Moonlit Escape (1)
It felt like a scene out of a fairy tale.
The thought came to Dieta unbidden.
There were stories like that, after all—the kind that turned up in every children’s book. A princess locked away in a tower. A handsome knight who came to free her. Tired, childish plots, really.
Dieta had never cared for them much.
She had long outgrown the age when a string of pretty moments strung together without logic or consequence could still charm her. But that was only true when the story remained fiction.
…When you dragged a fairy-tale scene into the real world—
Well.
Dieta had to admit that her heart was beating rather hard. She, the young woman who had been locked inside a ducal villa. And the handsome knight who had come for her without a second thought, hand outstretched, declaring he was here to save her.
He’s not actually a knight, but he is handsome, so…
Dieta gazed up at Najin with hazy eyes.
His face was mostly hidden by the hood of his robe, but from below she could still make out the clean lines of it.
…Had he always been this good-looking?
Was it the situation? The fog in her head? Or was the moonlight pouring down from the sky simply doing the work of a flattering filter? Whatever the reason, Najin looked far more polished than usual, and Dieta swallowed dryly.
Her heart hammered in a way that had nothing to do with their circumstances. It was just shock, she told herself. She curled a little tighter into herself, offering the cold night wind as an excuse, and the way her body kept swaying, and the dizziness. With those flimsy justifications, she tightened her grip on the front of Najin’s clothes. Beneath the brilliant wash of moonlight, their escape went on for some time.
“We’ll rest here for a moment.”
They had put a fair distance between themselves and the villa. Following the border of the territory, Najin led them into a small cave tucked among the dense woods. He set Dieta carefully on the ground and shrugged off his robe.
“A proper pursuit won’t be possible until the sun is up. Their night vision may be decent, but it’ll still take time to grasp the situation and get organized. Even in the worst case, we should have a chance to catch our breath.”
The knights had no idea which way he had fled or where he was heading. When it came to killing his presence and scrambling tracks, Najin was already an old hand.
“So for now, we rest.”
He glanced at her. He himself could have run through the night without trouble, but Dieta’s condition did not look good. She was slick with cold sweat, her face pale.
He held out the discarded robe.
“At least wrap yourself in this.”
“Wh—what?”
“It’s cold. I can manage, but you can’t.”
His eyes flicked over her thin, floaty nightclothes. Weather like this was no weather for fabric that light. Dieta nodded slowly and settled the robe across her shoulders.
“As for treating your ankle… I didn’t bring anything useful, unfortunately. It’s not a wound a potion will fix, so that’ll have to wait.”
He rummaged through the adventurer’s pack he always carried, muttering, then pulled out a rolled blanket and a mineral lamp. He snapped the blanket open, laid it in front of her, and jerked his chin.
“Get some sleep, even if it’s only for a little while. You look exhausted.”
“…I’m still fine.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Rest while you can. Once dawn comes, we’ll have to run like hell.”
Still talking, he drove a fist into the mineral lamp. The jolt set it flickering; a dim sunset glow slowly filled the cave.
Only then could Dieta properly take stock of herself. The sweat-soaked nightgown clinging to her skin and outlining every line of her body. Her disheveled hair. She hadn’t checked her face, but it was certainly streaked with tear tracks.
Self-conscious, she pulled the robe tighter and wiped her face with a sleeve. She felt oddly embarrassed.
“Are you very cold?”
“Wh—what? No? I’m fine…?”
She hiccuped.
She wasn’t particularly cold. Heat was rising in her face for no good reason, that was all. But the way she clutched the robe looked, to Najin, exactly like someone shivering.
And her face was faintly flushed, too.
A fever, maybe? She’d been injured, gone days without proper food or sleep. It wouldn’t be strange if her immunity had hit rock bottom.
Dizzy, too. She won’t even meet my eyes.
Dieta’s gaze spun and skittered; her ears burned scarlet. In Najin’s eyes she was nothing but a patient. The truth was a little different.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dieta pressed a hand hard against her noisily racing chest and bowed her head. For some reason, meeting this man’s gaze was difficult. Avoiding his eyes, she crawled under the blanket.
What’s wrong with me?
And why is my heart making such a racket?
She had spent her whole life wearing a mask, pouring everything into growing her trading company. The emotions she felt now, with that mask stripped away, were utterly foreign. She didn’t even recognize them for what they were as she pulled the blanket over her head.
Thoughts began to surface—surely not—but she shook her head almost at once.
She was not the sort of person who felt things like that. She was certainly not that easy a woman… or rather, wasn’t a racing heart only natural in a situation like this?
A strange denial. A stranger self-justification.
Utterly out of keeping with their circumstances, Dieta pressed down on her pounding heart and closed her eyes.
2.
Just before sunrise.
In the pale hour when dawn was still only a promise.
Blink.
Dieta opened her eyes. She had wondered whether she would sleep at all with her heart thudding and her ankle throbbing, but she had slept deeply. Rubbing her eyes, she looked across the cave.
Najin sat there with his sword held against his chest, back against the wall, head bowed.
Had he kept watch like that the entire night? Still half-asleep, Dieta stared at him for a long time.
“You’re awake.”
“Hic—!”
The man she had thought was sleeping lifted his head. The sudden voice at her ear made Dieta’s shoulders jerk.
“Y-you were already up?”
“I don’t need much sleep. I was about to wake you anyway—good timing.”
Najin let out a long breath and rolled his shoulders.
“A night should have been enough to get your thoughts in order. Do you have a plan?”
Her guardian knight, Pasion, had said as much: Dieta had measures prepared. If someone would only play the messenger, she could handle the rest herself. Circumstances had simply brought her out in person instead; it shouldn’t make much difference.
“Thanks to you.”
Dieta smiled.
He was right. A proper night’s rest had set her mind working again. Still, meeting Najin’s eyes remained difficult, so she let her gaze drop a little.
“I have more options available to me now.”
“For example?”
“It will turn into a complicated, irritating war of justification, but I can overturn the situation itself. I didn’t want to go this far… but here we are.”
She exhaled slowly.
“My company is one of the top three trading houses in Cambria, the City of Opportunity. A large operation. When a duke tries to swallow a company of that size whole, there’s usually a backlash.”
This time, however, the voices of protest had been quiet. The reason was simple.
“There was no real backlash this time because I still belong to House Arvenia. The duke has his justification. Who’s going to object when a duke absorbs a company built by his own child?”
Dieta gave a bitter smile.
The name Arvenia. She had been too attached to cast it off—and now that same name had become the chain around her ankle.
“So the solution is simple.”
She went on.
“We take the entire situation to the Central Guild—and, more importantly, to the Cambria Foundation above it. And while we’re at it, I discard my family name.”
“What happens then?”
“House Arvenia will no longer be able to absorb the company. And if they want to touch me, they’ll have to worry about outside eyes.”
Osman had locked her away precisely because he understood that. If he finished the affair before she could act, even the Foundation would be left without recourse.
“In the end, it’s a war of justifications.”
And, Dieta said,
“The Cambria Foundation’s justification is not one that House Arvenia can simply overpower.”
The Cambria Foundation.
A coalition of nobles formed to preserve the traditions and special character of Cambria, the City of Opportunity where King Arthur’s journey had begun. Its authority was guaranteed by the Emperor of the Empire himself.
No matter how high House Arvenia flew, it could not openly ram a foundation under the Emperor’s seal.
More than that, the moral high ground belonged to them. If a major trading house in the city could be swallowed in this fashion—and if that became precedent—the Foundation’s own reputation would suffer.
“And the Foundation looks on me rather kindly.”
“Meaning?”
“I paid my taxes. Every last one, on time. Tax evasion, cooked books, phantom inventory—I never once tried those games against the Foundation. You might say that’s only natural.”
Dieta shrugged.
“In our business, paying every tax in full gets you called a sucker. Still, being a sucker where the Foundation is concerned makes life easier. I grew the company this large in five years without a single scandal—because I was a model taxpayer.”
So if she asked, they would listen.
Dieta was certain of it.
“There is one small problem, though.”
She sighed.
“Informing the Central Guild will take too long. I’d have to go in person to meet the noble houses of the Cambria Foundation—high-ranking ones—and I don’t think they’ll simply open the door if I show up unannounced.”
She smiled wryly.
“As I am now, I have no way to prove who I am.”
No nameplate. No company master’s uniform. Not even a messenger bird she could send under her own seal. All that remained in this cave was a girl named Dieta.
“So we probably need to stop in Cambria first—but Duke Osman won’t sit still for that. He’ll throw every obstacle he can across the roads. Things have gotten a little complicated.”
“About that.”
Najin, who had been listening quietly, spoke up.
“The noble houses that form the core of the Cambria Foundation—what are their names?”
“House Ostrum, the count’s house… House Kleufsch, another count’s house…”
The three pillars of the Foundation.
Last of all, Dieta spoke the name of the most renowned among them.
“And House Trevache, the marquisate.”
Trevache.
The name was familiar to Najin. Listening, he smiled.
“Then we may not need to stop in Cambria after all.”
“What? What do you mean—?”
Najin drew a letter from his coat.
It had been tucked deep in his pack. When Dieta saw the crest sealed upon it, her eyes went wide. It was the mark of House Trevache.
As if to say the surprise was premature, Najin unfolded the letter and held it out to her.
There, in the Marquis of Trevache’s own hand, was an invitation: she—or rather, he—might call at any time, and would be received as an honored guest.
You are welcome to call upon House Trevache at any time.
Should you visit the marquisate, you shall be received as an honored guest, without fail.
— Edelmar, Marquis of Trevache
“How did you—?”
“During the subjugation of the Demon Knight, I met a certain knight. Delivering his final words put me in touch with the house.”
Gilbert, knight of House Trevache.
Najin had never imagined the connection born of that conversation would prove useful like this—but useful it most certainly was, here and now.
“Honestly…”
Looking at the invitation, Dieta burst out laughing.
“You really are something else.”
3.
“Still, I can’t deny I made an inefficient choice. It would have been better if I’d stayed locked in that villa. I’m sorry. I misjudged things then.”
That single emotional plea she had thrown out—asking him to take her out of the cage that surrounded her—still embarrassed her a little when she thought of her past self.
Of course, thanks to it she had been able to rest, and her mood had improved. She couldn’t deny she had been glad of the chance to feel her heart race, either…
But it had not been a rational decision.
She knew it was not the kind of judgment her usual self would make.
“I was a little emotional. There must have been a more rational, efficient, optimal—”
“People can’t live like that every single day.”
Najin cut her off.
He had been packing his gear and erasing their traces, preparing to leave; now he looked at her.
“Who in the world can move efficiently and rationally all the time? Sometimes you just charge ahead. Sometimes you move on feeling. If all you ever chase is efficiency, life gets exhausting.”
He smiled.
“And besides.”
He bent his knees and turned his back to her—an invitation to climb on. Dieta absently smoothed her hair, then carefully settled onto his back.
“Who says this isn’t the best option?”
“What?”
“If we reach the destination like this, then this is the best option, isn’t it? Better than sitting locked in that villa, enduring that kind of treatment.”
As Dieta looped her arms around his neck, Najin rose. The sudden shift made her cling tighter to his back.
“Right?”
“That’s… true.”
Whether something was best or not was something you only knew once you saw the result. If they arrived safely, then this was the best— that was what he was saying. Faced with such bracingly simple logic, Dieta couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re confident? Escaping with someone on your back doesn’t sound easy.”
“You’re not that heavy. And besides…”
Najin gave a short laugh.
“Running away is my specialty.”
After all, it wasn’t as if he’d only been chased once or twice.