Truly Beyond Understanding
The road to the Brontë ducal estate was not particularly long.
Under ordinary circumstances half a day would have been enough, but today it looked as though the journey would take half a day at the very least — and then some.
Unlike any usual day, snow had fallen heavily through the night and frozen the ground solid.
The whole world had been painted white. Bare, skeletal trees had wrapped themselves in white garments, and a white carpet had been laid across the desolate earth. If a country of snow existed somewhere, one might have imagined it looking just like this.
The scenery was beautiful enough to take one's breath anew — yet my heart was not free enough to simply enjoy the view.
I will come for you soon.
Perhaps it was because the contents of that letter — almost certainly sent by Yohan Radner — kept catching and sticking in my chest. I had no idea when the day of his visit would come, and that made it all the worse.
According to the original story, it would happen at the mansion on some winter's day. But just as the flow of the tale had already shifted, it would not have been strange if we were attacked right here in the carriage.
Of course, worrying would change nothing. The only thing I could do — the only thing I had to do — was protect Ania. Not because I loved her, but for the sake of my own safety.
Lost in thought, the carriage jolted hard. The coachman must have failed to spot a rock buried beneath the snow.
"Mm…"
As the carriage lurched, Ania's head, which had been resting on my shoulder, slid down my arm. I gently caught it with my hand and settled it back against my shoulder.
From her hair came not her usual floral scent, but the soft fragrance of meadow grass. Perhaps she had wanted to look neat for her long-awaited homecoming.
I could not know. No matter how I stroked this delicate woman's hair, I could never know her heart. And so, truly, it was beyond understanding.
"Take a little more care on the road."
"Yes… my apologies, young master."
I will not love this woman. I do not love her. Even as I thought that, the sight of myself fretting that she might wake from her rare, brief sleep — that, too, was truly beyond understanding.
We arrived at the Brontë ducal estate more than half a day later, plus several additional hours. Though we had set out early in the morning, the sun was already sinking low by the time we arrived.
"My lady, we have arrived."
Upon reaching the ducal territory, a wide plain came into view — fields stripped bare after the wheat harvest, stretching out in long, empty rows. Following that winding road a little farther, the vast mansion of the Brontë family began to come into sight. It was so grand that it could be seen at a glance even from a distance.
I gently stroked Ania's shoulder to wake her.
"Have we arrived?"
"We will arrive shortly. It's been a long time since you last came home, so you should look presentable. You might want to tidy your hair."
I took a hand mirror from my coat and handed it to her. Ania softly ran her fingers through her hair, and her abundant golden locks shimmered.
Soon the carriage passed through the gardens of the Brontë estate and followed the paved road to the main gate.
"We have arrived, young master."
"Well done."
I stepped down from the carriage first and took Ania's hand. She held the fur blanket draped over her shoulders so it would not slip and descended slowly.
"It's cold — let's go inside at once."
After walking a short way to the main gate, the servants waiting there opened it, and we walked slowly into the mansion.
This was only my second visit to the Brontë ducal mansion, yet each time I came I was struck anew by how large and refined it was. Though the world remained stuck in the medieval era, this mansion alone felt as though it had stepped into the modern age.
As I was turning over that impression, a familiar face came walking down the central staircase.
"Ah, my beloved daughter Ania."
A man with silver-streaked hair and a neatly trimmed beard — Valentine Brontë.
"Father."
Ania hurried over with quick little steps and lightly embraced Valentine Brontë. I approached him slowly and bowed slightly at the waist.
"Your Grace. I trust you have been well."
"Edward. First time I've seen you since the wedding."
"I apologize for not visiting more often."
Valentine Brontë laughed hollowly.
"Not at all. I'm a busy man myself and rarely stay at the estate, so even if you had come, we might not have met. Come inside for now. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet."
"Perfect — it's just about dinnertime."
Following a throng of servants down the mansion corridor, we soon arrived at the dining hall. Unlike our own mansion, which had barely enough room for a single long table, this dining hall was extraordinarily spacious.
"Come, sit."
Whether because of the festival in the territory or because this was simply the usual fare, it was a feast. A massive roast turkey, soup fragrant with spices I could not identify, and countless other dishes were laid out in abundance.
"I shall say grace."
When I folded my hands and spoke, Valentine Brontë, who had already picked up his utensils, set them down with an embarrassed air and folded his hands as well. After a brief prayer, we began to eat.
Every dish was excellent. And yet it felt strangely alien. Normally Ania would sit practically glued to my side while eating, but now she dined with the perfect manners of a refined noble young lady. It kept distracting me, so near the end of the meal I spoke lightly.
"I heard there is a festival in the territory."
"Indeed."
Valentine Brontë, who had just finished eating, answered while sipping his wine.
"Every winter in the Brontë Territory, we hold a festival to thank the gods for the joy of the harvest. A very old family tradition."
A kind of Thanksgiving festival, it seemed. The festival would begin tomorrow. According to Valentine Brontë, during the festival everyone ate and drank and made merry all day long.
As he spoke cheerfully about the festival, Valentine suddenly clapped his hands as if something had occurred to him.
"As it happens, the eve of the festival is about to begin. Would you care to stop by?"
"It would be an honor."
"Good."
When Valentine Brontë rose from his seat, the servants began clearing the plates from the table.
"Ania, if you're going to the festival eve, it will be cold, so go to your room and dress warmly before you come out."
"Yes, Father."
At Valentine Brontë's words, Ania left the dining hall with a servant, and tea and refreshments began to be set upon the table. Once the tea table was fully arranged, only Valentine Brontë and I remained in the dining hall.
What that meant was clear.
"Edward."
"Yes, Your Grace."
He wanted a private word with me. Valentine Brontë took a light sip of the black tea poured into his cup and began.
"How is married life treating you?"
"It is enjoyable."
"That is a relief."
Having said that, he wordlessly picked up a cookie and put it in his mouth. After remaining lost in thought for a long while, he spoke again.
"You know, I consider myself truly fortunate that my daughter married you."
"Thank you."
"She was a child who never once said she wanted to marry anyone, you see."
Valentine Brontë gazed into empty air with unfocused eyes, as if recalling the past.
"Every time I found her a good match and arranged an engagement, she would say she hated it so much… I worried she might live forever as a spinster without ever marrying. So you can imagine how surprised I was when she said she wanted to marry you, Edward."
He looked at me and smiled lightly.
"Take good care of my child, Edward."
After changing into warmer clothes, I took Ania and walked down toward the village center where the festival eve was being held. I had invited Valentine Brontë as well just in case, but he politely declined, saying he had many documents to review for the festival preparations. Whether that was an adult's consideration — giving a married couple time to themselves — or whether he was truly exhausted from overwork, I could not know.
In any case, as we walked down the path where a light snow had begun to fall, the village came into view. People had gathered, a bonfire blazed in their midst, and musicians played lively music.
"Quite the festival atmosphere. And this is only the eve."
"The eve is actually more popular."
Ania added that the festival day itself was more busy than enjoyable, and in the meantime we arrived at the village. Before we even mixed into the crowd, people recognized Ania and greeted her.
"My lady! You've returned!"
"You've worked hard, Andrea."
"Young miss! Hello!"
"Leonard, you've grown so much."
As expected of a ducal territory, the villagers recognized Ania at once and welcomed her warmly. The Ania who usually seemed like a spoiled child was nowhere to be found. Upon returning to the territory, she appeared every bit the elegant young lady of a ducal house. Perhaps she had always been that way, and only changed when she was with me.
Then the musicians' playing grew merrier. Ania lightly took my hand.
"Would you like to dance?"
"Very well."
There were already many people dancing near the bonfire, but there was room enough for us to join. We joined hands and began to dance slowly, matching each other's steps.
"Did you know?"
Ania, diligently and gracefully shifting her feet, spoke.
"They say if a man and woman dance together at the festival eve, they'll marry the following year."
"We're already married."
"Then, if a married couple dances, does their love grow deeper?"
"I wouldn't know."
Ania put strength into her right arm and pulled my body against hers.
"I think I know."
Ania's breath warmed my face.
"Remarkable. How about a crystal ball for a New Year's gift?"
"Don't tease me."
Ania bumped her head lightly against my chest and laughed as if delighted. But I could not laugh. I, too, could foresee to some degree the future that was about to arrive.
Thanks to daily training, my senses had grown sharper than before. Especially the sense for detecting cold murderous intent, honed through sparring with Rictman, was even more so.
"Ania."
"…Yes?"
When I suddenly called her by name, a startled Ania made a foolish sound. I leaned close to her face and brought my lips to her ear.
"Someone is following us."
The strange gaze I had felt since around the time we arrived at the mansion was still there. I could not know its identity, but I had a guess.
I lightly rested my hand on the sword at my waist.