The Truth Slipped Out
“…….”
At the attention drawn toward her, Sylvia let out an awkward laugh.
“...Haha, I got bitten by a bug yesterday. It’s suddenly itchy.”
Then she began scratching furiously over her clothes. Owen gave a half-smile that seemed to mean something and nothing at all, and with a gesture told them to get him something to wipe away the blood before it soaked through his rolled-up shirt.
Heston passed him a handkerchief at Owen’s request, but even so he couldn’t hide his bewilderment at Sylvia’s groan bursting out at exactly the same moment. It was strange, too, that Owen—while bleeding—didn’t even look toward the side where Heston stood, keeping his gaze fixed awkwardly ahead instead. The Sylvia he knew would surely have fussed and asked if he was all right.
“So? The Duke of Araspe invited us to dinner, and then what?”
At Owen’s gesture, as though he wanted to get this over with quickly, Heston shook off the unpleasant feeling and got to the point.
“Ah, well, I was actually hoping you could keep an eye on Sylvia for me, Owen. I’ll be away that day. I doubt the Duke of Araspe would lay a hand on Sylvia, but you never know. And be careful yourself, too. He’s rather curious about what you and Sylvia witnessed.”
“That? Don’t worry about it just because you asked.”
Owen smiled with the easy confidence of a shrewd businessman. Yet even with his friend’s teasing reply, Heston felt a very bad premonition brush one corner of his mind. Rarely, he wondered if he might be making a mistake right now.
Of course, it was a more lowly kind of instinct than a rational one—something like the unease of lending money and never getting it back. But for the present, Owen was Heston’s best option. He wasn’t the sort to gamble carelessly when Sylvia’s safety was involved, so Heston laid down that strange anxiety of his and took Owen’s hand.
Owen gave it a perfunctory shake a few times before letting go. As though the deal had already been made long ago, and this was merely the proper formality.
* * *
“Are you okay?”
Heston had left first when someone else called for him partway through, and Sylvia and Owen were the only ones left in the empty room. Unable to withstand the suffocating atmosphere in the room—the only sound the candy rolling around in someone’s mouth—Sylvia spoke first to Owen.
“About what?”
“Your arm. It was bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
It was true enough, but the gash still ran long and straight down his arm, and it looked painful regardless. After that brief answer, silence fell over the room again, awkward and stale. With no reason left to stay, Owen rose abruptly and left the room. Sylvia, like a puppy that had lost its owner, hurried after him.
“Sorry for acting weird in front of Heston. I’m just... not really built to handle the three of us being in the same place yet, honestly.”
“You looked like someone who’d been caught cheating and was one second away from being exposed. Are you feeling that guilty?”
“Of course I am!”
Owen had been in a foul mood since earlier, of course, but to be fair he hadn’t shown a single trace of it. So there was no fault in Sylvia failing to notice and blurting out, “Of course!”
But Owen’s mood only soured further.
“Why? You said you were done with him.”
“That’s true, but Heston finding out about us is different.”
“How so?”
By then, his voice had dropped a little too. She grimaced, looking sincerely horrified.
“It’s a matter of social standing. You’re Heston’s friend, and... getting tangled up with you isn’t the same as getting tangled up with Owen Summers, it means getting tangled up with Heston’s friend. Don’t you get it? It’s a sleazier level of shame than stealing the handkerchief of the person you love.”
“Ah.”
Owen stopped walking. Sylvia thought he must have been about to argue back over something she’d said, but instead he lifted a hand and showed her what he was holding. It was the handkerchief Heston had given him earlier to wipe away the blood.
“I don’t love Heston. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea.”
At the playful addition, Sylvia lightly punched his shoulder.
“Wasn’t it on the desk earlier?”
“There was still a bit that hadn’t been wiped clean. I guess I forgot to put it back after that.”
“No, if you used a handkerchief in the first place, you should wash it and return it.”
“Didn’t you know? Heston doesn’t like people taking his things. If he lends something to you, you’re supposed to use it and give it right back.”
It was a side of Heston Sylvia hadn’t known. Or had he simply disliked it and endured it anyway? As she tried to recall whether she’d ever used one of Heston’s things, Owen spoke up again.
“Still, I’ve been thinking, and honestly, I think it’d be better to tell the truth.”
“About what, the handkerchief?”
“No. About us.”
Sylvia blinked blankly. Conversations with Owen sometimes bounced around so unpredictably that she could never quite keep up. Even now, she had no idea what he meant by “us.” Us? What us? What exactly existed between them right now?
Looking down at her dumbfounded face, Owen spoke in a low voice, as if asking whether she’d already forgotten.
“The fact that we had sex.”
In an instant, Sylvia’s face went hot, but Owen only shrugged as though none of this was his fault.
“Even if it turns out later that you liked Heston, compared to finding out we slept together, that probably won’t be such a huge issue. Better to set off the bomb first and cover up the smaller problem, don’t you think?”
It was a remark with plenty of room for interpretation. Feeling suddenly irritated, Sylvia snapped back sharply.
“Why? Is sex that important to men? Even if a woman’s been in love with another man for ten years, if she’s slept with someone else, does that make her feelings suddenly meaningless?”
But Owen didn’t correct her misunderstanding or apologize. He tilted his body slightly and whispered in her ear.
“No. I’m saying it’s not about sincerity. The moment it happens, that feeling has already become the past. And that goes not just for men, but for women too.”
Then, at the end of his words, he glanced at her eyes—and those quiet eyes seemed to say, You know that already. She was about to say something else, but realized it would only come out as angry protest or sulking complaint. Rather than that, she decided it would be better to shut her mouth.
Owen’s gaze lingered briefly on her tightly closed lips. Sylvia was certain he would surely wear some satisfied smile at this moment of victory, but instead his face went completely expressionless, and he turned away to take another path.
* * *
She met Owen again at the dinner with the Duke of Araspe that Heston had warned her about.
He’d stormed off the last time they’d seen each other, looking angry about something, so Sylvia had worried. But when he appeared again, Owen was astonishingly neat, and quiet.
It was the first time Sylvia had seen him dressed for a formal dinner, so she kept sneaking glances at him in a way that was probably too obvious, but then she caught her father’s suspicious look and swore to herself she wouldn’t look at him once for the rest of the evening.
The dinner was grand, as if celebrating the end of hardship. The only people present were the Duke of Araspe, Duke Appleton and Sylvia, the princess, and Owen, but the scale was no less impressive than a proper banquet.
Servants stood in a long line, waiting with their backs to the wall, while dish after dish kept arriving at the enormous table. Roasted pork glazed a golden brown with wine sauce, a huge steamed fish covered in all manner of spices. Soup made from mashed potatoes and cheese, and exotic-looking grilled vegetables.
It was a rare and lavish spread, but Sylvia’s appetite had long since vanished. Keeping her eyes on her plate, she sat with her head half-lowered.
Her father, who had been eagerly anticipating Araspe’s downfall, was now seated to her right and exchanging lively conversation with the duke. As always in such talk, it began with their children.
He praised Erhart, who was on the battlefield, and said he couldn’t imagine how surprised he’d been when Sylvia had truly found the Holy Relic this time; after laying out a proper dish of compliments with those feelings mixed in, Duke Appleton gave a hearty laugh and dove in like a starving dog, unable to conceal his delight.
“Haha, that’s enough praising my daughter now.”
“It’s said Sir Erhart, your eldest, is flourishing on the battlefield. Few can boast of having raised their children so well.”
“In fact, I was just bringing that boy back to the capital because he seemed to be suffering too much.”
When Sylvia saw her father mention Erhart and then cast a glance toward Princess Catherine, she had to drain half a glass of wine from sheer humiliation.
Duke Appleton wrapped the grease of praise he had been given all over his lips and drew out his polished words.
“I’m just glad he’s been able to show his devotion to the Empire, however modest his abilities may be. By the way, shouldn’t you come to the capital sometime? I hear His Highness Prince Cyrus is also returning after a long time. Doesn’t the prince think quite highly of you, his maternal grandfather?”
“A loyal retainer doesn’t leave his domain lightly, does he?”
Araspe looked at him as though he had scored a blow at Duke Appleton, who had rushed here after abandoning his estate, but to Appleton—who knew Araspe would soon be dragged to the capital as a criminal—the words were only laughable.
As Duke Appleton lowered his head with a faintly twisted expression, Duke Araspe left him aside and jerked his chin toward the princess instead, as if to remind everyone of tonight’s true target.
“And as for family, haven’t I already seen the princess? Even if the princess seems to find her old grandfather a bit unfamiliar after so long, and doesn’t quite trust me.”
“Oh, please don’t be disappointed. I did explain that His Majesty had ordered us to handle this matter with as few people as possible.”
The princess and the prince were half-siblings. The princess’s mother, Empress Hellae, had died when she was very young, and the empress after her was the current Empress Zelpha, Duke Araspe’s daughter. So Araspe’s words calling himself her grandfather were hardly proper, whether the princess believed the rumor or not that he had been behind Empress Hellae’s death.
Sylvia could hardly stand the dinner, where a struggle for power unrelated to her was playing out from one side to the other. And the same seemed true of Owen, seated across from her. When they’d briefly met before dinner, Owen had whispered in her ear, “You’d better be careful what you drink.”
But because of her embarrassing father, her throat had gone dry with thirst, and no matter how she thought about it, it didn’t seem likely that Sylvia would be poisoned here. Besides, everyone was taking turns drinking the wine, wasn’t it? In a situation like this, the chance that she alone would end up eating something suspicious seemed very low.
In the end, Sylvia couldn’t hold back and took another gulp of wine.
“By the way, our hero Miss Appleton seems to be looking rather downcast. Is it true you haven’t recovered your health?”
That was when Duke Araspe’s gaze fell on Sylvia, who had been sitting quietly in the corner. She straightened her back, tense before Araspe, who despite his white hair still gave off a remarkably vigorous presence.
“No. Thank you for your concern, but I’ve recovered fully.”
“Then is this gathering simply dull for you?”
“Ah, yes. To be honest, it is a little... ”
For an instant, the truth spilled out of her mouth on its own, and Sylvia bit her tongue.
What? Why is it coming out on its own? She looked around with eyes gone round, and saw everyone staring at her in confusion.
Except for one person, Duke Araspe.