The Agricultural Elves #4
“Mm… I’m truly sorry about this.”
Ellen sat on the reception-room sofa, bobbing her head in apology again and again. Across from her, Helena still glared with eyes sharp as axe blades, and Ellen looked thoroughly cowed under that stare.
From the office to the reception room, and then into this face-to-face confrontation—having watched the entire sequence unfold, I had to clamp down hard on the sigh that nearly escaped me. I had managed to soothe Helena enough to keep her fury in check; if she had brought the same reaction she showed in the office into this room, something far messier might have exploded.
“…Haa. There’s nothing for it, I suppose. We’ll leave it here for today. From now on, though, I would prefer you make an appointment beforehand. I would rather avoid any more scenes where we both end up red-faced.”
“I shall certainly do so. Well then, I will take my leave and return to my post.”
Even though Ellen was clearly dumbfounded inside, I had no choice but to let her go without further comment. I could not read what she was thinking, and this was, for me, the path of least resistance.
“Ah, one more thing. When do the two of you plan to marry?”
Out of nowhere, Ellen turned back at the door and tossed the question out as if it were nothing. To her it was probably idle curiosity, nothing more—yet Helena’s eyes began to sparkle with dazzling intensity. She clearly liked the sound of the word marriage.
“Marri— ahem! Why ask that all of a sudden?”
On top of that, her voice had lost every trace of chill and turned as warm as spring sunshine. The shift was so abrupt it was like flipping a hand over.
“Hm? No particular reason. I was simply curious when the two people I owe so much might start a household of their own. It may not be my place to say, but wouldn’t forming a family make you both a little sturdier?”
“You truly have a keen eye—exactly what one would expect from someone who has weathered every storm. Of course you’re right, but we plan to marry when the time is right. I may be of age, but Zion is still young.”
Easy to forget, but I was fifteen. In the old days—and even on this continent—marrying young was hardly unusual. I was simply putting it off because the idea made me uneasy. The reason was nothing grand. The thought of becoming a kept husband at fifteen just felt… sticky. Marriage with Helena was already a settled fact; even so, holding the ceremony right now sat awkwardly in my heart.
“Ah… now that you mention it, the heir of Altram is only fifteen. Your manner made me forget your age for a moment.”
“Hehe. That happens. Zion has always been so mature…”
Helena launched into lively chatter like a wife eager to brag about her own child. Ellen broke into a cold sweat and looked thoroughly cornered, yet unfortunately there was no escape hatch. Realizing that herself, she let out a short sigh and closed the reception-room door.
Even so, she was not entirely uninterested; soon she was drawn deep into Helena’s stories.
“Oh, is that so? It seems the young heir has been thoughtful since childhood. The grace he has shown us, and that natural excellence of character—truly splendid.”
“Yes. Zion is truly wonderful. And also…”
I held my seat with perfect composure through the blatant barrage of praise. Even when Helena suddenly glanced toward my lower abdomen and flushed, I kept my back straight as if nothing were amiss—thanks, as always, to the ever-effective Steel Mental.
“Dear me, it has grown so late. I have been terribly rude.”
“Not at all. I’m glad to have found someone I can talk with so pleasantly after so long. Please take care on your way back.”
The long stretch of chatter finally ended, and Ellen left the reception room with her shoulders sagging as if all the strength had drained out of her. Looking at the bloom on Helena’s face and the atmosphere in the room, the earlier chill was nowhere to be found—everything was now almost ridiculously warm. Ellen had probably meant to use me as a pretext to break the awkward air… and paid a truly brutal price for it.
“All right, everyone! Let’s pick up the pace! You’re already doing splendidly, but just a little more energy, please!”
“Yes, sir!”
The day of the banquet held for the gathered nobles had arrived. For the first time in a long while I was alone in the kitchen, working shoulder-to-shoulder with the others and completely absorbed in cooking. Andy was overseeing the whole affair as general director, but since he also carried overall responsibility for the banquet preparations, he could hardly show his face in the kitchen.
That did not mean the kitchen lacked a person in charge. Bart was there. So all I had to do was prepare my own share of the dishes or occasionally lend a hand to whoever was nearest.
The preliminary prep of ingredients had long since been finished cleanly, yet we still had to begin cooking on schedule if we wanted the food to stay even a little warmer. As a result the kitchen now resembled a battlefield.
“Hey! Sauté those onions a bit more! The color’s not there yet!”
“We’re short on salad dressing! Make some more and bring it over, now!”
The kitchen staff, normally famous for getting along, raised their voices and cracked the whip on one another. They rattled pots over roaring flames; on another side people plated and put on finishing touches. Not a single pair of hands was idle. I, too, was one of them—cooking my share while keeping an eye on the surrounding chaos.
Helena was busy receiving the guests of honor, but since my only duty was to stay at her side, I had deliberately come down to the kitchen to help. Knowing her usual self, she had of course opposed the idea at first. In the end she allowed me to remain because she believed my excuse that I wanted to put off being squeezed among nobles for even a little while. Mixed into that permission, of course, was her thoroughly private desire not to give up the dishes I made…
“Doesn’t matter either way.”
I finished the last of my assigned dishes and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. People said chefs who spent most of every day in front of intense heat eventually stopped sweating so readily. I found that both enviable and a little pitiable. Not every cook was the same, but the labor intensity was viciously high, so plenty of them suffered for it—that much was certain.
“Lord Zion. You truly worked hard.”
Bart, who ran the Krauser kitchen, approached with his shoulders slumped. Even someone as used to kitchen work as he was would have been strange if he weren’t exhausted after that full-blown war.
“You worked hard too, Bart. It would have been nice to cook everything ahead of time, but then we’d risk complaints about it going cold…”
“Exactly. There may be no one bold enough to voice such complaints to the Duke’s face, yet the dissatisfaction itself would not vanish. And that would amount to smearing mud on Her Grace’s reputation.”
Fail to treat the guests properly and the host of the banquet inevitably takes the blame. Even if, as Bart said, no one would openly demand to know what this was, they could still turn it into gossip to chew over for a long time. Once that sort of rumor spread, face was lost as a matter of course. In plain terms, it was humiliating.
“Anyway, once we finish the remaining cleanup we’re done… Lord Zion, why not head upstairs soon?”
“Honestly. Working like mad in the kitchen was better. Even if it’s a gathering of the same faction, the thought of a troublemaker like me showing my face still makes me uneasy.”
“Troublemaker? What are you saying! That whole matter was simply because Lady Helena—Her Grace—is so deeply kind-hearted. There is not a single person in this Krauser estate who thinks of you that way.”
Bart gilded my face so thoroughly it was almost embarrassing. The kitchen, whose fires had already been put out, suddenly felt as if it might still be running.
“You’re laying the gold leaf on a bit thick. I’m getting shy.”
“Not in the least. To begin with, the only person who can put the young lady—Her Grace—at ease is you, Lord Zion.”
It almost sounded as if he were calling me a freeloading kept husband living off her, yet Bart was not the sort to speak from a twisted heart. So I could accept the praise at face value. Otherwise I would have felt only mildly uncomfortable.
“Thanks to that there was one major blunder… but let’s leave the topic here. I’ll slip up to the second floor and wash quickly. Standing at Lady Helena’s side covered in sweat would never do.”
“Oh, of course. No need to say it twice. Hurry on up.”
Receiving the send-off of Bart and the rest of the kitchen staff, I secretly climbed to the second floor. There were plenty of side paths that did not require the grand staircase, so taking one of those was enough.
“…Of course the wine made from dark-elf grapes makes you uneasy. I understand that perfectly well.”
The steps that had been hurrying toward my room froze as if bound in place. Not literally—because of the words of a woman who now held every gaze in the banquet hall prepared in the great hall.
“As all of you know, they were the ones who gave us great aid in my duel with Duke Killineer. That does not mean you can simply cast aside the thought that they are filth. I understand that point as well.”
That woman—Helena—held a wine glass and spoke with calm authority to those wearing uneasy expressions. From the situation, she had just revealed that the wine was made from dark-elf grapes. Instead of continuing to my room, I pressed myself against an inconspicuous stretch of railing and carefully watched how things would unfold. When the matter concerned me, Helena went too far—but when it did not, she was a woman who fully lived up to the grand title of Duke.
“But think carefully. Does filth breathe? Can filth speak as we do, or express emotion?”
The piercing remark rang through the hall, and every noble present let out a collective murmur of discomfort. Seeing the same faces I had met in the royal palace again felt strangely surreal, yet it was also astonishing how thoroughly they shrank before a single woman’s words.
“Just as all of you are now at a loss for words, I do not think that way either. Dark elves, in the end, are simply one more race of demihumans living in this world—that much I know well. Setting aside how difficult it may be for you to accept, that is the reality.”
Gulp.
Someone’s dry swallow reached my ears. It might have been my own, yet I was certain someone else had swallowed as well. Perhaps pure imagination on my part—but it felt certain.
Helena’s voice was deep and beautiful in its resonance, and the way she brought the wine glass to her lips was both bold and full of dignity. It was the dignity one can display only when one has nothing to be ashamed of.
“And, as you know, our House Krauser never employs people by appearance alone.”
Right now, while everyone was lost in thought, she spoke of the meritocracy that represented Krauser. That meritocracy was aimed less at the lower servants they managed and more at the middle managers who oversaw them, and at the heirs who would lead the house. It was different from discarding someone simply because a lowly underling lacked ability.
I unconsciously held my breath at Helena’s words that seemed to strike into a gap. My breathing could never reach that far, yet in an atmosphere this quiet even that felt as if it might become a disturbance.
“Yes! Ability. If someone has ability—or if their mindset and character are sound—we gladly make use of them. This is the deep-rooted tradition and pride of Krauser, handed down through the generations. Therefore…”
Good heavens!
Someone let out a gasp as if witnessing an unbelievable sight. And it was not just one or two people—most of those attending the banquet reacted that way, so the scene must have been truly shocking. It was not as if she were drinking poison, so what was the fuss… yet on another level I understood. Watching Helena take the lead and empty her wine glass with hearty gusto was plenty shocking enough.
Even if the goal was to deliver a jolt, drinking wine as if it were water… it was astonishing in more ways than one.