Chapter 42
Owen’s eyes went wide, as if he had never expected that subject to come up so suddenly. But without a doubt, he was nowhere near as startled as Sylvia was. She, after all, had no idea why that distant story, that long-finished affair, had surfaced now of all times.
“Were you upset that I didn’t say anything back then?”
He asked it so abruptly that Sylvia despaired a little, wondering how a man who looked like Owen could also be so unnervingly sharp.
Honestly, why was he like this? If he was that handsome, shouldn’t he be able to ignore everyone else’s feelings and thought processes entirely? Shouldn’t he just live exactly as he pleased, do whatever came to mind, and decide the world was beautiful?
But Owen didn’t. He was thoughtful, in a way that didn’t suit him at all. He apologized for things most people would have let slide, and now he was even fishing out a cigarette and clamping it between his lips, looking faintly awkward.
“I didn’t know things would turn out that way then. What I am isn’t exactly something I get to choose.”
When he struck a light and took a deep drag, lowering his eyes, there was something strangely seductive about the gesture. Sylvia wasn’t the only one who thought so; that much was obvious from the women passing by, two or three of whom threw quick glances his way before moving on.
Because of that, Owen’s words felt less like sincerity and more like a calculated attempt at looking cool, and Sylvia pouted.
“Sometimes you say things I can’t make heads or tails of.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. You’re always hedging and saying you’re fine either way. I’m honestly curious—does that make women flock to you or something?”
That seemed to amuse him; he laughed, and with each breath, smoke drifted out slowly.
“If you hate it, I won’t smoke.”
She stared at him so intently it was almost rude, and Owen stubbed the cigarette out. Watching the tiny ember be ground beneath his shoe, Sylvia still found herself thinking that he had not actually answered her question about women flocking to him.
“I just… I’ve never really seen you smoke before, so I was curious.”
“Well, Heston would never smoke, so.”
“Why do you keep bringing up Heston?”
“Does it bother you?”
He looked down at her as if trying to gauge exactly what, if anything, was making her uncomfortable. Sylvia grabbed his arm. There were far too many people here.
The monsters beyond the barrier were mostly cleaned up by now, and it seemed the work was finally winding down; the knights and mages both looked more at ease. People who had fought too many battles drank at night and pretended to work during the day, but no one believed it. They were only filling time until they could go home.
Even here, over lunch, people were leaving their food untouched while they sipped their drinks and filled the air with lazy, meaningless chatter. Sylvia had practically been cooped up in her room, but Owen wandered about often, and every night, the places he frequented were full to overflowing with couples kissing openly, hands on asses and breasts, shamelessly wrapped around each other.
The problem wasn’t simply that she had seen it. More than that, he never showed the slightest courtesy by looking away. Time after time, he watched with complete composure, and every time, Sylvia wanted to clutch her head and scream.
Those two? No way!
And now Sylvia realized that, if she wasn’t careful, she and Owen might become exactly that sort of “those two.” If she was lucky, no rumor would start spreading that she was some hopeless fool who had pined after one friend for ten years, only to fall in love with that friend’s friend instead.
“Let’s go first. I saw there was a study on the third floor, and I need to check there. Old texts should have more about mana sharing.”
Owen followed as she led him, his face showing not the slightest hint of interest. Then, after Sylvia checked that no one was around and went into the study before closing the door, he let out a low laugh and briefly buried his face against her shoulder. He smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, and only then did Sylvia realize he might actually be a little drunk.
“Are you drunk?”
“No. It’s just that if someone other than you had dragged me here, I’d have thought they were definitely making a move.”
His lips, touched with laughter, brushed close to her face and then pulled away. Sylvia sucked in a breath before she could stop herself and held it. By then, Owen had already gone off to find a place to sit, as if to prove he hadn’t come nearly so close a moment ago.
Pretending not to care, Sylvia went to the bookcase and began searching through the shelves. Before long, she had a stack of thick books in her arms. She handed one to Owen and gestured for him to read. He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who had never imagined he’d be dragged here on such a bright day just to study books, then spread it open at an angle.
For a long while, the only sound was the soft turning of pages.
Sylvia flipped through hers quickly, reading for anything important, and finally cried out in excitement.
“Look at this. It says mana sharing is fundamentally unpredictable. Apparently, sharing sight is rare. Fortunately, it sounds like this should end within two or three days. There are even cases where people shared everyday life completely. These ones were married, and maybe that’s why it was even stronger.”
“Mm.”
“It says hearing is shared more often than that. Ah, right, they say people take medication to control arousal so it doesn’t get out of hand. But if they do that, there can be side effects too. Could what happened to us be because of the medicine we took then?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you even reading?”
Because he responded to everything she said with such a halfhearted tone, Sylvia couldn’t help asking. Owen set the book down and said,
“Everything written here is just more of how those people did this or that anyway.”
“Of course it is. When theory can’t explain something, you rely on accumulated experience—”
“Exactly. That’s what I mean. People’s experiences are all different, and half of what they say contradicts the rest, so is there really any point in reading it? Besides, we’re in this situation ourselves. Why don’t we just try it?”
“Try what? If you’re thinking of getting it up again and tormenting me like last time, I won’t let you get away with it.”
Honestly, she would never go through that again in her life. Her eyebrows shot up in genuine anger, and Owen put on a remorseful expression before speaking.
“I was sorry about that. I’m the type who starts out obnoxious, usually.”
That much was true. His expression and tone were disgustingly smug, but Sylvia waved a hand to put an end to the subject.
“Fine. Then what exactly are we trying? You’re one of the people involved, too, so I’ll go along with whatever you suggest. Besides, I owe you a lot.”
“If you mean the injuries, I don’t resent you even a little. And don’t go acting so rigid, trying to take responsibility for useless things too.”
She didn’t need him to say it; she could tell he didn’t care much about the matter at all. There was almost no emotion in him to feel in the first place.
Which meant the only times Sylvia had sensed Owen’s feelings were then, when they had been left behind, and later when she had gone berserk after realizing Heston would worry about her disappearance.
He probably, by her estimation, had no clear likes or dislikes. But how could she, of all people, not matter to him at all? Calling his apology over the matter an example of being rigidly obsessed with useless responsibility?
“Don’t be ridiculous. At this point, I’m honestly curious what it is that would actually make you angry.”
“A lot of things.”
“All right, then, let’s hear them.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, telling him to talk until she got bored of it. Owen answered without hesitation.
“Flat beer, hypocritical behavior, and selfish people who only think about themselves. I’m no different from anyone else.”
“Don’t lie. When Count Bronovich, your nephew, beat you half to death, you didn’t even say a word. You just sat there.”
“That man was the victim. He had every right to be angry.”
She was left speechless by his generosity.
As far as Sylvia knew, the man had beaten his own uncle like a dog and, despite being loaded with money, hadn’t even bothered to arrange treatment, going so far as to use magic to make it look as if he hadn’t been injured at all.
Honestly, if he had only used magic and left it there, maybe it would have been one thing. But adding that on top of everything else felt so petty that Sylvia found herself suddenly disliking Bronovich, who until now had been a man she had never really thought about—no, that wasn’t right. She had definitely liked him at first. Every time they had met at official functions, he had been stiff, yes, but he had still kept his dignity—Bronovich, whom she now disliked in one stroke.
“Why would he be the victim? Fine, maybe he did have a reason. If it were me, I’d be embarrassed too, having my uncle old enough to be my son around. But getting hit is a separate matter.”
“It would be a lie to say there wasn’t some personal bias involved, but getting hit wasn’t his fault either. I was the one who was wrong. I disobeyed orders to stay hidden.”
“You’re unbelievable. Are you doing this on purpose?”
Every word he said only made him seem like some child thoroughly brainwashed from birth, and it turned her stomach the wrong way. Come to think of it, Owen had been like this then too—saying he’d grown up without being loved, that he wasn’t good at going against what others expected of him.
He must have set out to seduce women on purpose. Even as Sylvia muttered that under her breath, she couldn’t stop her heart from leaning toward him.
“Owen. Listen carefully. You might be right. This world is built on an immense chain of cause and effect, and if you look closely enough, there’s no one who doesn’t have some part of themselves that can’t be understood. I do that too, more often than not. I struggle to forgive my father for the way he treats me, but what matters is that you don’t need to cut yourself down while doing it.”