Arika

Kubel's cooking was staggering.

When Harad had once praised the man's handiwork, Ellen had assumed he meant his fists.

"Insane."

Looking back, it had been an absurd thing to believe. How would that timid creature ever bring himself to strike a customer?

"You really made all of this yourself?"

"Y-yes…"

The handiwork Harad had spoken of back then had been skill at the stove.

Ellen tasted the spread Kubel had laid out and marveled for a long while. She tried a bite of every dish he set before her, and only then did her hand slow to a stop.

"If it doesn't suit your palate, I could point you to another tavern…"

"Bring out more."

"Pardon?"

"Everything you can make, bring it all. I'll pay whatever the food costs."

Knights were hearty eaters by nature. Ellen ate far past hearty.

"It's the Heavenly Might — there's no helping it." So Harad had heard, once, in his previous life.

Kubel scrambled off to the kitchen, and every time he returned, a fresh plate steamed in his hands.

Ellen took each one without a word, shoveled a mouthful in, and only then spoke.

"…Honestly unbelievable."

Even with her mouth full, not a syllable came out slurred.

Every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spoonful of stew, every slice of meat drew admiration from her unbidden. Even the liquor was superb.

Ellen's hands moved as fast as when she swung a sword.

In the end, magic took shape inside the kitchen. A quick peek showed the smoke curling off the searing meat rocking the pan for him and dropping ingredients into the pot.

The smoke had looked thin at first — because he was replenishing it with mana rather than tobacco.

Kubel, who had once run a tavern, seemed to cook by a philosophy all his own.

"Is it good?"

It was not Ellen's stomach that stopped her hand, but Shura. Ellen froze mid-cut, knife still in her grip.

"You're the one being asked."

"I-I know."

That was why she'd been startled.

Shura had never once exchanged a word with Ellen.

"It's, it's delicious. So much."

Uncharacteristically, Ellen stumbled over her words.

They had met only yesterday, yet Ellen already liked Shura. Children were rare and precious in the North.

And that child had finally opened her heart to her.

"Your dad's a genius. I'm jealous, Shura."

Ellen slowly set down her knife and met Shura's eyes.

Shura sat across from her, at Harad's side.

Harad was dressed in a shirt — clothes Ellen had scraped together the moment they returned. The stated reason was Shura's safety. In the North, the only ones who went about in short sleeves were madmen and magicians.

"What do you like, Shura?"

Ellen asked carefully.

Shura hesitated for a long time. She was choosing her words — a deliberateness no child should possess.

'She's reading the room.'

Harad clicked his tongue at the sight of Shura giving his sleeve the faintest tug.

It was Kubel's doing. With her own father a magician, Shura had grown old before her time. That was why she hadn't spoken to Ellen until now.

'She already sorts people into kinds. Those who'd cherish Kubel… no — those who'd report him, and those who wouldn't.'

The guard was the kind that reported.

Harad was not. Ellen had only just become not. So the girl had finally worked up the nerve to speak — though trusting her completely was another matter.

Social instinct was a talent, if you called it one.

Just not a talent that belonged in a child.

"So Kubel doesn't light up even in front of us."

Harad said it while stroking the small hand resting on his sleeve.

"Shura. This is your dad talking — the dad who has no intention of ever leaving you alone."

"…Yes."

"Then it's alright to trust that friend too, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Shura let go of his sleeve. With a look of resolve, she rose, moved around the table, and settled in at Ellen's side. Then, to the wide-eyed Ellen, she opened her mouth, small and careful.

"I like eggs."

"…Huh?"

"The yolk and, and the white. Separately."

Shura's words came slow, and she looked nervous.

Ellen seemed perfectly at ease. She was grinning from ear to ear — and that, if anything, loosened the knot of Shura's tension.

Before ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠long, Ellen had set her utensils down, perched Shura on her lap, and wrapped her in both arms.

Which granted Kubel a moment's reprieve.

"Sit here. You must be starving."

Hand on hip, Harad indicated the empty seat beside him as Kubel emerged from the kitchen.

Kubel bobbed his head several times over and sat down with great care, eyes locked on Shura.

"You're a genius."

Ellen spoke to him the way she would to Shura, then caught herself.

"It really is delicious. You didn't run that tavern for nothing."

"…I used to be dreadful at it."

Kubel hunched those broad shoulders of his and scratched his head, sheepish. And looking at Shura all the while.

Ellen was no stranger to reading people. She understood exactly what that look meant.

The handiwork wasn't talent. It was effort.

Not a genius — simply a man who couldn't afford not to get better.

Before he was a magician, Kubel was a father.

"Can I come every day?"

"Yes!"

Having petted Shura to her heart's content, Ellen turned her gaze on Harad.

"We're eating here from now on, then?"

"Goodness — would you really allow that?"

Tears welled in Kubel's eyes.

Ellen made herself look away.

"…I'll try trusting you."

Ellen's steps had a bounce to them.

Anyone would have sworn she was drunk — but more than the liquor, she was drunk on Shura.

"Isn't she just the cutest?"

"She is."

"It aches a little, how grown-up she is. And then that's what makes her cute all over again."

"So I see."

"You don't like children?"

When his answer came lukewarm, Ellen's eyes narrowed into a glare.

"I like them fine. I just have no intention of getting close."

"Why not?"

Shura or no Shura, Ellen was drunk.

She never bothered chasing the drunkenness away. She'd been the same in the previous life — you drink to get drunk, so why burn it off, she'd say.

"Why burn away that precious liquor!"

"Shall I not, then?"

"No. Burn it all you like. You're insufferable when you're drunk."

And with that exact attitude, she had still never once let Harad get drunk.

He hadn't much minded.

"You were saying — why I won't get close."

"Habit. One every magician carries. The Order doesn't kill only magicians, you see."

What the devil sires is a devil, and the devil's friend is a devil too.

If Kubel was caught, his daughter Shura would die with him. Friends, if he had any, would die too.

"Kubel didn't give up the tavern just because it drew too many customers, I'd wager."

"…"

"He's a good man. Foolishly so."

And yet even that Kubel could not cut away his daughter.

"Truthfully, it's greed. If he truly had Shura's interests at heart, Kubel should have abandoned her."

Only then would the odds of both of them surviving rise even a little.

"Shura most likely knows it too. That must be why she never sets foot outside."

Shura was clever.

She understood a magician's station. Even at the guardhouse she had said nothing — never mind Kubel's secret, nothing at all. She would do the same anywhere.

But Shura does not go outside. Does not grow close to anyone. Because someday, because of her, they might all die together.

"Then I'll just have to introduce her to some friends. To Shura, I mean."

"Did you not hear a word I said?"

"I did. But that's how it works on the continent. This is Serzilla."

Ellen said it like it was nothing.

"On this land, no child dies without Serzilla's leave."

Not the sort of thing a rookie of the Information Bureau ought to say. Harad chose not to prick it.

"Shura isn't going to die. Neither are Shura's friends."

"And Kubel?"

"For now — well. He'll simply have to live. Until Shura is fully grown."

Come to think of it, Ellen's steps had been light the whole way.

Harad watched her back and laughed without a sound. Truly, there was a reward to regression in every single day.

Maybe that was why their walk stretched long. Normally they would have parted the moment they left the tavern.

"By the way. Do you actually have friends to introduce to Shura?"

"Of course. Did I never mention? I'm the ringleader of these alleys."

Ellen giggled, pointing at the alley branching off to the left.

Apparently in that mode she ran with the children too. A side of her he'd never seen in the previous life.

"You really are diligent."

Playing the Grand Duke's heir and still finding hours to play. She must sleep that much less for it. A deviation possible only because of Heavenly Might.

The streets were packed with noise. Fruit-laced alcohol and a sooty reek lay low over them.

"You startin' somethin'?"

"Cold, are ya?"

Half-drunk sots warmed themselves on each other's fists.

Northerners exchange fists in place of words. Because it warms the body.

Ellen giggled again, watching them grow warm. That was the land she loved.

They walked on like that for who knows how long before Ellen stopped.

Before a modest white house. A building he knew from memory — one of the Information Bureau's official residences.

"This is your place?"

"Yes, yes. And you should head back too."

Ellen looked rattled.

She'd had no intention of letting him know — yet she had walked the two of them right up to her door without noticing? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠No.

"Seems you don't live alone."

Someone was inside.

Harad asked, feigning ignorance.

"An enemy? If so, I'll gladly help."

"…My senior."

The agent who had interrogated the guard's Third Squad captain and brought back the intelligence on the tunnel.

Harad had a fair guess who that was.

"Then I should at least pay my respects. We found the tunnel thanks to her, after all."

"Don't bother. I'll do it — so go home."

And then, without preamble, the door swung open.

Comically enough, the sight had discipline to it. The door opened at an exact right angle, and the woman one step out from within moved like struck iron. The bearing of a soldier — a rare thing in the North.

"You're late, Ellen."

"…"

No one had agreed on this.

Proof enough: the drunkenness drained out of Ellen's face.

The woman paid it no mind. Outwardly, at least. She turned her gaze to Harad.

"Arika."

"Harad. A pleasure."

Harad offered his hand.

"Not mine, magician."

Harad laughed it off, hollow.

Come to think of it, it had been the same in the previous life.

That future Director of Intelligence had never once liked Harad.

The Information Bureau of Serzilla.

Unlike the Empire's, it had no revered elders — no one coasting on years or rank.

Even agents who never left the halls were every bit a knight's match.

Only, they sat oddly with the Northern image — because they were the ones who handled information.

The strong and Northern went to the knights. The strong and clever went to the Bureau.

Arika had been that Bureau's elite.

Talent bound for the very top of it.

If memory served, Arika had been rigid as an Imperial soldier, orthodox in all things.

A welcome fit for an ideal Serzilla — except that, unfortunately, Grand Duke Elain had been closer to a stage actress.

"Arika has entered the castle."

"Yes."

"You will receive her. And handle the formalities as well."

"The Director of Intelligence hates me, though."

"So what of it?"

Outwardly Elain had brightened; inwardly, she had recoiled.

Not that she had truly disliked Arika. It was the most commonplace of relationships — a superior who loathed the work and a subordinate who kept heaping it on her.

Of course, to all appearances Elain was a capable and remarkably splendid ruler.

Hypocrisy is still a virtue, they say — and a ruler splendid on the outside, if not within, gathers splendid vassals all the same.

Arika had been an excellent Director of Intelligence.

A loyal retainer who would do anything at all for Serzilla's sake.

Which was exactly why she clashed with Harad so often.

To Serzilla, Harad was a bomb that might detonate at any moment.

Arika hated that Elain went on living with that bomb held to her chest.

"Harad. The bomb that is you gives Her Highness a fresh headache every single time."

"And I talk her out of it every single time."

"Then stop talking her out of things and get lost."

"To the Outlands?"

"…"

"A joke. You're always so terribly serious."

Still, he had never truly loathed her.

At least, Harad hadn't. The regressed Harad remembered Arika's final moments with perfect clarity.

'So this is where we grew close. No — it must have been before that.'

Harad tilted his head as he studied Arika.

Going by her behavior, she seemed to know exactly what Ellen was.

"Go on inside, Arika."

"I'm quite alright, Ellen."

Arika was not the type to mind her superior's mood. Ellen, the junior on paper, could say no more.

"Thanks to you, we found the tunnel."

"I didn't do it for you."

Arika disliked magicians.

And one of them was now tagging along beside Ellen — no wonder she couldn't stomach it.

'Unchanged, I see.'

She'd been like this in the previous life too. Though unlike then, the Arika before him genuinely disliked him.

'So that's why she told me to go home.'

It was a welcome development. It meant she couldn't bear to watch him be scorned.

Then Ellen flashed him a signal, curling her hand into a ring — a gesture that looked like pointing at the tunnel.

'The tunnel stays secret, then.'

The right call. With Arika's personality, she would report it to the Grand Duke exactly as it happened.

"You dislike me."

"Precisely."

"Then why come out at all?"

"The more I dislike something, the closer I keep it."

A bug hidden under the bed is a scarier thing than a bug before your eyes.

That nuance gladdened him, and Harad smiled the way he had in the old days.

Arika's face gave back nothing at all.

"Be careful in everything you do, magician. I will be watching you."

This, too, was a reward of regression. The future had changed yet again. In the other timeline, Arika had not been stationed in the North at this point.

"No. The one watching me will be this friend here."

Harad rested a hand on Ellen's shoulder.

Arika's brows twitched.

'Just as I thought.'

Since their return to Serzilla, Arika's assignment seemed to have shifted to attending on Ellen.

"The one you ought to be watching is Kubel."

"…I have no obligation to hear you out."

"Even if this friend asks?"

Harad patted Ellen's shoulder twice.

"…He has a point, Arika. Shura needs protecting."

The tone was a request, but Ellen's eyes promised murder.

Arika had ignored Ellen's wishes when she opened that door, and now she stood keeping Harad in check at every turn.

"I will see to it, Ellen."

Arika's reply to Ellen was polite in form and nothing more.

"You. Is there something you know?"

"No."

The answer was instant.

"You certainly look like you do, though."

Just then —

Arika seized Harad by the collar.

"I said no."

"Arika!"

Ellen lurched forward, and Harad raised a hand to stop her.

"I'm quite alright."

Harad gently peeled Arika's fingers away and offered Ellen his farewell.

"Then rest, Ellen. I'll be on my way."

"…See you tomorrow, Harad."

Perhaps out of apology, her voice had gone soft.

Watching Ellen's manner, Arika's brows shifted.

Harad walked toward the Inner Castle, smoothing the collar Arika had grabbed.

Tucked inside it was a small slip of paper.

He knocked, and a stir of life came from the second floor.

The window opened first. Shortly after, Kubel answered the door with a startled face.

"Did you leave something behind?"

"I didn't. Might I sleep one night and be gone by morning?"

Kubel threw the door wide and climbed the stairs with heavy, eager strides.

Harad closed the door and followed him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up to find the bedding already spread — right beside Shura, sound asleep, breathing softly.

"You don't even ask why? Not a shred of doubt?"

"I thought if it was you, there would be no problem."

"Because you're fellow magicians?"

"…"

Kubel answered with a bitter smile instead of words. It was answer enough.

Magicians were not all on the same side.

"None of this 'Lord Harad.' Ellen may let it slide, but it sits awkward with me."

"As you say, Harad."

When Harad lay down, Kubel settled in on Shura's other side. From the drawer beside the bed he took out his tobacco and set it at his pillow.

"Just sleep."

"But…"

"It's fine. I came in case something happened."

"…Thank you."

"It's only right."

The bed swayed at intervals.

Mercifully, Shura slept through it.

Big as he was, Kubel's tears ran in equal measure.

The tossing and turning stopped only after a long while.

Big as he was, Kubel's snoring was tremendous. Shura seemed accustomed to it; to Harad it was a considerable ordeal.

His weary body refused to find sleep.

And so Harad kept the night.

Until the birds woke singing, until the light through the window turned red.

And until someone slipped quietly into the first floor, drew something there, fed it mana, and set off an explosion.

…He had expected as much.

"Arika. You, of all people, never change. Exactly the same then as now."

Harad read, one more time, the note Arika had tucked into his collar while gripping it.

The note was small. Only the essentials, written down.

Arika did not wish for Kubel's death either.

She could dislike magicians. She did not hate them.

"No wonder I could never bring myself to hate you."

And so Harad, too, could do nothing but the same.