Ingratitude
Silence alone filled the room.
But it was a silence that could not last forever.
The quiet pressure from the Countess and Lucy tightened around Felice's throat with every passing second. Her mother said nothing—only demanded an answer.
Cold sweat ran down her back. She had to speak, yet her lips refused to move. In that moment Felice would rather have fainted all over again.
She had heard Louis's warning and had never passed it on. Saying that the damage would have been far worse without him felt impossibly hard. And once that truth came out, the conversation would inevitably reach the gargoyle subjugation as well.
However steadfast a knight she might be, she was still a girl who had not even graduated from the Academy. Admitting that the territory had been ruined and her father killed because of her was more than she could bear. And after that would come the rest—her mother, her younger sister, the retainers and servants of the count's house, the family soldiers and the people of the land who had lost kin, friends, and comrades. Felice had no strength left to endure the resentment and hatred of every one of them.
She was already half out of her mind with guilt over her father's death and over Louis. So it was no wonder that, under a pressure even an adult would struggle to withstand, she tried to escape.
In the end, what Felice chose was a lie.
"…I sent a warning by letter as well."
Shame, and the apology she owed Louis, made her voice shrink. Even so, the two of them heard her clearly enough. Lucy flared with indignation.
"What are you—"
"I sent it a little late. Because of the gargoyle swarm's attack, I believe the letter never arrived properly. Still, it is fortunate that Louis Wallenstein's warning reached us in time."
Once the first lie was out, the rest came easily. Of everything Felice had just said, only one part was true: that they were lucky Louis's warning had arrived when it did.
Hearing her, Lucy shoved herself up from her seat. Even so, she had never imagined her sister would do this. Furious, she shouted.
"Don't lie! If that were true, why didn't you say a single word until I brought out the letter!"
"At the Academy you thanked Young Master Louis, so I knew his letter had reached us properly. There was no need for me to bring it up again." Felice added, "I thought Mother already knew as well. I never expected he would have the warning delivered under my name."
Lucy opened her mouth to snap back at Felice again, but this time the Countess spoke first.
"So the 'just in case' Louis Wallenstein mentioned in his letter was him anticipating a situation in which the letter might not arrive."
Lucy looked at her as if that made no sense at all. Hadn't it been written right there in the letter? That no one else would listen to him, so if anyone asked, she was to give Felice's name. Anyone who had read that sentence could easily infer the meaning of the other line: that he had already warned Felice Ansberg, but was writing just in case. It was not concern that Felice's warning might fail to be delivered. It was concern that Felice would ignore his words and never warn anyone at all.
Lucy started to object again. To Felice, that look of hers was unbearably grating. Fear of the blame that would fall on her own head was the main reason she had lied—but a little of it was resentment toward her mother and sister as well. Lucy had thrown the letter open without even giving her a chance to explain, and now she was attacking her in this situation. Felice resented her for it, if only a little.
Her mother was no different. If only her mother had not said unnecessary things to her father. If only, at that dinner, she had not casually mentioned that Felice was associating with Louis, her father would never have found out. Their relationship with Louis would not have soured, she would not have ignored his warning, and the gargoyle swarm might never have attacked. Strictly speaking, the real problem had been the Count ordering her not to associate with Louis—but to Felice her father's word had been absolute, and now the Count was dead. So rather than the father who had given the order, she resented the mother who had let him discover the truth.
Hearing those two blame her—that because of her the territory had been shattered and her father killed—would have felt a little unfair. Even if she herself had done nothing right.
"Sister, do you even have a conscience? Tell the truth!"
Lucy kept raging, but Felice ignored her.
"You ignored Young Master Louis's words, didn't you! If it hadn't been for him—"
Lucy's words carved into Felice's chest.
Please. Please stop…
Felice begged her silently. Everything Lucy said was true, and on top of that she had just lied; the guilt was crushing her.
"Enough, Lucy."
"But—!"
"I said enough."
Whether Felice's desperation had reached her or not, the Countess at least restrained Lucy. The question that followed, however, only tormented Felice further.
"Felice. How did Louis Wallenstein know the gargoyles would attack?"
Once more Felice's words stuck in her throat. The question of why she had not warned them earlier she had managed to dodge with a lie. The chance to come clean had already passed. She decided to evade this one with a lie as well.
With a mind that barely turned, she began to retell the events of the gargoyle subjugation, reshaping them as she went. Louis had predicted that the gargoyles whose nest had been wrecked would lead their swarm against the nearest village. Hearing that, the party had joined forces to deal with the gargoyle and keep it from rejoining its kin. In the end they had let it escape, and disaster had followed.
There. At least I didn't diminish Louis's achievement.
Even while guilt wracked her, Felice clung to that scrap of self-justification. The lie she had told was shamefully cowardly. In its place she swore she would apologize to Louis Wallenstein however she could, repay the grace she had received, and do anything for him. There was no father left to forbid it now. And even if her father had still been alive, she believed he would not have treated so coldly a man who had done this much for Ansberg.
For a start, the family would give him every compensation they could. Just thinking that much eased the guilt, if only a little.
The Countess listened to Felice's explanation and looked as if she roughly understood. Felice was at her limit. Any more conversation and she would not hold; she asked whether she might withdraw. They had gathered to discuss what came next, but—
"Yes. The shock must have been hard on you as well. Go rest for now."
Felice had only just collapsed and come around again, so the Countess spoke with concern. After Felice left the room, drained and silent, Lucy—still sulking—tried to keep pressing. The Countess stopped her.
"Lucy. Our house is in this state already. Must you make things harder for your sister as well? She is suffering a great deal."
Lucy reluctantly gave in. Her mother looked utterly exhausted too.
"Yes… I understand."
While the subdued Lucy and the Countess talked, Lucy brought up what she had been thinking of from the start: compensation for Louis Wallenstein.
"If it hadn't been for the Young Master, the damage could have been even worse than it is. Mother and I nearly came to harm ourselves."
"That's true."
"Then the family should show him the fullest possible gratitude, shouldn't we?"
Lucy's words were only reasonable. Thanks to the advance warning they had managed to reduce the losses, even a little. Without it, how many more would have died? That much was certain—yet the Countess did not answer. She only sat thinking. She, too, was a thoroughly seasoned noble.
"…Lucy. Because of this, the family may fall."
It was no exaggeration.
"We lack the funds even to rebuild the ruined territory, let alone provide relief for the people."
Lucy stared at her mother as if she could not believe what she was hearing.
"If we acknowledge his merit, the compensation we would owe him would be enormous. Better to use that money to treat our own people and help the residents of the land."
"Mother!"
"He is a Wallenstein. If we acknowledge his achievement, there is no telling how far they will try to bleed us dry with it."
Lucy went pale with shock. She had always known her parents disliked the Wallensteins—but she had never imagined her own mother would refuse even to repay a debt of gratitude.
"The Young Master isn't that kind of person! You can tell just from the fact that he helped us!"
"Even if he is not, his house is different. The traitorous Wallenstein family placing the Imperial Sword—Ansberg—in their debt… isn't that a little too convenient?"
The Countess rose, letter in hand.
"Fortunately, because you said at first that Felice had been the one to warn us, no one else in the family knows a Wallenstein was involved."
Lucy looked at her mother with an expression that said she already knew what was coming. And she was right.
"Felice also said she sent us a letter. Lucy, remember this well. The warning we received came not from Louis Wallenstein, but from Felice."
With those words, the Countess threw the letter Lucy had given her into the fireplace.