Broken Wings (5)

Smack.

Radiel was washing her face, preparing to step out of the washroom. She had splashed cold water against her skin again and again.

By now it should have stung quite badly, yet she couldn't feel the cold at all.

It was because of what had happened yesterday — and the helpless self of the past that it had dredged back up.

And still, she had to remember it clearly. No matter how badly it tore at her chest, she had to hold every detail vividly in her mind.

Drip. Drip.

The tears welling in Radiel's eyes as she looked back on the past had, before she realized it, begun to mingle with the cold water pooled in the basin.

Even now, thinking of those days felt like her chest was being torn open. But it was too late to hesitate any longer.

"This time... I will not be late. Not ever again, my lord."

Yes. From now on, she must never, ever be too late.

— See to it that Mark receives this personally.

Yesterday evening. That had been the one favor Karsein had asked of her.

Sploosh.

Radiel washed her tear-streaked face once more with the cold water. It was time to break free of that poisonous past.

Knock, knock.

"Radiel? What brings you here?"

At present, Radiel had lost so much function in one arm that she could no longer lift the zweihänder as she once had.

Yet even though that crippled arm was still capable of paperwork, Mark had endlessly tried to talk her out of it — which was why, these days, Mark was the one handling those duties in the office in her stead.

"I came because I have something to tell you, Mark."

"...Is this about what happened to my lord yesterday?"

"It is."

He seemed to have already half guessed it. But there was one thing that had to be handled with care here.

— You may come to understand the truth, but you must never act on it. That man is one of a kind — the moment he learns the facts, he moves before he thinks.

Above all else, she could not let Mark fly into action the moment he heard the truth of that day.

"Forget it. I've decided to stop dwelling on it. All that matters now is that I look after my lord through his time as a trainee, right?"

Once, that would have been impossible. Now, it was within reach.

The Radiel of the present, who had faced the past in full, would not be late again.

"The one who cut me down that day wasn't my lord. It was Theo Ramstair. Mark."

"...What?"

"Theo Ramstair had been commissioned to drive Karsein out of the duchy and into the slums. And the one who arranged that commission was Head Maid Emma."

"A commission to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drive him out...? Head Maid Emma? No, wait — hold on. What in the world is all this..."

To the reeling Mark, she drove the agonizing wedge home.

"This is the letter my lord sent that very day. The contents I couldn't speak a word of — the ones I couldn't even show you, for fear you'd ruin everything in your fury."

A single sheet of paper, folded with painstaking care.

The letter that had been read dozens of times since Shayden first pressed it into her hands now passed from Radiel's fingers into Mark's.

"This is..."

Mark's eyes began to tremble violently.

The letter held a heavy account of how a boy who had dreamed of flight had been crushed beneath it all. He could have soared, without question — had none of this interference existed. With talent like his, he could have taken up a sword and carved his name across the empire a hundred times over.

But those wings had been...

Trampled underfoot by a filthy, despicable scheme.

As Mark read the letter, Radiel began to lay bare the truth of that day.

"He should have been here by now... why hasn't he come?"

By this hour, he always came. No — he should have already arrived.

Her lord, who sweated through his training day after day, whose techniques sharpened step by step each time his blade crossed Mark's, had been gradually finding joy in the sword. Perhaps today he was simply running a little late.

Telling herself that, Radiel had waited — leaning on her ever-present zweihänder like a staff.

But when another full hour passed and he still hadn't come, she finally moved.

They say my lord is treated terribly at the ducal residence. If that's the case...

He might be spending his hours in loneliness. She had to save him from that time steeped in isolation.

Radiel went straight to the ducal residence and stopped maid after maid to ask, but none of them seemed to know anything.

No — more precisely, every one of them looked unwilling to answer.

She was on the verge of giving up, thinking there was nothing more to glean here and she'd simply have to turn back, when two men called out to her.

"You're Captain Radiel, aren't you? The one who's been questioning the maids all this while."

"Yes, that's correct, but..."

An old butler, and a physician of considerable skill. Those two knew where Karsein was.

"As far as I know, Young Lord Karsein already departed for the training grounds."

"He always heads for the main gate when he goes to train... but this time, he turned toward the rear of the estate instead."

"What?!"

The rear? There was nothing back there but forest.

"...You don't seem to know either. This is bad. Very bad."

"This is dire. Go on ahead — we'll inform the Madam separately. Take this horse!"

"Thank you, Lord Heron! Lord Shayden!"

As she scrambled back toward the training grounds, Shayden hastily lent her his horse, and Radiel tore off in swift pursuit of Karsein.

Beyond the edge of the forest, the horse could go no further. But traces remained.

"A torch...! My lord!"

Through the dense thicket where few people ever passed, signs began to appear — traces of Karsein using the very techniques she had taught him.

But when Radiel sprinted after those traces on foot, two legs burning beneath her—

"Die, you filthy commoner bastard!!"

— she arrived to find her lord one heartbeat away from being cut down by the sword of a maddened Theo Ramstair.

In that sliver of a moment, Radiel's mind churned like muddy water.

She was closing in from the flank.

She could draw her sword and parry — but she'd be too late. A zweihänder could not deliver a strike that fast.

Even casting the sword aside to subdue Theo Ramstair barehanded — too late. Before her arm could even extend, Theo's blade would reach her lord first.

Throw the sword, then?

No. A zweihänder this heavy, no matter how much mana she poured into the throw—

Everything was too late. No matter what she tried, she couldn't reach him in time.

For this one instant, the sword she had never once treated carelessly felt like a heavy shackle locked around both her legs.

...Right. Faster.

The only answer was to run faster.

There was only one option.

Drop the sword entirely, sprint at full speed, and — without slowing for even a heartbeat — hurl her body forward.

Shield her lord with her own body and take Theo's blade in his place. There was no other way.

— Shraaak!

...

...

"So... you took the blade in her place."

"I did."

Mark swayed where he stood, both hands clutching his head. The shock was apparently too great — he couldn't force so much as a word from his lips.

But it wasn't over yet. There was one more thing Mark needed to hear — what came after that day.

"The letter, you see—"

...

...

It was during a slow jog, on a day just like this one.

The moment she had clawed her way back from death's door, staring up at the ceiling.

"What are you saying? My lord... can never set foot in the training grounds again?"

The one who should have been barred from the training grounds was not Karsein — it was Theo Ramstair. No, he deserved far worse: charged with attempted regicide among a litany of other grave crimes.

And yet.

"The verdict found that my lord bore clear intent to cut down the Captain and you — his blade was laden with mana."

"The sword did carry my lord's mana, but the bloodstains were, quite simply, irrefutable evidence."

"Only the blood of the very people he cut down remained at the scene. And the analysis came back a perfect match to both of your blood."

"Beyond that—"

One knight after another laid out the account of the trial.

They explained, in meticulous detail, what had transpired in the courtroom while Radiel lay unconscious after her surgery.

And so she understood.

Even if Karsein, as the sole witness, had testified that he hadn't been the one who cut her down and named Theo Ramstair as the culprit, it would never have been enough to overturn the verdict.

They had fabricated the evidence with exquisite precision. In open collusion, they had destroyed their own traces while amplifying and spotlighting everything that could paint Karsein as the culprit.

They had incited the knights thoroughly and rigged public opinion itself.

This wasn't one or two voices condemning Karsein — it was an entire collective, and no handful of protest could have turned that tide.

Everyone already believed the verdict, unwaveringly: that Karsein Bagrand was an ingrate, a criminal who had cut down his own instructor and fellow trainee at the training grounds.

"...Understood. Everyone, leave."

She needed time to think. She had to build a plan, calmly and carefully.

She had to rack her brain until it split, just to find a way to overturn this.

And so she dismissed them all.

Yet even after those words, someone pushed the door open again.

"I told all of you to get out!"

"...My apologies. As the duchy's chief physician, I can hardly refuse to see a patient — or disregard my lord's orders."

"Lord... Shayden?"

"And raising your voice like that is even worse for the patient, I might add."

When Shayden said this flatly, settling into the chair beside the bed, Radiel snapped back with an uncharacteristic edge of irritation.

"I'm sorry, but I'm in no mood for treatment right now."

"I imagine not."

"Then if you know that—!"

"Shh. Take this."

"What...?"

"The letter my lord asked me to deliver."

"...!"

Their eyes met once more, and Shayden gave a small nod. Radiel tore the letter open at once.

"..."

"That is why I couldn't help my lord right away — and why I couldn't pass this on to you either."

With those words, Radiel, having finally laid out the whole truth of that day, brought her account to a close.

By the time her voice fell silent, Mark — drained of all color — had gone deathly pale.

If all of that was perjury... and the words of Radiel and my lord were the truth...

Everything had been conveyed through Radiel's eyes, yet all the pieces that had never made sense now fell into place. But even resolved, it brought no relief.

It was suffocating. It was heavy.

His breath caught in his throat, and rage welled up inside him.

Prejudice had never been the problem. He had been helpless — and he had never known.

That alone meant he had committed a grave, unforgivable sin.

Freedom, crushed. A frame-up, painted over the truth. Deliberate manipulation. And—

— Come on, admit it already. Did you really think Sir Theo was the kind of person to lie, unlike you?

— It's absurd enough that the ducal residence would issue such a commission. And then Sir Theo just accepts it? Don't pin your crimes on an innocent man, you idiot!

Even his stolen rights.

With those words of a young lady who had interrupted the trial, the wings of a boy poised to soar on his last chance at flight were broken for good.

It was the fourth day since Karsein had begun staying at the training grounds.

After their mother, it was Arina who had gone to visit him. And somehow, she had come back looking decidedly out of sorts.

When Claire asked why—

"...I brought Karsein the things he needed, and he only seemed to dislike me more for it."

— that was her answer.

Arina had gone to supply the very things he needed for his activities at the training grounds — the one place that truly mattered to Karsein — and he had disliked her for it?

Claire's doubts only deepened, and the explanation came at once.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Karsein has been registered as a full trainee. During his induction period, he's being tested for the qualifications needed to become an apprentice knight."

"What? Then—!"

"He's an even easier target. He was already under suspicion from the old trial, and there are those trying to dress up their spiteful revenge as a 'hazing ritual.'"

Arina's immediate answer made even Claire half understand.

Karsein already drew hostile stares on account of the accusation that he had cut down Captain Radiel — and on top of that, he was serving his induction period not as a son of House Bagrand, but as a mere trainee.

Because of the supplies Arina had given him, he was now being suspected of cheating his way through the induction trial.

"Whew. I knew about the wretched customs, and I knew his reputation was poor, but I never saw that coming. I was so angry I ended up making a scene — he told me it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would've been better if I'd just left him alone."

He had nearly been caught in a retaliatory scheme.

Karsein had told her outright that not helping him at all would have been the kinder choice. Arina sighed as she poured it all out.

"I understand what you mean."

But to Claire, those words sounded like something else entirely.

So, to sum it up in one sentence — those bastards are picking a fight with Karsein, aren't they?

Where did they get the gall, trying to nitpick at her own little brother?

Let just one of them slip up. I'll bury them so deep they won't leave so much as a grave.

That was as good as raking her temper raw.