Chapter 347: If Possible, a Dream (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 347: If Possible, a Dream (4)
A tiny hand moved.
Fingers gently sifted through the glass jar before picking out a single yellow candy. Instead of popping it into her mouth, Ririe stared at it with intense concentration. She sniffed it and peered through its translucent surface, trying to guess its flavor.
“It’s lavender.”
Her tone was so utterly serious that Siona, sitting beside her, let out a soft chuckle. Hearing this, Ririe held out the candy. “You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Then what flavor do you think it is?”
“I think it’s strawberry.”
“Why strawberry?”
“An elf’s intuition.”
“You said you didn’t have that kind of ability, Siona.”
“Then let’s call it a swordswoman’s intuition. And why do you think it’s lavender?”
“Just because. It reminded me of some lavender-flavored cookies I ate a while ago.”
“But shouldn’t that be called a scent rather than a flavor?”
“No. It smelled like lavender and tasted like it, too.”
“If you say so. But you shouldn’t forget that none of the candies you’ve eaten so far have had floral flavors.”
“Just because it hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future, Siona.”
A lighthearted debate ensued, easily transcending an age gap nearly twice that between Franz and Arsen—a gap of almost thirty years.
“Since it didn’t exist before, isn’t it highly likely it won’t exist in the future, either?”
“No. Demirea said you shouldn’t jump to conclusions about things that haven’t happened yet.”
And so, a conversation that began with guessing the flavor of a candy had evolved into a solemn discourse on the proper attitude toward the future.
“She said if you judge things negatively based only on the past, you create limits for yourself. She said even Sispanian couldn’t guarantee what will happen in the future. So, this could very well be lavender-flavored.”
Siona’s golden eyes settled on Ririe.
Whether it was Demirea, who would say such things to a child not yet ten years old, or Ririe, who understood it perfectly and applied it to candy flavors, they were quite a pair.
“You’re right. My thinking was narrow.”
Just because everyone in the Brissen family had been cruel, one couldn’t assume that the future would be the same for a person who stared endlessly at the sea, or for a child trying to guess the flavor of a candy. Demirea had told her not to draw a line in the sand, not to assume she would grow up the same way just because of her Brissen blood. Suleiman and Serie had gifted her candies with different appearances and flavors so she wouldn’t despair, so she wouldn’t believe her inner self had to match her outer shell.
“I was certain it wouldn’t taste like lavender, but I will refrain from such assumptions,” Siona said, readily offering an apology. She wouldn’t ruin the lesson they had worked so hard to teach Ririe just to win an argument.
Accepting the apology with a bright smile, Ririe popped the candy into her mouth. Instantly, her face scrunched up, and her shoulders hunched.
“We were both wrong. It tastes like an unripe pear, Siona.”
Just as there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be a flower-flavored candy, there was no guarantee there would only be ripe fruit flavors. Having tasted the astringent candy that defied easy prediction, Ririe learned a new lesson today. And, of course, so did Siona.
Siona awkwardly raised a hand and patted Ririe’s head. She didn’t bother asking how Ririe—who was found in the Marquis’s mansion and now monopolized the love and attention of the Siegfried family—had ever tasted an unripe pear.
Click.
Just as a young human and a grown elf finished their bickering and reconciling over a single piece of candy, the reception room door opened. A tall person and an even taller person walked in.
“Ririe.”
The shorter of the two called Ririe’s name. It was Demirea, the young successor of the house and Ririe’s official guardian.
Seeing Demirea, Ririe glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up.
“It’s time for practice, Siona.”
“Right. I’ll head down to watch you in a bit.”
“Are you allowed to hold a sword? Your stomach was hurt.”
Ririe’s small finger pointed toward Siona’s abdomen.
Siona was staying at the Siegfried estate, while Suleiman had returned to Kairisis. Unlike when they had last met in autumn, Siona’s old wounds had fully healed, and she was in perfect health. Naturally, this had led to the logical next step: a highly combative greeting in the form of a duel between Sword Masters.
Of course, Siona had lost.
While she hadn’t been impaled or suffered organ damage, the wound she’d received was still significant.
— Don’t worry about something like this! When I almost died fighting that Castrin fellow last time, there was someone in the royal palace who healed me in a flash.
Suleiman, who hadn’t held back because he had a skilled healer in mind, had laughed heartily, proud of his own foresight.
— He’s not there, though.
— Who, that healer from Valkan?
— Yes.
— Did he quit?
— He’s in Secritia. You did this to her without even knowing that? She’s bleeding a lot.
— Well, if he wasn’t there, you should have told me!
— If you didn’t know, you should have told us. What on earth have you been doing, Father, that you haven’t kept up with such news?
— Making candy.
— Did you spend the entire winter doing nothing but making candy?
— Of course not. I also walked Yan every day with Serie. Yan chewed up my violin this time, so I had to get a new one made. That mutt’s chewing habit just won’t go away. I must have named him wrong. Why is my baby so disobedient, just like my other baby?
— That’s why I asked you why you named the dog after Brother…
And that was that.
Whether from blood loss or a sudden spike in blood pressure, Siona had fainted before she could hear any more of the peaceful father-daughter banter.
Recalling the day she was injured, Siona suppressed the throbbing pain in her abdomen and answered Ririe calmly.
“I can still watch you practice without holding a sword.”
“Okay, great! Today is my first time practicing thrusts.”
“Thrusts?” Siona asked before she could stop herself, then quickly nodded. “Ah, I see. Learn well.”
“Okay. See you later.”
The swords of the Siegfrieds were not meant for thrusting. They were heavy blades designed for crushing and slashing. That was why she often forgot—the hair color of the child waving goodbye, whose swordsmanship she was learning, and what kind of sword she would one day wield.
“Be careful with the sword.”
“It’s just a wooden sword.”
“Right.”
Siona raised a hand in farewell.
After Ririe left with Demirea, Siona turned her gaze to the other person who had entered the room.
Deep wine-colored hair, brown eyes. A middle-aged woman with short, straight hair, a stark contrast to Demirea’s curls. She was the second daughter of Margrave Beamon Kinz, a renowned master of the spear, and the wife of Suleiman.
It was Serie.
“How is the wound?” Serie asked, wearing a long, pomegranate-colored vest over a tight black blouse and trousers. She set down a small cup of medicine and a plate of caramels.
Siona took the medicine with practiced ease, then rinsed her mouth with a sip of tea infused with dried apples and blueberries instead of taking a caramel. She replied with a faint smile, “It’s healing well. No infection.”
“That’s good.”
As a fellow spear wielder, Serie offered no apologies or compensation on her husband’s behalf for an injury sustained in a duel. She knew that whether one won, was injured, or in the worst case, could never hold a weapon again, one did not blame their opponent. She was simply providing treatment because a guest at the mansion had been hurt. Having looked after Suleiman and her eldest son, for whom being stabbed and slashed was a daily occurrence, she had acquired as much medical knowledge as a decent healer.
“Once you’re fully recovered, I’d like to see your spear technique. It’s been a while.”
“I would like that.”
Serie replied with a nod, her lips curving into a small smile. As if she had expected Siona to make such a request before she was even healed, she voiced no further concerns about her health.
Soon, Serie’s eyes drifted to Ririe’s candy jar.
Following her gaze, Siona spoke first.
“Did you come because you were worried about Ririe, not the Young Successor?”
“I came because I was worried about both children. I had hoped to see my second child after all this time, but since he went to Secritia, it couldn’t be helped.”
“It’s too early to judge, but she is learning the sword well. You don’t have to worry.”
“What’s more important is whether she’s actually interested in the sword. That is something I will have to observe for myself.”
Serie’s gaze shifted back to Siona.
“Actually, there was something else I was more worried about. I must say, I am relieved to see you treating Ririe much better than I expected, Dame Siona.”
As Serie spoke, she stared deeply into Siona’s eyes. As if anticipating her words, Siona let out a soft chuckle.
“Did you seriously worry that I might swing a sword at Ririe?”
“Yes.”
“Even for an elf, I am not that heartless.”
“One can never know.”
“Of course, I struggled with it. But I decided not to touch her. The perpetrator is someone else, so I cannot harm an innocent child. Did you allow me to stay here even while harboring such worries?”
“With the Young Successor here? Hardly. Even if you have set foot on the Path of the Sword, you cannot take what Siegfried protects.”
A single Sword Master could slaughter dozens of mages, but facing the entire knight order of a noble house—especially the knights of Siegfried—along with Demirea was another matter entirely. Serie was saying they had let Siona stay because they were confident in their own strength, even if Siona had harbored ill intentions toward Ririe.
A silence fell between them.
After a moment, Serie spoke again.
“You also left Marquis Brissen alone. That was unexpected.”
“On my first day here, the Young Successor told me she plans to teach Ririe the swordsmanship of Brissen as well. When I asked how, she said her promise-breaking fiancé had agreed to do it. She said he would handle it, whether he teaches Ririe alongside his own brother or meets her separately.”
“Are you saying you left Marquis Brissen alive because of that?”
“Isn’t the Young Successor’s fiancé Prince Calian?”
“That is correct.”
“Since Prince Calian deliberately kept him alive and made him the Marquis, I felt it was no longer my place to interfere. I also heard he intends to place his brother as the head of the Brissen family, so I figured Prince Calian would handle it when the time comes. If Freya’s son is taking action, it is not my place to meddle. And… when I met him, he seemed quite reliable.”
She had intended to kill Gray Brissen upon her arrival but had changed her mind after learning Calian was keeping him alive for his own reasons.
“Both the Second Prince and Ririe are very different from the Brissens I knew. I found that to be a relief.”
Just as a yellow candy was not necessarily flavored like a yellow fruit.
Thinking of Franz, who had visited the Siegfried territory during the Roselita affair, Serie slowly nodded.
“Indeed.”
Siona raised her teacup and took another sip. Perhaps her wound twinged, because her arm flinched slightly, causing the sword leaning against her leg to shift.
Tinkle.
The bell at the end of the hilt let out a clear, resonant sound.
Siona stared at the bell for a moment before setting her teacup down, completely unaware that at this very moment, Calian, having entered a house far away, had just found a bell that looked exactly like it.
*
— I don’t know my last name.
Kyrie had only ever stated his first name, so Bern had never pressed for more.
— I know almost nothing about my parents. My sister and I only found out our names because we found a letter our mother left behind.
Kyrie.
He had taught the boy the sword knowing only his age and name. Kyrie learned everything well and was always diligent.
For a long time, that was enough. Then the time came to bestow a knighthood upon him, and Bern had to ask for his family name. Kyrie had said he didn’t know. Then he’d asked Bern to buy him a drink.
— The letter said my father passed away not long after my sister was born. He was found on the banks of the Senyu River one morning. I think he probably drank too much. That’s why I always thought I wouldn’t drink, but it’s hard to avoid.
They had gone to a small tavern in Secritia. From the third-floor window, you could just see the red bird statue on the roof of the Serenti Temple. He hadn’t cleared the place out, but when Bern entered, everyone left on their own. The two of them drank quietly.
— And my mother seems to have passed away from a sudden illness after that. It’s not certain, but that’s what was written in the letter.
Kyrie had taken a long drink after saying that.
Bern never asked about Kyrie’s background again.
He made Kyrie the first knight in Secritia to receive a title without a last name. Unlike the Calian who met Kyrie later, the Bern of that time had enough power to do at least that much.
So, the Kyrie of the past was just Kyrie.
‘Whitrin.’
Looking at the woman in the portrait, how could anyone not think she was Hina’s mother? She resembled her just as Calian resembled Freya, Yan and Demirea resembled Suleiman, Franz resembled Silike, and Bern and Chase resembled Devlan.
Tap, tap, tap.
Before he knew it, Calian was sitting at the desk, his fingers tapping against the surface. He had already opened the second and third drawers.
Numerous items lay lined up before him. He moved his hand again, scanning the letters written on low-quality paper that had begun to turn a dark brown.
As he examined them, he forgot everything else.
He forgot the weather outside and the two people standing in it. He forgot his own words, telling them to wait just a moment.
Step, step.
Lost in the letters, he failed to notice.
He failed to notice Arsen, unable to bear watching the Crown Prince take the brunt of the blizzard with only a half-shield, suggesting they go inside.
Thud!
He failed to notice Franz striding into the house, looking for the younger brother who was taking far too long, fearlessly seeking Calian out.
He failed to notice Franz snatching the documents from his hands—the very documents his younger brother had been staring at so intently, his expression unreadable, caught somewhere between shock and anger.
“…What is this?”
Calian, having missed the footsteps he no longer felt the need to guard against, was too stunned to stop the papers from being taken. Franz flopped down onto the dusty bed and began to read.
“Give them back. Don’t look.”
Calian, whose grip had slackened as memories of his conversations with Kyrie as Bern, his talks with Hina as Calian, and his memories of Kyrie and Freya all rushed back at once, quickly reached for the documents.
Flutter, flutter.
Franz flipped through the pages as if merely skimming them before handing them back. As Calian took them, Franz’s voice reached his ears.
“Is this the room of the elf named Whitrin?”
“Yes.”
“That looks like a portrait of Queen Freya.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“And that.”
Franz paused, pointing a finger at the documents Calian held.
“Is it a letter sent by the elf named Whitrin? To Queen Freya.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It said Whitrin’s husband was found dead while working at Evan’s mansion, and Whitrin, who tried to look into it, contracted an unknown illness. Is that correct?”
At Franz’s words, which perfectly reconstructed the text he had only briefly scanned, Calian’s brow furrowed.
“Brother, could you try being just a little less smart?”
“No.”
Letting out a short sigh, Calian nodded.
“…It also seemed to say that Queen Aisha died of illness shortly before Whitrin’s husband died. Is that also correct?”
Calian did not answer.
Because Calian could not lie.