Before Becoming a Professor
The First Imperial Princess, Elizabeth, was sipping tea and turning through her papers when a small doubt rose unbidden, and she rested her chin upon her hand.
Why would he never meet my eyes, not even at the last?
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein. No—the second son of Brutein, his surname now changed to Ruerug. Not once had that man met her gaze.
To call it courtesy was, by this point, too much. It was enough to make her wonder whether he meant it as a slight.
I could sound the depths of his heart... but that would be a waste.
Blessed by the god of wisdom, Elizabeth could see through the good or ill fortune of any matter she had planned—more precisely, any matter that concerned her. Apart from that gift, she possessed another: cast a question, and for three seconds she could hear the true heart of the one she asked.
The talent was bound by a limit, once every three months for each person, and yet it was thanks to this that Elizabeth, woman though she was, had been entrusted wholly with the running of the Academy.
Knock, knock.
"Ferzen von Schweig Ruerug begs an audience with Her Highness the Princess."
......
Could there truly be a coincidence such as this? The corner of Elizabeth's mouth lifted faintly, and she granted entry to Ferzen, waiting beyond the door.
"Pardon the intrusion."
A stark white shirt stood in contrast to a refined black suit, and his necktie bore the crest of Brutein in beautiful embroidery. The dress was not excessive. If anything it was far too plain, and yet it looked unmistakably noble: an aristocrat who did not try to display his worth through ornament.
"Have you business with me?"
"I have. Would you grant your permission for this?"
Head bowed, Ferzen offered her a sheet of paper—a report packed tight with writing. The contents were nothing remarkable. He wished to replace the furnishings of the lecture hall assigned to him with something else.
"An object I have never seen."
He seemed to have a hand for drawing as well. Along the bottom of the report, the something he wished to put in its place was rendered in meticulous detail.
He meant to change it at his own expense, and Elizabeth could see no particular reason to refuse. And yet, from the report Ferzen had placed in her hands, red smoke and magenta smoke began, slowly, to rise.
Her power to divine fortune and misfortune in matters that concerned her was not a thing she could wield at will. Sometimes the omen came, and sometimes it did not—a mischievous child of a gift.
And a case like this... it has been a long while.
Red meant misfortune. Magenta meant great misfortune. In a word, to permit the report was ill fortune. To refuse it was a greater ill still. What could the thing possibly be, that not a single auspicious sign showed itself? Not even a second-best choice. She was being made to choose the lesser evil.
"Do as you please..."
Willful as the power was, its reliability had never failed her, and so Elizabeth granted the permission whether she wished to or not.
"You have my thanks."
Ferzen bowed from the waist and turned his back. The princess's curiosity toward him only deepened for it.
"Ferzen."
"Yes."
"Raise your head and look upon me. Not once have you sought to meet my eyes."
She had wondered whether there might be some particular reason. Ferzen, however, turned with a simplicity that cooled her interest at once, and met her with those characteristic crimson eyes.
A woman is, by nature, a creature sensitive to a man's gaze. Elizabeth could tell that his eyes rested once upon her face, then moved on to the hairpin set in her hair.
As expected...
True to Brutein, he had an eye. She let none of it show, but inwardly she was thoroughly pleased. She had never much cared for excessive adornment, and she did not favor ornaments that were overly splendid. Among the pieces lately presented in tribute, the hairpin she wore now—sapphire and ruby wrought into the shape of a bead-blossom—had pleased her very much, and yet the reactions around her had been nothing but lukewarm. Ferzen, though, seemed to recognize its true worth, and a quiet joy stole through her.
"Hm?"
A flutter of wings. A hawk settled on the open windowsill and folded its wings with demure care. Had the creature no fear at all? She might have tried to ignore it, but it was just large enough to be an irritant, and Elizabeth lifted a hand to wave it off.
A rush of feathers.
"Ahh!"
The hawk flung its wings wide and came down on her, raking through her hair with both feet. There was no time to mind her dignity. Elizabeth started up with a girlish scream, and in the next instant the hawk that had darted to the window snatched the bead-blossom hairpin and went wheeling out into the open air.
Thud.
Ferzen's staff punched down through the hawk's body and drove it hard against the floor. He recovered the hairpin caught in its talons, seized the bird by the nape, and flung it toward the window. For a moment it seemed the hawk would simply fall. Then it spread its wings, flew off into the distance, and was gone.
"An impudent hawk."
"S-so it is... A bird of prey, I suppose. It must have come for the glitter."
Remembering the scream she had just let out, Elizabeth flushed with shame, sat back in her chair, and set about putting her disordered golden hair to rights as best she could. At that, Ferzen drew a jade-green comb from his Subspace and stepped to her side.
"Allow me."
"Tending a woman's hair is a more particular task than one might think..."
"If I lacked the confidence, would I dare set a hand to Your Highness's hair?"
"If you will go so far as that... I shall trust you with it once."
At the assurance in his voice, Elizabeth set her hands quietly upon her knees and drew her back straight.
"Then pardon me for a moment."
His large hand gathered her hair, and the comb swept softly down through it. Elizabeth had always been especially fond of having her hair touched. From childhood she had coaxed her father, her mother, and her older brothers for just this sort of affection. Once she had grown and matured, she had contented herself with the maids washing her hair with care when she bathed.
"Mm..."
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"Ah, no. Continue."
In the silence that followed, only the quiet sound of Ferzen setting her hair in order spread through the room.
"It is finished."
When he had done and put the comb away, Elizabeth let out a faint breath and looked to the mirror. For all the confidence of his words, the result was merely passable. He had, in truth, done nothing more than arrange her hair with neatness.
"Then I will take my leave."
"Ferzen."
"Yes."
"You ought to leave the hairpin, should you not?"
"Ah..."
With the look of a man who had forgotten, Ferzen set the bead-blossom hairpin down before the princess, turned over.
"It is a beautiful ornament... but personally, I find an unadorned face, as it is, more pleasing to the eye."
"You have a wife, and now you cast flirtation at me?"
"...It is not flirtation. I have only spoken a personal impression."
"Enough. You may go."
"Understood."
The door opened and shut behind him with a clean click. Left alone, Elizabeth looked down at the bead-blossom hairpin.
What a talent for telling me, in a roundabout way, that it does not suit me...
The reactions around her to that hairpin had been so very lukewarm. Ferzen's words did not sound sincere to her. She mistook them for nothing more than a polite evasion.
"Is my sense of beauty truly so strange..."
For no good reason, Elizabeth grew glum.
On the roof of the Academy, having called the hawk in, I let out a silent breath of relief. I severed the link of mana, and the hawk returned to the corpse it had been.
I had avoided her eyes so blatantly that I had gone in already prepared, uneasy over what I would do if Princess Elizabeth commanded me to face her. The preparation had worked in my favor.
Truly... it was difficult to endure.
A hairpin worn on only one side was an irritation, but a bearable one—an obsession of the sort that would fade not long after I left the room. The First Imperial Princess's hairpin, however, had ruined the harmony of color outright.
The blossom had exactly five petals. Three of them were red, and two a clear blue. Set in a line, that would not have mattered. A round form, like a flower, necessarily has parts that meet. Had it been a single color, the compulsion would not have seized me. Unfortunately, it was not. Where two red petals overlapped, one of them was engraved with the imperial crest. Red is the color of the imperial house, so I could guess what the craftsman who made the pin had intended. From where I stood, it was an ornament disgusting beyond words. Had there only been six petals, I would have applauded that nameless man.
It was natural enough.
The princess seemed to have caught no hint of anything amiss, so I turned and came down from the roof.
Is that where the instructors who kept a school in Rosenberg are gathered?
An unusual number of presences could be felt there. But Black Magic was lectured only once a week, and I already had a plan in mind for how I meant to teach it. If I came to a stop later, I could call at the Academy and ask for help. In any case, the lecture plan had to be submitted to Her Highness a week before the entrance ceremony on the third of March, and I had never intended to dash it off carelessly.
Half past four...
A good deal of time had passed, but I ought still to be able to return before the sun went down. I was making for the rear of the main building, where the carriage was waiting, when I stopped.
"......"
"......"
Uriel was coming from the opposite direction, and we met.
"Are you leaving already?"
"You ask what you already know."
"Well, Black Magic is only once a week. I suppose you would have little cause to seek the Rosenberg instructors' help in laying your plans."
Elemental Magic was lectured three times a week. Those who studied Black Magic, too, needed a firm grasp of that field if they were to handle an Elemental Magician's corpse in full and raise their Implementation Rate, so it would surely draw the greatest number.
"Uriel."
"Don't address me so familiarly."
"Professor Uriel."
"......"
"Do you want my attention?"
"Who would—! Alfred no longer hangs on Brutein."
"If that is not it..."
Letting my focus blur further, I came slowly up to Uriel and pressed her back toward the wall.
"Then may I take it you pick this quarrel out of simple malice?"
"......"
"Professor Uriel."
"I loathe your duplicity. Your dignity... is not a lofty thing."
"......"
"Take away the worth of the name Brutein, and what is left of you?"
At that I bent my head and spoke softly at her ear.
"If I return those words to you exactly as they are, what answer will you give?"
"Hmph."
She gave none. She only turned her face aside. Watching her, I set my foot gently down on her left. Having stepped on the left, I thought I had better step on the right as well, and so I did.
"Ah, it hurts...!"
"Professor Uriel. You are of House Alfred's blood. Like it or not, Alfred follows at your back."
"I said it hurts...!"
"So think carefully. Only when you are certain Alfred will not break before Brutein—only once you hold that conviction—do you bare your fangs and growl."
Uriel's tear-bright violet eyes narrowed. She thrust out her left hand to push me off. I caught it lightly, drew it up, and closed my grip. Her insteps pinned underfoot, her hand held above her head, she made a thoroughly unsightly picture.
"Professor Uriel. You truly have... become a tiresome woman."
"......"
"If the only thing about you that has grown is that chest, large to the point of vulgarity, is that why you go about emphasizing it to no purpose..."
"...!"
I finished, let go of her hand, and put distance between us. Uriel's eyes had gone wide. She covered her chest with both hands and spoke through a face thick with shame.
"H-have you finally gone mad? To toy with a woman who isn't even married...!"
"If the words that go are to be fair, ought the words that return not be fair as well? I need not keep courtesy with someone who kept none first."
Setting my creased sleeve to rights, I ignored the fuming Uriel, walked on, and climbed into the carriage. I put the staff away in Subspace and started back toward the house where Euphemia was waiting.
The hour was five. I had squandered a full thirty minutes on the exchange with Uriel.
After that, did something further happen?
Even if House Claudia and Alfred had found a point of contact, and word of what the Ferzen of the past had done had reached the youngest daughter of House Claudia, the inferiority Uriel showed seemed excessive.
Or is it not? Is this the ordinary way of it... I cannot tell.
Brutein had always kept still. The one that sought, without cause, to tangle itself with us was always Alfred, and only when that exceeded the proper measure did Brutein press Alfred down. There was no reason to expect Brutein could understand the rift of feeling that had opened because of it.
It does nothing but ache my head...
If they would only come with a suitably lowered head, we might get along well enough. Seeing that stiff defiance, the wish to shut her away in the middle of some cellar and teach her her place lifted its head like a starving wolf. Keeping that wish under a moderate leash was a considerable ordeal in itself.
So I pressed at my temples, and set an easy pace toward the mansion I would reach before long.
He's here.
In the bedroom, cleaned until not a speck of dust remained, Euphemia had been looking out the window. She saw the carriage come in through the gate and knew that Ferzen had returned. The days were dull, and she was bored, but when she was alone that peculiar ease of his absence steadied her heart.
Today...
It was her fertile time. She did not think that man was calculating her cycle. If she could only muddle her way past this, then she might go on with this life at least without conceiving his child. Of course, she did not believe the expedient would serve forever. But no matter how she turned it over—bearing that man's child, a child born the very image of him, herself becoming that child's mother—she could not picture it. She did not particularly wish to. Seated on the bed, Euphemia drew her knees up and let her anxiety show.
What is he doing...
However long she waited, the door did not open. The spring days were short. The moment the clock passed six, a deep dark had already begun to settle outside.
The door came open all at once, and Ferzen stepped in. That characteristic black hair of his, glossy as ever, still held the damp. He had bathed, then.
"Euphemia. Have you eaten?"
"I have."
"I see."
In comfortable clothes, Ferzen came slowly to the bed and climbed onto it. Euphemia flinched and crept, little by little, away. Fortunately the bed was wide. But he reached out, circled her waist, and drew her into his arms. Then, far too naturally, his hand went on.
"I—I... not today. I'm tired. It hasn't even been a day since we arrived in the capital..."
"......"
Would an excuse like this take? And if it did not, what then? It was the only card she had to play.
"Very well."
"...?"
But Ferzen consented. He accepted it so simply that, for an instant, the strength nearly went out of her altogether. Even so, Euphemia did not let go of her tension. When she had refused the necklace, what sort of answer had he given her?
"Your thoughts are plain to read, but there is no harm in letting myself be deceived once."
"......"
"It would seem this is your fertile time. At the least, I shall see to it that the thing you fear does not come to pass."
With that he rose, brought over the chair that stood before the desk, and sat.
"The kinds of night's business... are not limited to the joining of two bodies."
"What are you..."
"It is all right. What you do not know, you may learn."
He sat in the chair with a posture perfectly upright, not a line of him out of place, called Euphemia to him, and set her down on her knees before him.