Chapter 69: Contrary to Expectation

They had won.

And yet something was wrong.

A solidly built man in his middle years—Edmund III, Emperor of Britannia—sat on the edge of the bed and did nothing but blink.

To think a day would come when I had to brood over a thing like this.

The Great Forest had destroyed itself, and in all but name it now belonged to them. Set beside the deeds of the ancestors who had first made it possible for the Britannia Empire to reign as an empire, the achievement did not suffer by comparison. Imperial losses along the way had amounted to almost nothing. Two men lightly wounded—was that truly all?

Even so, the manner of the victory sat poorly with him.

Such was the report submitted by Viscount Grant, vice-commander of the Imperial Escort Knights. The elven elders, he said, had all worn vacant faces and done nothing but blink.

And so the Emperor found himself saddled with a great heap of worries. Heroin, with its uncanny efficacy. Marcella Udrina, the elves' new holder of power. And Allan Madoff, who had claimed a share of the merit altogether too large.

If he was honest with himself, the last of these worried him most. The man who had manufactured the heroin, and the man who had colluded with Marcella and turned Medellin inside out in a matter of days, were in the end one and the same: Allan Madoff.

How was he to reward him?

No—was this even a matter that ended with a reward? And yet he could hardly punish the man, either.

"For now... yes. I'll have him summoned and hear his account first."

That was the proper course.

Someone objected to the Emperor's muttered resolve.

"Your Majesty. Allan Madoff is not a man to be handled in that fashion."

A slender beauty of the East—Empress Yeonhwa.

They had spent long years at a cool distance from each other, but of late the imperial couple were more harmonious than they had been even as newlyweds. In truth, affection had been difficult to build in the early days of the marriage, when every word had to pass through an interpreter. These days, though, a certain sweetness had settled between them. The Emperor had even come to find it rather endearing when the Empress drank her psilocybin and played the daegeum and the pipa.

"Empress. What was that you said?"

"That man will already have guessed what suspicions Your Majesty is harboring."

"Hm."

"And he will have every explanation prepared, will he not...? Your Majesty knows nothing of heroin, and he knows it well, so in the end you will have no choice but to be carried along in his current. You will summon him meaning to press him, and find yourself doing nothing but nodding along in some awkward half-measure."

The tone was soft as ever, and yet he felt as if she had struck him dead center. The Emperor cleared his throat.

"Foolish? Precisely because I do not know, I ought to ask all the more."

"And have you any guarantee that he will explain himself honestly?"

She lay on her side, putting one question after another to him—a languid expression, a thoroughly comfortable posture. The Emperor could not have said why the words leaving that small woman's mouth, when she looked ready to drift off at any moment, landed with such weight. What he did know was that he ought to listen to the Empress more closely than to most of his officials. She had the air of someone who knew something.

"Then what would you have me do?"

"Think simply."

"Simply?"

"Slight our friend Allan, or diminish his merit, and Victoria will rise up in protest, will she not...? Sienna will take that as a pretext to extract something from Your Majesty, or from her elder sister. And in the midst of it all, Allan Madoff will quietly go to ground."

"It does not sound particularly simple to me."

"No, it is simple. You need only set him down somewhere he can be plainly seen, so that he can neither hide nor run. And fasten a collar on him, in the name of an honor."

So saying, Empress Yeonhwa smiled with her eyes, ever so faintly.

The Emperor did not ask her to elaborate. The word collar had been inspiration enough.

"Then it may actually be to our advantage not to ask about the heroin."

"For now, yes. A difficult subject has always been handled that way."

And so the two of them began, turn and turn about, to discuss with care how Allan Madoff was to be treated. At a glance it was nothing more than a couple—he in his forties, she in her mid-thirties—chatting at their ease in nightclothes. In truth, the matter before them was grave. It was the question of how to handle a meritorious subject who had brought down an enemy realm all by himself.

Near the end, the Empress added one thing more.

"It would be best to keep this from the girls, so far as we can."

Allan Madoff, she said, might well try some scheme through the princesses. The Emperor was perfectly willing to take this advice as well.

"Thank you."

"I simply cannot bear to watch a mere subject make sport of the imperial mind. To take hold of him, just this once, will be a kindness to him as well."

It crossed the Emperor's mind that the very man who had restored the Empress—restored her to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠keenness she was showing now—was Allan himself. It changed nothing. He was not a husband charged with one woman's happiness. He was the ruler of the Empire.

The Empress gave her husband's shoulder an encouraging little pat.

The next day, in the audience chamber of the Imperial Palace, the imperial princesses sat a little apart from one another, waiting on their father.

Victoria, the First Princess, wore a red-and-white dress uniform, her light-blonde hair drawn up and neatly bound. Sienna, the Second Princess, wore a black dress. In reputation and in looks they were nothing alike, and yet both were formidable candidates for crown princess. Even full sisters would have struggled to live in harmony, and these two were only half-sisters. There was this difference as well: Victoria enjoyed the unqualified backing of a distinguished martial house on her mother's side, while even Sienna's maternal cousins had begun, little by little, to keep their distance from her.

Victoria was the first to speak.

"Sienna. When Father arrives, lend me your strength."

"Lend you what strength?"

Sienna toyed with a lock of her silver hair and answered without much interest.

"I mean Sir Allan. You're clever enough to have guessed it yourself. Father ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠summoned us so that we might discuss Sir Allan. ...More precisely, the heroin."

"Probably. Yes."

"He's still your escort knight, and you speak of it as if it were someone else's affair. ...No. Never mind. In any case, leave this alone and Sir Allan will not be commended for his merit. He will be interrogated over it. Had he simply taken the heads of a few hundred elves in battle, they would have honored him as a hero and been done. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠This is a different story."

"I know what you're trying to say, Sister."

"You know all that, and still you act so indifferent?"

Vexed, Victoria struck a hand against her own chest. In truth, she was rather impatient. The Foreign Ministry was already preparing a draft of the armistice—one exceedingly favorable to the Empire. It would not have been strange to proclaim far and wide their victory over the elves, with whom they had fought hundreds of local engagements, and to begin preparing a triumph. And yet the Emperor remained silent. Dressing up a victory won with heroin was that awkward a business. If things went on like this, there was only one result to expect.

"Sienna. Sir Allan's merit is going to be buried."

"Well. Of course it is."

"There is no injustice quite like winning merit and then being denied the honor one is due—"

"Sorry, but that's what Allan wants. The way I see it."

At that, Victoria faltered for an instant. Where in the world was there a knight who did not wish to have his achievements recognized? If Allan was a man at all, he ought to possess at least a minimum of ambition. To pile up results like those and still be shoved into the background was simply too—

"Ah."

"Starting to see it, Sister?"

"Yes. I understand now what Sir Allan is worried about. Once the affair at Medellin is made public, the neighboring states will be extremely wary of heroin. All manner of burdens will fall on the imperial house as well. ...That is what Sir Allan feared, isn't it."

"......"

Sienna's violet eyes were staring blankly at her.

"Am I right?"

"You're not entirely wrong. It's just that the intent isn't as noble as you think. The way I see it, he's afraid that if heroin comes into the Empire, he'll have a hard time of it himself..."

"An intent doesn't have to be noble, Sienna."

Victoria meant it. Allan might well be acting out of calculation. She did not doubt his loyalty, but she knew he was subtle. Even so, it was certain that his concession would be of help to the Empire, and the burden on Victoria herself—who had pushed the operation through even knowing what it was—would grow lighter as well. Of course she was sorry. She had no intention of ever forgetting the debt she had incurred in her heart this time. When the chance came, she would repay it.

Without fail.

Sealing the vow, Victoria clenched the fist she had rested upon her firm thigh. Sienna glanced her way with the corner of her mouth tipped up in a smirk, but Victoria paid it no mind. Whatever else was true, it was because of her that Sir Allan had won so brilliant a merit.

"Sister. If Father brings up the heroin, object within reason. Something along the lines of, we must not slight a meritorious subject over a thing like that."

"And you, Sienna?"

"I'll just sit beside you and smile. And pick up a concession or two afterward, as the moment allows."

"...Very well."

The sisters reached a peaceful accord.

The Emperor appeared immediately afterward. The two princesses exchanged a look—they would proceed as they had agreed—but the gesture proved meaningless. Contrary to every expectation, the Emperor did not so much as mention heroin.

Rather the opposite.

"Now that I think of it, your own merits were considerable as well."

"What?"

"First, Victoria. You drew up this operation together with Allan Madoff, did you not? Had it not been for your decision, we would still be grinding on through a war of attrition. ...And Sienna. Now that I consider it, Madoff is your escort knight, is he not?"

"...Father?"

"And yet the greatest merit belongs, as ever, to Madoff himself. He won over Grand Warrior Marcella and induced a rebellion, after all. I am sorry to say it, but the one to be rewarded is not either of you. It is Allan Madoff. I ask you to understand."

"......"

"When a man has achieved merit, it is only right that he be praised."

To the very end, the Emperor did not so much as mention heroin. Victoria wore nothing but a bewildered look. Sienna hesitated, then asked in a wheedling tone what manner of reward he had in mind, and the Emperor only smiled. She went so far as to call him Dad, and still it did not take.

"When the armistice is concluded, the honors due our meritorious subject will be announced along with it."

That was all the notice he gave them. The two princesses forgot whatever they had meant to say, and only looked at each other's faces.

Victoria brought me news that was good news, and was not.

"His Majesty made no mention of the heroin. On the contrary, he said he would grant you an extraordinary reward, Sir."

I could not believe it.

Just to be sure, I checked with Sienna, but she seemed to know nothing either. The only guess on offer was that the Empress had meddled somehow. Plausible enough—and yet it did nothing to change the fact that the Emperor's true intent could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not be known.

What in the world was the Emperor thinking?

A decoration lay ahead of me, not a reprimand, and still, somehow, I was uneasy.