Bury My Bones Here
When trouble like yesterday's struck, the people who served in the three palaces—the Main Palace, the Emperor's Palace, and the Empress's Palace—could seldom go home until the matter was brought under control.
Yesterday, though, even after an attack aimed at the Emperor, everyone had been allowed to return.
That was how swiftly and cleanly the whole affair had been settled.
The assailants, it was said, had all been caught and dragged off somewhere by the Emperor's knights, and the Emperor himself had come back without a single scratch.
In the old days the Imperial Palace would have been thrown into an uproar, the surrounding district combed from corner to corner, and even the residents hauled in. But the imperial couple remained as serene as if nothing at all had happened, and because they did not raise the matter, the ministers found it awkward to speak of it first. With the parties concerned keeping silent, stepping forward might only invite needless suspicion over the incident.
The last of the Empress's Palace maids to go home was Chelsia.
Hilde had followed Laniakea to the Main Palace, so Chelsia had taken her place—inspecting the other maids and, before they left, swearing them to silence. Sending them off and climbing into the last carriage the palace had prepared, she felt a quiet swell of pride.
It was not that she disliked the mountain of paperwork in the Empress's Palace. From the start she had been recognized for her administrative skill—talent enough that the Ministry of the Interior, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and even the Ministry of Finance had each suggested she might consider joining them.
But for the sake of her house, and for an ambition greater still—the throne of Empress—she had turned those offers aside and come here.
Whenever the other maids groaned under the flood of work, Chelsia thought,
It doesn't seem that hard.
She was not foolish enough to say it aloud. Instead she took a little of the work from those who complained and helped them through it. Passing by and seeing this, Hilde remarked that when it came to paperwork, Chelsia was indeed the most reliable of them all.
Are they idiots?
Right now she had to catch the Empress's eye as much as she possibly could. Then the Empress would keep her close, and she would naturally find it easier to reach documents that demanded secrecy—and see the Emperor more often besides.
In any case, since everyone marveled at her ability and came asking for help, she had to play at being agreeable for the time being. Before she knew it, Chelsia had become the person the other maids turned to for advice. That her reputation rose even higher was only natural.
And on top of all that, she had carried out the Empress's orders today to perfection. From now on she would be trusted more deeply still.
At this rate even those exacting elders ought to be satisfied.
She went home thinking so.
The next morning, however, as Chelsia rose at dawn and prepared to enter the palace, she heard that the council of elders had already gathered, and she made her way there. Through a door left slightly ajar, their conversation drifted out.
"Chelsia still doesn't seem to have accomplished much of anything."
"The chief maid's post went to someone else, didn't it?"
"The Empress hasn't granted her any rank of her own, either... and if we're speaking of looks alone, there's no way Chelsia could ever outshine the Empress."
"Who doesn't know that? Was there ever anyone who truly expected Chelsia to ascend to the Empress's seat? They call her the flower of society, but that was years ago."
"And she's far too fond of putting herself forward."
"Say what you like about her working well... she was never going to become head of the house. She'll spend her life shut indoors, tidying the ledgers. Tsk."
"I'm doubtful of this so-called ability, too. If she were truly capable, shouldn't Chelsia have been made chief maid from the start?"
Hearing herself appraised in a room where she was not present, Chelsia felt as if she had been struck across the back of the head.
These old men?
When had they smiled and told her she was the only one they trusted, all while saying things like this behind her back?
She did not burst in and demand they repeat themselves. Instead she smothered every trace of her presence and committed to memory exactly who had passed what judgment on her. She swore she would remember it for a long time—and that she would not let it pass.
Without so much as a greeting, Chelsia slipped quietly away and climbed into her carriage.
Once she had entered the palace and reached the office, she took up the documents she had not finished the day before, but she could not make any headway. She tried not to dwell on it, yet the elders' conversation kept rising in her mind, and every time it did, her grip tightened on the pen.
So I'm only a stopgap. Holding the seat until they find someone else. Is that it?
How could she land a single blow that would shut them up?
But the thought soon left her listless. What could she actually do? If the house truly sent someone new, she would have to yield this place.
She was turning that over when the maids' praise began to pour in.
"I only followed orders, and yet everyone praises me like this. It's a little embarrassing."
When Chelsia answered with a show of modesty, the maids waved their hands.
"Don't talk as if it were so easy. We could never do what you do."
"That's right. Her Majesty knows your ability. That's why she named you on the spot in such an urgent moment."
"Come to think of it, have you noticed? Documents Lady Chelsia reviews and submits, Her Majesty approves almost at once."
Then the praise shifted to something else entirely, and before she knew it Chelsia was sitting among them with a teacup in hand, chatting away.
The more she listened, the more certain she became. Everyone acknowledged her ability—the maids, of course, and Hilde, and the Empress herself.
Then...
Couldn't I simply keep working here?
House or whatever else—if the Empress trusted her and said she could not be spared, what could the council of elders do about it? The faces of those old men, who had naturally assumed she would step down, would crumple most satisfyingly. And besides—
"Lady Chelsia always dresses so well, too."
"She does. Her accessories aren't excessive, but they have character, and they suit her."
"I used to think the notable names in society only had an eye for banquet gowns... but looking at Lady Chelsia, I'm embarrassed I ever thought that."
Once she would have dismissed them as noisy creatures who could not even do the work. Today they did not grate on her.
No—do I actually like this?
Thinking it over, it was only that they were not as skilled as she was. In their own fields, every one of them was an uncommon talent.
Chelsia thought,
I might as well work here prepared to bury my bones in this place.
Then, beneath her colleagues' faith and the Empress's trust, she could work in genuine ease and pleasure.
She turned her head toward the Main Palace, where the Empress was.
The Empress could not possibly be unaware of what her house was scheming, and yet she had given Chelsia her orders without a trace of personal feeling mixed in—as if, house or no house, she believed in nothing but Chelsia's ability.
All at once a loyalty she had never felt before began to rise in her heart.
On the first day, Laniakea truly rested.
She had not had a single proper day off since becoming Empress, and she was worn thin. She slept late, ate a little something, and fell asleep again. When even sleeping grew dull, she got up and wrote down every reaction she had seen from the ministers before she could forget them.
On the second day, tired now of sleep itself, she dredged her memory for every detail she could and set those down as well—along with what else she had conveyed to the ministers.
When Hyperion returned and saw the sheaf of paper grown some three times thicker overnight, he murmured,
"A remarkably... detailed kill list."
Nor did he forget to tell her she had worked hard.
And on the third day—
"I'm bored."
Laniakea murmured it from where she lay on the bed.
Was it because she had spent so long surrounded by people? This stretch of time, which once would have delighted her simply for being alone, felt unbearably dull. And she was a little shocked at herself.
I thought it was people I disliked.
In the weeks she had spent in the Empress's Palace, had she ever disliked those beside her?
Not in the least. She had been busy enough to die, and yet—not only the newly taken-in maids, but the staff of the Empress's Palace as well—she had never once found them unpleasant to look upon.
Perhaps it was time she returned to the Empress's Palace. If not that, she wished there were something, anything, for her to do.
Or if not, even a quiet stroll...
The moment her thoughts reached that far—
"Ah."
Laniakea remembered something she had forgotten.