well and where the goods came from, was how a merchant grasped the temper of the age. That, at least, was Pel’s conviction.
The sheer volume of Imperial wares on offer right now was proof enough of how deeply the railways had shaken the continental economy.
Magic engineering had given birth to factories capable of mass production; under the emperor’s patronage an Imperial mage-engineer had created a new form of transport called the train. The world ahead, Pel believed, would be decided by magic engineering.
Pel, Pel. I’m bored.
While she was deep in her market survey, a child’s voice sounded inside her head.
It was Mera, the young spirit with whom she had formed a contract.
Mera, just a little longer, okay?
Among spirit mages, Pel was an anomaly—she could achieve full attunement with her spirit. Her synchronization rate was, in fact, the highest ever recorded.
Ordinary spirit mages could speak only with high spirits; with lesser ones the language barrier left them with little more than vague impressions. Pel’s peculiar constitution let her understand a spirit’s words and converse freely.
Uuu… but it’s already been three hours…
Huh? It’s been three hours already?
Pel had not come to the market today merely for research. Field practice would begin this coming Monday, and she had come to prepare.
She did not know exactly what the exercise would involve, but Aegis Academy’s field practice was said to function as a kind of test. Walking in with a careless heart could earn her a very rough time; she wanted to be as ready as possible.
Old habits, however, had gotten the better of her. Instead of preparing for the exercise she had spent three solid hours wandering the shops and surveying the market. Only when Mera’s impatience finally broke through did Pel realize how much time had slipped away.
“Oh? Pel?”
“Good day, Miss Pel.”
Just as she was about to hurry and finish her shopping, she found herself face-to-face with Noir and Blanc walking companionably together from the far side of the street.
“Hello, Lady Noir. Miss Blanc.”
They were people with whom she had long shared a friendly acquaintance; the chance meeting was a pure delight.
“Are you two preparing for field practice as well?”
“Yes. Blanc and I were out getting ready together.”
Noir’s outfit was far too light for serious shopping, but Pel saw no reason to point it out. She had known the two of them long enough.
She did not know that Noir’s true self was less the lofty lion of Leonhart than a fantasy-addled golden retriever; she did, however, know that Noir’s feelings for Blanc went well beyond ordinary affection.
No doubt Noir had treated this long-awaited outing for two as an occasion to dress with extra care—while carefully avoiding any look that was too obviously dressed-up. And as long as Blanc was with her, any amount of luggage could be tucked away inside Bokja, so there was no fear of mussing the ensemble.
“Hehe… how noble.”
“Hm? Noble…?”
“Nothing at all!”
Watching the pleasant atmosphere the two of them gave off, Pel quietly licked her lips so no one would notice.
House Leonhart was a major patron of the Lucoda Merchantry, and the servants of the Leonhart estate likewise favored Lucoda’s honest dealings. It was only natural that Pel, heir to the house, should grow close to members of the Leonhart family.
And under the influence of Anjel, a maid of the Leonhart estate, Pel had stepped into a forbidden realm.
A love pure and noble as a white lily.
The first time she had opened a book that contained such love she had been rather shocked; now it was the very fuel that carried her through each day. And the living sight of that love, embodied in Noir and Blanc, was less a side dish than a blessing.
Anjel had been the greatest influence drawing her into the realm of the noble, but the spark itself had been Noir and Blanc. To explain the finer details one had to go all the way back to Pel’s first meeting with Noir.
“I-I’m Pe-Pel Lucoda of the Lu-Lucoda Merchantry…”
“Noir von Leonhart of the ducal house of Leonhart.”
That first meeting had not been a happy memory. It was not exactly a bad one either, yet looking back it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Noir had already carried herself with the flawless poise of a noble; Pel had not yet mastered even the basics of being a merchant. House Leonhart was both the Lucoda Merchantry’s greatest backer and its largest client, and in her very first encounter with the family’s young heir Pel had committed one blunder after another.
She had stammered; she had botched the simplest etiquette. It would have been faster to count the things she had done right. To adult eyes it was only the awkwardness of a child, but Pel had not seen it that way. She could not excuse her mistakes with “I’m still little” when Noir—exactly her own age—had presented the perfect image of a noble young lady.
A girl perfect in every respect, so unlike her own still-lacking self. Facing that expression that held not a trace of emotion, Pel had felt both self-loathing and fear.
That night she had pulled the covers over her head and wept in secret. She had wanted to become a daughter the Lucoda couple who had adopted her could be proud of. And what was this? Could a creature like her ever be their pride?
So she had labeled the first meeting a black mark in her history—an embarrassment that must never be repeated. At the same time she decided it was a memory she must never forget. She would carve that shameful past into her heart and walk forward.
Thereafter she met Noir again and again, determined never to make the same mistakes, determined to become as perfect as the girl before her. She had set the noble young lady named Noir as her goal.
And through those repeated meetings she came to understand: Noir was not perfect. The outward perfection she displayed had been bought by sacrificing something inside her.
Pel realized this four years ago, one month after news arrived of the death of Noir’s father, Noas von Leonhart.
The moment she heard, Pel had wanted to run to Noir, yet she was not able to visit the Leonhart estate until a full month had passed. Noas had officially succeeded to the dukedom only a year earlier; his death had thrown the household into a frenzy of activity.
“Lady Leonhart…”
After a month of waiting she finally saw Noir again—and the sight struck her like a blow.
“Good day to you.”
Noir received her with the same perfect composure as always. Pel had not wished for Noir to grieve openly; she had prepared hundreds of words of comfort. Though she now lived under new parents, she herself had been an orphan, and she wanted to console Noir as best she could.
Yet contrary to every fear, Noir stood before her as though nothing were amiss—no, more perfectly composed than ever. Pel had heard that nobles rarely allowed sorrow or hardship to show on the surface. But Noir had been only eleven. It was natural for a child to weep for a father.
The Noir she faced felt instead like a doll from which the very capacity for sorrow had been excised so that the perfect exterior might remain intact.
Only then did Pel understand. It was not perfection. In order to maintain that flawless surface, in order to play the perfect noble, the emotion a child ought to possess—innocence, the simple heart of childhood—had been thoroughly castrated from her.
“Ah…”
In Noir’s eyes, blue as a beautiful sea, Pel glimpsed an abyss so deep that not even light was permitted. She felt again the same fear she had known at their first meeting.
People, it is said, feel unease when they look upon a doll that too closely resembles a human being. Pel did not feel revulsion toward Noir, yet the discovery that the girl she had once set as her ideal was in truth little more than an empty shell left her reeling. The perfection she had admired had been born by trampling upon human dignity itself.
After that day she reproached her own ignorance. Knowing nothing of the suffering Noir had endured to reach that state, she had simply admired her and resolved to become the same. She had ignored the pain Noir felt while approaching perfection and fixed her eyes only on the glittering result. If that was not ignorance, what was?
From then on Pel reduced her meetings with Noir—out of guilt, and out of the helpless knowledge that she could do nothing for the girl she had once admired.
“It’s been a while, Miss Lucoda.”
“My lady…?”
One year later, when she met Noir again after so long, Pel could scarcely believe her eyes at the change.
“Come on, Blanc. Say ‘aah.’”
“Young miss… how could a maid put her mouth to young miss’s food…”
“Tsk!”
“Uuu…”
After the chance meeting on the street, Pel decided to stroll the market together with them. At first she had meant to excuse herself and leave the two to their date, but they had insisted she stay.
She had wondered why Noir would deliberately pull an outsider into their private time; then she understood. To this young lady it made no difference whether an outsider was present or not.
Noir bought ice cream from a street vendor and forced it upon Blanc. Blanc, though clearly reluctant, yielded to her mistress’s command. Neither of them seemed to give a single thought to the fact that Pel was watching.
“Hehe…”
Anyone else might have felt slighted at being left out while the two of them played together. Not Pel.
She bought a bag of street popcorn, lagged a step behind, and observed them with rapt attention. Unlike the Noir of old who had lost her humanity and shown only perfection, the Noir before her eyes was spending a warm, ordinary moment with her personal maid.
She coaxed reactions from the rather undemonstrative Blanc and blushed with delight at every little thing Blanc did. How noble a sight it was. So beautiful, so sublime that tears nearly sprang to Pel’s eyes.
This moment was a noble treasure that had to be preserved forever. She intended to remember every detail without missing a single one, then transfer it exactly into the secret notebook hidden deep in her dormitory room. That notebook was already filled with rather embarrassing fantasies starring Noir and Blanc, but it was for her eyes alone; there was no problem at all.
Pel… I can see that too, you know…
Quiet, Mera.
She was busy chewing popcorn; this was no time for interruptions.
Pel had first set foot in the realm she called “the noble” three years earlier, at her reunion with Noir. No longer the doll she had been, Noir had reclaimed her humanity and no longer hid her feelings. And wherever those feelings surfaced, there stood the personal maid who had only recently entered service at the Leonhart estate.
Just who was that maid, that she could turn a girl living a doll’s life back into a human being?
Watching the two of them so affectionately together, Pel remembered the title of the book Anjel had asked her to procure:
Noble Love. The Forbidden Lily.
Learning of such books for the first time had given her a shock. Yet seeing the two of them made her curious about the contents after all. Guided by Anjel, she had stepped fully into the realm of the noble.
“Oh? What are you all doing?”
While Pel was happily watching Noir and Blanc as they walked, Chelln came strolling toward them from the opposite side of the street.
“My, Chelln.”
“Miss Chelln, good day.”
The two greeted the approaching girl. Pel also offered a cheerful hello to the unexpected friend. Though she had known Chelln for less than a month, the girl’s natural friendliness had let her grow close to the three of them with startling speed.
Naturally Chelln joined the group without the slightest awkwardness. She took her place beside Blanc, and they began walking three abreast—Noir, Blanc, Chelln.
“Hehe…”
One step behind them, Pel observed the trio with keen interest.
Did Noir even realize? That lately Chelln’s gaze had been drifting toward Blanc in a rather peculiar way. That the number of times Chelln sought contact with Blanc kept increasing. Even now, the moment she joined them she had planted herself at Blanc’s side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Don’t tell me…! Hehe…
It might be pure imagination. In fact, imagination was the more likely explanation. But for Pel, who already dwelt in the realm of the noble, Chelln’s behavior was the finest material her fantasies could ask for.