Detection (1)
'Why did I do that?'
That one question had run through Ellen's entire week.
Why had she struck Cassion instead of Harad? Looking back, the first thing that surfaced was Harad's face—caked in blood. That face had forced her body to move before her mind could catch up.
'Out of pity?'
Maybe. Unlike the wreck Harad had been, Cassion hadn't looked all that worse for wear. As Serzila's heir, perhaps she'd simply wanted to balance the scales.
Even as she thought it, Ellen knew it was bullshit.
'Balance, my ass.' What balance? What was the point of balancing anything? If she'd truly meant it, Elaine should have held a proper judgment once Harad recovered—stood the two of them up and made them fight it out again.
'Because I couldn't accept it?'
No. Hadn't she swung with the flat of the blade precisely so it wouldn't come to that? The plan had been to knock Harad down, settle the affair, and then hear them both out.
'Because I trusted him?'
That came closest to the truth. Cassion hadn't manifested magic at the time, but Elaine's heart had already tipped toward Harad—and any man who laid hands on him was, by that fact alone, likely already a magician.
...Not a particularly satisfying answer.
'Then why was I annoyed?'
Because the Grand Duke's heir had come to play, and Harad—grinning like a fool—had played with no one but her. Like a man who'd made use of the cadet branch and cast it aside the moment the direct line showed its face. She'd gotten to know Harad the person, and it had ended in irritation. If it had been anyone but Harad, Ellen would have ground that man into pulp.
'Fine—don't come see me. But you could have at least pretended to look.'
That was what had stung. It stung, and so she'd been annoyed.
...This, too, was no satisfying answer.
If anything kept surfacing, it was Harad's face. Blood-smeared, bewildered—looking almost offended that she was angry. Ellen had been every bit as bewildered. However many times she turned it over, no clean, decisive answer came. Only one thing seemed certain: even if she returned to that moment, she would make the same choice. She would choose Harad over Cassion, and she would be irritated that Harad hadn't come looking for her.
That had to be why she was dreaming now. Because that face kept rising to the surface.
—My, you're looking well.
Elaine in the dream said. Judging by her speech, this was from her days as Grand Duke.
—Of course I am. As I should be. I am, after all, the Grand Duke's own guard knight.
It seemed Grand Duke Elaine had taken Harad as her guard knight. 'No wonder he was at her side every single day.' It was hardly surprising. Cassion was playing at knighthood too, wasn't he? Apparently there was more than one road to the same place.
—It's always been this way.
Harad replied offhandedly. He wore white formal dress shot through with gold, a sword hanging at his waist as befitted a true guard knight. On closer look, it was Pater.
—What are you doing alone out here?
—Nothing to do. The enthronement's over.
The enthronement. The Elaine of the dream had, it seemed, ascended to the Grand Duke's seat that very day.
—The whole territory's celebrating thanks to that enthronement. Go show your face at the festival, at least.
—No. It's boring.
Ellen saw through the lie at once. This was the North. There was no land on earth she'd find boring.
—Which is why you have no friends.
—You are enough.
—Then find yourself a woman to marry, at least.
—At the festival?
Elaine giggled. But Ellen noticed her eyes weren't laughing.
—Since when has the North ever cared for pedigree?
—True enough. My guard knight is a magician, after all.
Elaine stared straight at Harad.
—I've no need for one yet. I'm too busy playing with you.
At that, Harad's face twisted horribly.
—I'm not into that.
—Fortunately, neither am I.
Elaine beamed.
—Idiot.
—...What was that for, all of a sudden?
—Just testing you. So you've learned to hold your tongue. They say your speech has gone perfectly genteel, too.
—Didn't Your Grace force it on me?
—Not force. Correction.
Harad had once been a man of fire. The Elaine of the dream seemed to have corrected both his temper and his tongue.
—But is it right for a Northerner to be so genteel?
—Even so, you must be. You are the only one who can rein me in. Enough—let's drink.
Grand Duke Elaine produced a bottle. Astonishingly, it was the very liquor Ellen had drunk earlier.
—Drink.
—You're drinking with me. Today is a joyous day, is it not?
—Is taking the seat that delightful? You said once it was nothing but a matter of course.
—Idiot.
—...?
Elaine clicked her tongue and poured his cup.
—It is Ten-Thousand-Year Snow. A liquor only Serzila may drink. Serzila, and Serzila alone.
Elaine laid weight on the name Serzila.
—It must be costly.
—I give it to you and you alone. Consider it an honor.
Harad looked down at the brimming cup. He savored its color, then its scent. Elaine watched him in silence.
—It is the liquor I love most in this world.
—I've heard enough. You can stop flaunting your generosity.
—...You truly are an idiot.
Elaine glared as if she could kill him, watching Harad gulp the liquor straight down. Those were eyes that could never be aimed at a friend. Harad, who had somehow wrested the bottle away and was pouring into his own cup, seemed oblivious to it all—but Ellen could see.
...Dream or not.
"Seriously, what the fuck..."
Ellen was certain: this dream, at least, was pure, unfiltered nonsense. It was a dream she could never tell Harad about.
Heavenly Might may have been granted to Elaine alone, but even without it, Serzila had produced strong-boned bodies for generations. Ten-Thousand-Year Snow, beloved by just such a people, packed an alcohol content to match.
'In my past life, it was all taste and no consequence.'
Ten-Thousand-Year Snow had been the finest liquor past-life Harad had ever known. Back then, it left no hangover, either. Not anymore.
"I'm dying."
Because he was still only 3rd Circle. Circle rank and capacity for drink were closely entwined—the same reason Sword Masters held their liquor so well.
Pressing a hand to his throbbing head, Harad stepped out of the annex and made straight for Kubel's—which was, for some reason, abuzz with noise. Inside, a warm smell wrapped around him. Ellen sat at the table, waiting for food.
"What's going on?"
Cassion was pressed face-down to the floor in front of her.
"Making my apology."
Cassion answered, remarkably composed for a man with his face in the dirt.
"Ah. Pater."
"..."
Cassion was a magician. Which was why Ellen had been forced to hand over Pater. It had been a wager Harad and Ellen made entirely on their own, yet Cassion seemed to feel a crushing sense of responsibility over it—after all, it meant Ellen had trusted him enough to stake the heirloom sword on him.
"...I never ordered you to do that."
"I never said you did."
"You said it with your eyes."
"You're imagining things."
Ellen looked away. It didn't seem to be out of any misunderstanding, either. If it were, she'd have glared—not averted her gaze.
"Anything happen?"
"No. Nothing."
"I see."
"..."
Then Ellen glared at him. He couldn't fathom why, but the cause seemed to lie with him. In moments like these, Harad knew exactly what to do.
"Eat first."
A full stomach usually settles most grievances. Past-life Elaine had been that way, and Ellen was no different—her eyes softened as she looked at the food Kubel had just set down.
"More, please."
"Of course."
Kubel ducked into the kitchen and came straight back out, steam curling up from the bowls in both hands. He seemed to have prepared family-sized portions from the very start.
"Now I feel alive."
The fiery stew, the steaming bread and meat pressed his hangover—risen all the way up his throat—firmly back down. The bread and meat were so tender they gave way at the touch of his tongue, and the stew was thick with wonderfully soft chunks. To Harad, who had lived alone in an annex in his past life, the vegetables were unfamiliar things—precious produce, in the North.
It wasn't Kubel who was special. It was Shura. No Northerner dislikes children, and the Inner Castle of Serzila was no exception. They adored Shura.
"I want some too."
"Not this one, it's too spicy for you... How about this instead?"
"Yes!"
Ellen loved Shura enough to give up even her own meat.
"You too. Sit and eat."
Harad looked at Cassion and gestured to an empty chair—a seat Kubel had newly bought for Elaine, who had been visiting every day of late. When Elaine came, Ellen didn't; when Ellen came, Elaine didn't. Kubel found nothing strange in it at all. That was the normal reaction.
"I'm fine."
"When you're told to eat, you eat, Cassion."
"Yes."
Cassion took the chair.
"Lady Ellen, if yours runs short, you're welcome to mine."
"You must think I'm a pig."
"The pig is me."
Cassion stuffed the bread and meat into his mouth in one go, then—cheeks still packed—opened wide and poured in the entire stew besides.
"Chew a hundred times before you swallow."
"Mmph."
Cassion chewed, his face utterly grave. The longer he chewed, the wider his eyes grew.
"...This is insane."
Having chewed his hundred chews and swallowed, Cassion stared down at his empty plate—then whipped his head toward Kubel.
"Is this magic?"
"Oh, sh—"
Ellen, fork half-raised to throw, caught Shura's eye and lowered her arm. Cassion watched her do it.
"What?"
The keeper of the Flowerbed's Flesh was a magician, and Ellen was a regular there. A fact Cassion, apparently, knew.
"News of you travels often, Lady Ellen."
"Why?"
"You're rather popular. With the knights."
Harad's eyes went round.
"Naturally. I'm a cadet branch, far removed from the line of succession."
To the knights, in other words, she looked like a tree worth climbing.
"Had you not been a cadet branch, it would be worse still."
Cassion flattered.
"I'm aware."
Ellen spoke as though it were the most obvious thing in the world—and it was a confidence that was, if anything, entirely earned. Ellen was beautiful to any eye. Harad had never seen a woman more beautiful than her. Though that was because the Grand Duke's heir lived within that beauty.
"Now that's a first."
"It's hardly something to boast of."
Ellen put a whole cut of meat in her mouth without bothering to slice it. Even that was beautiful. Not desire—more the way one looks upon a work of art. At least, that was how it was for Harad.
"Shura, what about this one?"
Harad asked, tipping his knife toward Cassion. If she said no, he'd find someone else.
"I think he'll be fine."
Shura answered readily these days. Not that she'd stopped weighing people—that precociously mature girl was remarkably good at telling one person from another.
"Really?"
Ellen—once treated as a ghost by Shura—was astonished.
"A relief. I was half-ready to call in Gulen or Delic."
"I was going to ask Sir Moresz."
Ellen said, hiding a flicker of disappointment.
"It shouldn't take more than two days."
That was the estimated survey time for the Boundary. This time, Harad intended to bring Kubel—which left Cassion to watch Shura.
"If anything goes wrong, you're truly dead this time."
Harad laid down the law. And it was no bluff. If Shura came to harm, Ellen would likely kill him.
"That will not happen."
Cassion answered with utter certainty. The North cherishes its children—even Grand Duke Aratus himself. Cassion had been remade by that North; he cherished children as dearly as any born Northerner.
"I may come to harm. The child will not."
There was unmistakable warmth in Cassion's eyes as he looked at Shura. The warmth of the North—the warmth he had come to love.
Kubel's tension was plain to see. His steps were carrying him toward the first Boundary of his life—and toward the weight of knowing he might have to kill a man. Magic beasts were one thing, but Outer Realm magicians were people too, in the end. Cassion was living proof.
"Aren't the magic beasts frightening?"
Harad, who had been listening in silence, tilted his head.
"They're beasts, in the end, no?"
"What's the largest beast you ever took?"
"A bear."
Kubel described it, stretching both arms toward the ceiling—a bear twice the size of Kubel, who was already enormous.
"How did you take it?"
"I got behind it and strangled it."
His weapon had broken mid-fight, he explained, so he'd finished it bare-handed.
"And magic?"
"A hunter friend was watching."
Which still meant he'd strangled a bear with his bare hands? Harad gave a hollow laugh.
"Weren't you afraid?"
"I was taught that a hunt is nothing to fear."
The hunt, Kubel added, was by its nature the strong beast devouring the weak. True enough—but not words one expected from that timid Kubel. The man had a startlingly bold streak.
"So you count yourself the strong beast."
"Humans are beasts too."
Kubel was, to any eye, a strong beast. Magic aside, his sheer size said as much. No knight in Serzila was bigger.
"By your logic, then, there's no reason to fear killing a man."
"Pardon?"
"They're all beasts, aren't they? Other humans. Magicians."
Kubel's mouth parted slightly.
"The way I see it, you're frightened before you've even begun. The beast called 'human' must still be strange to you—you've only ever been on the hunt once."
"..."
"It's not as hard as you'd think. Magicians least of all."
If anything, he'd best pray the man didn't come to crave the hunt. Harad smiled bitterly, thinking of the Kubel of his past life. Back then, they had called him the Heart Addict.
"You'll grow larger than you imagine."
In his past life, he had grown—in the worst direction there was. Because Shura had died. This life would be different.
Puzzled though he was, Kubel nodded solemnly. Perhaps because he was a magician, Kubel was easy to talk to—quick to understand, too.
"Just remember—"
"Wait."
Kubel was mid-thanks for the advice when Harad's arm shot out, barring his path. There was a second hand. Ellen had hers out as well, mirroring Harad.
They were partway down the inn's cellar stairs, descending toward the mouth of the tunnel that led to the 2nd Boundary. Harad and Ellen looked down at the ground before their feet, and spoke as one.
"Someone's there."
"Someone's down there."
In other words—right in front of the tunnel.
"I'll have to sit this one out."
That someone numbered exactly one.
"What? Why?"
"I can't go down there unseen. I'm the Sun."
His innate Origin made hiding his presence impossible. His was a body built for everything but ambush.
"This one's no use either."
Kubel was far too large to move unseen.
"So I'm the convenient one?"
Ellen scowled, realizing there was no one left but her. She loved a fight, but ambushes weren't her idea of fun.
"Not convenient. Trusted. Perhaps more than I trust myself."
She knew it was bullshit—and yet, somehow, her chest prickled all the same.
"I'm leaving it to you, Ellen."
"..."
Before he knew it, Ellen was already descending the stairs alone. Sword drawn.