The Only One Who May Call Her Wife
Wife.
There was only one person in the world who could call her that. A man who came to the Imperial Palace only now and then, and who, even then, never stayed a full day before hurrying away again. Still, he never left without sharing at least one meal with her.
Laniakea slowly lifted her head. He had drawn her in as if to fold her into his arms. He stood with the sun at his back, his face lost to the glare, but she did not need to see it to know who he was.
"Prince Hyperion...?"
The name felt unfamiliar on her tongue. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the backlight, and yet she felt it with perfect clarity: at the sound of her voice, those blue eyes turned to her.
"Prince Hyperion, did she say?"
Someone among those standing nearby muttered it in a dazed voice. As if that had been a signal, the funeral grounds erupted all at once.
"Prince Hyperion? How is he here...?"
"What do you mean, how? He is the First Imperial Prince. Of course he would attend."
"Well, yes, but even so!"
Unable to shut their mouths, the mourners stared at Hyperion where he sheltered Laniakea. He regarded them once with an expressionless gaze, then caught her as she sagged against him and set her upright.
"Th... thank you."
Unsure what else one said in a moment like this, Laniakea dipped her head slightly. Then the faint scent of blood clinging to him startled her, and she flinched.
He must have noticed. Hyperion clicked his tongue low in his throat and let go of the hand that had been holding her.
"I apologize. I came in a hurry."
At those words she remembered the rare occasions he had returned to the palace. They had not met often, but whenever they did, he was always in disarray. Sometimes blood stained his clothes, sometimes mud, and it was never difficult to tell that his hair had been put in order in haste. Today was no different. If anything, he looked more disheveled than usual—truly like a man who had ridden himself half to death to get here.
Laniakea stepped out of his embrace and back a pace. He seemed about to speak when a knight behind them called out loudly.
"Your Highness! What shall we do with her?"
Hyperion turned his head. Laniakea leaned out just past his shoulder to look as well. The "her" the knight meant was the Empress, ringed by her maids and wearing a thoroughly flustered face.
Hyperion studied that cluster for a moment, then spoke in a voice gone cold.
"She seems too overcome with grief to know what she is doing. Escort her back to the palace. And—"
He turned his gaze to Laniakea again.
"You must have had quite a fright. It would be best if you returned to the palace as well."
Laniakea nodded at once. The funeral was still underway, but she could see no good in remaining any longer. Nor did she want to, not beneath the Empress's cutting stare.
The Empress was glaring as if she might lunge at Laniakea again at any moment. Seeing it, Hyperion inclined his head and spoke close to her ear, almost a whisper.
"Once the funeral is over, let us talk. Slowly."
A faint smile, wholly unsuited to the place, touched his mouth as he went on.
"There will be time enough now."
After that, Laniakea returned to the Annex Palace. Fortunately, by Hyperion's order, Lucy was permitted to come back with her.
On any ordinary day, that would have been unthinkable.
Shoving the Empress was enough, by itself, to cost a person her head. And yet the palace knights, given Hyperion's command to release her, had let Lucy go without a word—as if it were only natural now to obey him, and not the Empress.
"Highness. Me. Deserve death."
Finding Laniakea's face set and stern, Lucy—rarely so cowed—hung her head. Laniakea offered a bitter smile and soothed her.
"No, Lucy. If you hadn't been there, I would have been badly hurt."
She remembered the Empress sprawling the moment Lucy's hand swept out. However great Lucy's strength, the Empress had gone down in a particularly ugly tumble. No wonder the maids had made such a fuss.
"Lucy, I should rest for today. You go back and rest too."
At that, Lucy's shoulders slumped, and she nodded.
Once Lucy had gone, Laniakea changed quickly, drew on a thin outer robe, and stepped out into the rear garden. The sky had already deepened to a scarlet sunset. She gazed at it for a moment, then slipped farther into a secluded corner and spoke softly.
"Mole, come out."
The instant the words left her, the earth beneath her feet heaved. A moment later the soil broke open, and Mole's face pushed through.
"You called me?"
He looked up at her with bright, expectant eyes, as if waiting for something.
"That was you, earlier. At the funeral."
"Huh? Me? Did what?"
Mole shook his head as if he had no idea what she meant.
"Don't play innocent. Lucy did shove her, but the Empress went down far too hard."
"I don't knoooow what you're talking about?"
He crossed his forepaws and whistled. Anyone looking would have known at once that he had done it. Laniakea crouched and tapped the top of his head with a fingertip.
"I'm grateful you came out because you were worried about me. But didn't you say that if you appear when I haven't called you, your very existence is put in danger?"
"Grateful, right? You're grateful to me, obviously, right?"
"Don't hear only the part you want to hear."
She pressed her index finger down on his head. Mole flailed his short forelegs as if to tell her to stop. They did not so much as reach her finger.
When the Empress had fallen at the outdoor funeral, Laniakea had seen it: the ground beneath her foot sinking into a hollow. That was why she had lurched so much harder. The Empress, busy wailing and shouting, would not have noticed then, but by now her ankle was surely swollen fat and giving her no end of trouble.
The moment Laniakea lifted her finger, Mole grumbled and pouted his snout.
"I helped you! How can you treat me like this?"
His whiskers stood stiff and twitched this way and that. Sadly, they were not the least bit threatening.
"I'm telling you to be careful. What am I supposed to do if you disappear? And I told you we can't let anyone find out I can call spirits."
"That's true, but... no, still, that crazy human woman...!"
The memory seemed to rile him all over again; his whiskers bristled. Even so, he offered no further excuse. He knew as well as she did that there was nothing to say for revealing his power in a place full of people.
"The other humans would absolutely raise a furor, saying a spirit had been summoned. And then..."
Her voice grew small. If it were discovered that she could call spirits even beyond Priatra, what would happen?
Someone would try to use me. That's certain.
He was only a lowest-tier spirit; the power itself was nothing extraordinary. But even a small power, used well, could become a great one. Mole alone was proof. If someone held a secret conversation in the garden of the Empress's Palace, he could eavesdrop on it as easily as he pleased. Used that way, there was no end to what a spirit might be good for. Which was precisely why it must never be discovered. People would truly try to use the spirits.
And I don't even know how Priatra would react.
She thought of the family that had not sent her so much as a single word in three years. It did not surprise her, and it did not particularly sadden her. She had expected as much. But if they learned she could summon spirits even far from her homeland, they would send someone at once. And perhaps...
They might try to take me back.
The royal house of Priatra prided itself on the power of the Fairy Clan. Once they knew an ability like this had passed into another empire, they would not sit still.
So it has to stay a secret. No matter what.
Returning to Priatra was the one thing that must never be allowed to happen.
While Laniakea was lost in the thought, Mole spoke up as if something had just occurred to him.
"But your husband came back. So now that human becomes emperor?"
"I suppose so."
Hyperion was the only child left. Wasn't it obvious?
Mole's whiskers twitched again.
"Then you become the Empress?"
Laniakea's eyes went wide. A heartbeat later she waved the idea off as if it were absurd.
"What are you talking about? We'll divorce."
That, of course, was only natural.