The Song Travels North
Rina. Take these documents to the accounting office. They're heavy—have two people carry them.
"Yes, my lady!"
Maid Rina hurried out with her colleague, arms wrapped around a towering stack of papers. Once the door closed, low murmurs drifted in from the corridor. They weren't whispers meant to be overheard; they were genuinely hushed voices. Yet lately, her ears had grown strangely sharp.
—The young lady called her by name again.
—Exactly. Just a month ago it was always 'you,' 'hey,' or 'you there.'
—Can a person really change that much? Something must have happened.
Elise lowered her gaze to the approval documents. Calling people by name was harder than she'd expected. There were one hundred and twenty servants and forty maids in the castle. She'd memorized the roster at night. Every servant whose name she spoke for the first time reacted by first searching their own face for some offense. And every time she saw those expressions, Elise confirmed the same truth.
For ten years in this castle, a name hadn't been something to be called—it had been something to be forgotten.
She was learning, piece by piece and always too late, what he had endured.
She sparred with Valter that morning as usual.
"I ask for your guidance today as well."
"Of course. However, Your Highness, I must repeat what I've said many times—my sword cannot even hold half a step against you. It's either win or lose, nothing in between."
"That's exactly why I spar with you."
The wooden swords clashed. Valter's blade was honest and heavy. It came with full force and had to be blocked with full force. Around the twentieth exchange, Elise's wooden sword caught Valter's shoulder. In the next round, Valter broke her wrist.
Win or lose.
That wall was different from the one that had always seemed just within reach yet never yielded. It didn't frustrate her, and so her sword felt as if it wasn't growing. Only after losing that half-step wall did she realize, like opening a dictionary, what it had cultivated in her for ten years.
"Your Highness. Your sword has grown impatient lately."
"...Has it?"
"Is there someone you wish to catch up to?"
Valter had tossed it out as a joke, but he fell silent the moment he saw Elise's expression. The joke had struck its target.
After training, she opened the drawer in her office once. No reply had come. She hadn't expected one. Each morning she renewed the lie that she didn't expect one. A letter could only receive a reply if there was someone willing to accept it. Had he received it? Burned it? Even if he had burned it, she had nothing to say.
Inside the drawer, only empty space lay neatly arranged. She could only guess at the weight once carried by the spot where his resignation letter had rested, now marked by that vacant drawer.
The song arrived on the day the first frost of autumn fell.
It was a tea gathering to which she had invited the wives of the northern vassal families. The atmosphere had been icy since it was the first such event since the broken engagement, but someone had called for musicians to break that tension.
"It's the most popular song in the capital these days. It came up from the south, and it's so amusing—"
The lute sounded. The musician, full of spirit, raised his voice.
The Grey Swordsman rejects the princess—
Though he knelt, he never bowed his head—
⟨ The Grey Swordsman's Song ⟩
Elise's teacup froze above its saucer.
He refused the princess's golden crown, refused five times the salary—
When asked why, he gave but one reply—
Once is enough for a master—
The wives burst into giggles.
Oh my, how bold. A commoner rejecting a princess? Well, that princess is quite something too—they say she followed him around for a whole fortnight? The imperial family's dignity is in tatters these days. Ten years of servitude must have been utterly exhausting—
He nearly froze to death beneath an icy mistress—
The Northern Star is cold indeed; ten years at her side was nothing but winter—
The laughter cut off sharply. The musician realized the meaning of his own lyrics too late; his fingers stiffened on the lute strings. All the wives' eyes turned at once toward the head of the table.
Because the Northern Star, the icy mistress herself, was sitting right there.
"Y-Your Highness, I didn't mean— the lyrics, I didn't realize—"
"Continue."
"...Pardon?"
"There is no sin in a song. Finish it."
Elise lifted her teacup. Her hand did not tremble. She had spent the past month learning how not to tremble. Not to hide, but to face things head-on.
The musician finished the song in a voice that had shrunk to a whisper. The tea gathering could not last even half an hour longer and was hastily concluded.
After the guests left, maid Rina fumed, unable to contain her anger.
"My lady, you shouldn't have let that musician go so easily! You should issue a prohibition on that song within the territory. Those ridiculous lyrics—"
"Rina."
"Yes!"
"What part is ridiculous?"
Rina's mouth fell open and stayed that way. Elise calmly set aside the cooled teacup herself and continued in an even tone.
"Leaving me standing in the pouring rain for three hours, confining me to the outer wall for a month in the dead of winter, making me stand outside the door during every banquet—those things are all true. If I ban a song that merely rhymes with the facts, the facts will spread twice as fast. Leave the song as it is."
"B-but my lady, with what feelings you must—"
"Feelings are not what matters. Only what was done matters."
That, too, was something she had learned from him. Learned without realizing it, for ten years, simply by watching over his shoulder.
That night in her office, Elise unfolded the lyrics line by line once more.
Ten exhausting years. An icy mistress. Ten years at her side was winter.
She knew it was distorted. The original version Valter had heard in Valk had been delivered accurately. Once is enough for a master. That sentence had contained neither exhaustion nor ice nor winter.
Yet once she stripped away the distortion, what remained hurt even more.
The song was false, but its summary was accurate. Could she claim that his ten years had not been winter? Not when weighed against three hours in the pouring rain, frostbite on the outer wall, and standing outside during banquets?
The one who composed the song had written of ten years he had never witnessed, merely fitting the rhyme. Yet in fitting the rhyme, he had touched the truth.
And then there was one line.
One line that remained heavier than all the rest.
Once is enough for a master.
The princess had heard those words. Forty-four people had heard them. Now the entire empire was hearing them.
He had essentially received the empire's official certification that he would never again become anyone's man for the rest of his life.
She had written in her letter: Let's start over. That it was not employment.
Yet his declaration had gone far beyond employment. With a single experience, he had permanently closed not only the word "master" but every relationship that word created.
And that single experience had been her.
"...Still."
Elise spoke the words aloud in the darkness. Lately, the number of words she only spoke when no one was listening had increased.
"The princess was rejected, wasn't she?"
She knew it was a shameful relief. Her heart had fluttered with embarrassing joy at the fact that he had kicked away the princess's fortnight, five times the salary, and the imperial family's shield. It was relief she did not deserve. That rejection had not been for her sake—it was merely the scar left behind because of her.
Even knowing that, her heart still raced. There was nothing she could do about it.
She took out a single accounting report from the drawer and read it again. It had arrived three days ago.
Regarding St. Michaela Orphanage. Remittances resumed as of last month. Remitter—Kael. Not under the Grand Duchy's authority, but in his own name. Routed through a southern exchange office.
The first day she received the report, she had nearly ordered the accountant to send twice that amount under the Grand Duchy's name, but stopped herself. That would have been acting like a master again. It would have been covering his dignity with money.
Instead, she had approved something else: increasing the winter relief budget for Trent, where the orphanage was located. Not just for the orphanage, but for the entire village.
She left the places his name touched empty and warmed only their surroundings. She was learning, nine years late, from the man who used to leave roasted chestnuts for her, how to care without being noticed.
At the dinner table, Gregor spoke abruptly.
"I heard the song."
"...It only takes a day for it to reach the North these days."
"It spreads even faster in the capital. The imperial family's dignity has been ground to dust. A princess rejected by a commoner—it's a doubly painful song for the Crown Prince. It's both his sister's humiliation and a rise in the value of the sword he coveted."
Gregor sliced his meat and added, as if in passing,
"Perhaps that's why the imperial family is considering reviving the Imperial Martial Arts Festival."
"...The Imperial Martial Arts Festival."
"It's been twenty-three years. An imperial swordsmanship tournament that awards a noble title to the winner. The official reason is that the recent monster anomalies have made the world uneasy, so they're reviving martial traditions—but the true intention is obvious. They're gathering every sword that belongs to the empire in one place so the imperial family can rank them."
Every sword that belongs to the empire, gathered in one place.
Elise's fork paused briefly above her plate. The Grey Swordsman would surely be there. No—he had to be. It was a seat where a title was at stake. The empire's one and only door through which a commoner could legally cross the wall of status.
And that place was also the empire's one and only location where holding a sword and meeting him would not be considered rude.
"What are the qualifications for entry?"
"Anyone who can hold a sword. ...Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering."
Gregor stared at his daughter's 'just wondering' for a long time before saying nothing more and emptying his wine glass. Something like a smile passed through the old tiger's eyes.
Valter brought the report just before midnight.
"Your Highness. News from Valk."
"What has the princess done this time—"
"It is not the princess. It is the Crown Prince."
Elise's back left her chair.
"A delegation has departed for Valk. The stated purpose is to inspect the southern monster anomalies. However, on the list of accompanying personnel... is Geralt of Steel."
"Geralt of the Seven Swords? Why would a Master be part of an inspection team—"
She stopped mid-sentence as she found the answer herself.
The Crown Prince's three steps. Buy. Borrow. And.
The teacup slipped from the edge of the desk and shattered. Elise did not even glance at the broken pieces.
"When will they arrive?"
"According to official documents, in three days."
"Send the Northern Army... No."
The order broke off halfway. There was no justification for sending the Northern Army. He was no longer a man of Wallenstein. She had stamped the seal with her own hand to make it so. Cutting off the right to protect him had been part of letting him go.
She could not reach him through power, and she must not reach him through status. That left only one option.
"Valter."
"Yes."
"That person... could he win? Against Geralt."
Valter did not answer immediately. After weighing his words with a soldier's silence, he ultimately chose honesty.
"I do not know. The sword I saw from that fellow never once showed its bottom. However, his opponent is one of the Seven Swords. The wall of a Master... is no ordinary wall."
"If he wins."
"Pardon?"
"If he wins, that will be even more problematic. The rumor that a commoner defeated one of the Seven Swords would free the Crown Prince from needing any justification. It would allow the court to say that a dangerous sword must be reclaimed."
"...Dangerous whether he wins or loses."
"Yes. That person has always stood only in such places."
For ten years, between her carriage and the blade. Now, between the imperial family's greed and the sword. And for ten years she had not even known that place existed. Now she knew, yet could not reach it.
"Starting tomorrow, we will double the morning training sessions. And bring me the master-level combat records from the knight order—all of them. Starting with Geralt's."
"Your Highness, surely you don't mean to—"
"When the imperial family speaks with a sword, the time will come to answer with a sword."
Elise walked past the broken teacup to the window. The southern sky was dark as always today, and somewhere in that darkness, he would once again stand alone before a sword. Just as he had for the past ten years. Just as he had between her carriage and the blade.
"For ten years, that person protected me."
Looking at her own eyes reflected in the glass, Elise spoke her resolve clearly. This time, it did not break off halfway.
"This time, I must be the one to protect him."