Reunion (1)
They had been reassigned to the rear, but in truth it was still near the front lines — close enough to respond if anything went wrong.
Getting home would take a little over a week.
The landscape beyond the carriage window was warm. The occasional jolt of the wheels, the stones jutting from the road, wildflowers blooming in thick drifts along the wayside. People they passed now and then, and leaves torn free by the wind, scattering this way and that.
Nothing about it was new. Not the fact that years had already passed since he and Rubiru had been parted. Not the fact that he and Lediche had grown this close. Even the things he had seen and endured every day on the battlefield somehow felt different now.
"…Lediche, are you uncomfortable?"
She was leaning against his shoulder with her eyes closed, but they fluttered open every time the carriage lurched.
"…Mm. I'm fine."
Hearing Lediche speak so formally still wasn't something he was used to.
When it had been confirmed that they would receive commendations for their service, another letter had arrived. It said a great many things, but the point was simple. Once the war was fully settled, a festival and banquet would be held. Even the kingdom's Sword Masters had lost men facing the enemy's finest warriors — but he and Lediche, their commander, had been different. They would be honored for driving back an enemy Sword Master and holding the line alone against hundreds of barbarians.
The letter also noted that nearly every noble in the kingdom would attend the banquet. She couldn't very well speak casually in front of them, so she had been practicing — and had kept using formal speech ever since. If he had a complaint about it, that was it.
"Are you really going to keep talking like that even when it's just the two of us?"
"…Why? Do you not like it?"
"It's weird. I'm speaking casually, and you're being formal…"
"You use formal speech just fine yourself, Riel. When other people are around."
Somehow, he didn't like it. Not that he disliked Lediche. He had always spoken casually with Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia — and with Rubiru and Lediche, too, whenever the three of them were together. It just felt… distant, somehow.
"…That's different! I don't have a choice about that."
He hesitated, and Lediche gently took his hand. She did what they always did — the greatest expression of affection either of them could manage. She rested her head on his shoulder, lightly kneaded his hand, and spoke softly.
"…Father said that the people you cherish should be treated with care. You might feel differently, Riel, but… you're precious to me. That's why I want to speak formally."
Then she turned slightly and carefully wrapped her arms around him. Lediche always smelled wonderful. A nameless floral scent that tickled the tip of his nose, and a soft warmth that was always there.
Today was no different. A pleasant fragrance drifted from her, and the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her clothes was gentle. To him — still terrified, even after losing Rubiru, that everyone else would leave him too — it felt almost as if she were saying, You don't have to be afraid. I'll always be right here.
"Thank you, Lediche."
He answered quietly, then found himself saying it again without thinking.
"…No — thank you, Lediche."
She was precious to him, too. And just as she had said, he wanted to try following, even a little, the words of his benefactor — Baron Rueshatia.
"…Pfft—! Wh-what was that, Riel?"
But Lediche looked at him speaking formally and smiled. Outside the tent he had always used honorifics; inside, casual speech. Something halfway between the two must have sounded terribly awkward.
"Y-you said you speak formally because someone's precious to you, so…"
He felt it too. It would have been easier if he had just said something like, You said it was because they're precious, didn't you? Trying to land somewhere between formal and casual made his tongue twist on itself.
"…Heh — pff —"
In the end, he gave up on the formal speech. It wasn't that Baron Rueshatia had been wrong. What did the words matter? It was the heart that counted. Still a little embarrassed, he changed the subject and brought up home.
"…How's Bilua Village? Do you think it's gotten better?"
"…That's something Baron Bilua would know, wouldn't he?"
"Ah. Right."
"Still, don't worry. This is my first time going back to the family estate as well, but… we did exchange letters often, didn't we? It should be fine."
Letters. Correspondence. The family he could never forget no matter how hard he tried. His childhood friends.
"…Do you think they all know it's Sister Flora's memorial day?"
At the mention of Sister Flora, Lediche's expression darkened sharply. Then, as if catching herself, she forced a smile and took his hand again.
"…One of them is preparing for marriage, and another entered the Orthodox Church, didn't she? And the last one's territory is quite far away. Even if they know… it would be hard for them to come, wouldn't it…?"
"…I suppose so."
"…Mm. Probably."
Lediche gazed out the window with eyes that looked somehow sad — no, eyes heavy with guilt. Then, suddenly, she spoke.
"…I'm sorry, Riel."
She had always apologized whenever they exchanged letters. And on days like this, whenever the conversation turned to correspondence or the church.
He hadn't understood at first, but he knew the reason now. She hadn't been able to keep a few of the promises she had made with House Rueshatia.
"…If this is about the sponsorship money, it's really fine. I understand. You're Baron Rueshatia's only blood relative, and you've been on the front lines. I truly understand that House Rueshatia couldn't keep supporting us."
Lediche didn't answer. She only kept looking out the window with those same sad eyes, turning her shoulder now to hide the sorrow.
If she was fretting over the sponsorship money, he wished she wouldn't. Rhea, Ceria, Claudia — they had all said they were happy. It had been written in their reply letters. When she cried, it hurt him the way looking at Rubiru used to hurt.
"…But everyone's happy. Their adoptive families treat them well — it said so in the letters. Rhea, Ceria, Claudia… they're all happy, aren't they? Happy enough to exchange letters with me every week. So it's fine. Lediche, you don't need to be sad."
Lediche turned to look at him. Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes. That guilt-soaked gaze trembled, and the sorrow spilled out as tears. He reached out, wiped them away, and pulled her tightly into his arms.
"…Rubiru would want us to be happy, too. If she saw you looking this sad… it would hurt me, and it would hurt her. So stop crying. You don't have to keep hurting."
Lediche sobbed against his chest.
"I'm sorry… truly…"
The tremor in the two hands wrapped around the back of his neck felt so fragile that he held her even tighter.
"…I'm on your side. Always."
Night deepened.
He had wanted to reach home as quickly as possible, but Riel deliberately chose to rest at an inn in some nameless village. For Lediche's sake.
Sister Flora's memorial day was approaching, but there was still time. He knew that even with a stop, they wouldn't be late.
Riel held Lediche, whose eyes were half-lidded from crying so hard. He told her it was all right, that she was precious, that when she cried it made him sad and it hurt — and soothed her. Remembering how they had always slept side by side in the tent, he offered that they could share a room if she wanted.
"…Mm, it's fine, Riel."
But Lediche shook her head with effort. On a day like today, at least, being with him was too hard.
Chirp—.
Insects sang in the grass.
Tick. Tock.
The sound of a clock's second hand filled the room. Left alone for the first time in a long while without Riel, Lediche lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, trying to sleep.
But sleep wouldn't come. She tossed and turned, over and over. No matter how much she shifted, sleep never arrived — only a strange anxiety pricking at her chest. No. Guilt, coiling tight around her heart. It was always like this, but especially when Riel comforted her the way he had today.
Because Riel's family — his childhood friends — were not happy. They were broken and shattered, living in pain and self-harm.
"…I'm sorry, Riel—"
In the dark, Lediche whispered it under her breath. Riel had always given everything for everyone else, and she had done so many things wrong.
That Rubiru, whom Riel had loved, had been killed in her place. That she had hidden the truth about the family Riel loved, burned every letter they had asked her to deliver, and written forged replies instead.
At first she had told herself it was for everyone's sake. But the longer time went on, the bigger the lie grew.
How was she supposed to tell him? She knew how precious his family was to him. She couldn't say that Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia — the family whose names she had only ever heard — were broken and weeping. Rubiru and Riel had loved each other. She hadn't wanted to shatter that happiness.
…And she had wanted to stay by his side, too. He had saved her. After her father died, he was the only person left in the world she could lean on. A lie told for Rubiru, for Riel, and for herself…
"…Water."
Lediche murmured without realizing it and picked up the glass from the table. Her hands shook so badly that more spilled than she drank, but she drained it anyway. It did nothing to calm her.
That Rhea had been expelled from the academy without ever becoming a magician, and was being forced into a political marriage as the concubine of some aging noble. That Ceria had entered the Orthodox Church and wielded Holy Power, but kept doing things that reeked of heresy, drawing the attention of the Inquisitors. That Claudia had fallen so far that even recent news of her was impossible to find — locked in her room, never coming out. Everything Riel knew was buried under the false "happiness" written in those letters.
She was terrified of being found out. Afraid. So scared she might never be able to stay with Riel for the rest of her life.
Creak—.
Lediche stopped crying, clutched a pillow to her chest, and opened the door of her room. Even through the fear, the thought of being with Riel slipped into her mind. She remembered the splendid boy who had saved her as a child… and the private vow she had made to protect and cherish Riel in Rubiru's place.
It was only rationalization.
I was on the battlefield. If anything was wrong, it was House Rueshatia's mistake. As long as Riel doesn't run into his family, it'll be fine. Even if he finds out, we can just say the retainers of House Rueshatia made an error. Besides, his family isn't in any condition to go outside anyway—
Creak—.
Unable to sleep for the guilt, Lediche finally opened Riel's door with that restless heart still in her chest. Through the slowly widening gap, she saw him.
"…Riel."
He was holding a picture from inside a pendant up to the moonlight. She had been so careful, so worried that going home might shatter everyone's happiness — but there he was, fiddling with the picture with a faint smile, as if he were looking forward to it after all.
Thud—.
Lediche felt her chest cave in, but she smiled.
"…I keep thinking of Rubiru. I can't sleep."
Voice thick with tears, she pulled out the memory that hurt both of them most — and closed her eyes as the young man opened his arms and held her tight.
"…Don't worry. I promised I'd cherish you for Rubiru's share, too."
Riel held her and patted her back. And to that Riel, Lediche lied again — this time bringing up Loren.
She said that on the original road to the church, there was a place where she had been held when she was kidnapped, and she was afraid. That they needed to reach the church soon for the memorial day, that she was sorry, that he should just leave her behind and go on ahead.
"…Lediche, how could I leave you behind? It's the heart that matters, not the date. You remember the promise I made to protect you, don't you?"
Of course Riel said they would turn around — and stroked her hair so she could sleep in peace.
The next day, Riel truly abandoned the road they had been taking and turned back toward the church. The village where the carriage had stopped had a mine attached to it, and Lediche gave Riel a ring as a gift.
"…You said you'd become a knight of House Rueshatia. This means you're my knight."
There was selfishness in it, too — but it was also a gift calculated to keep them in the village while it was being crafted. Riel smiled, thanked her, and slid the ring onto his left hand.
It's Sister Flora's memorial day.
I don't cry anymore. I'm trying not to be sad anymore, either.
I've already hurt so much, and it's been so hard… I'm a little too tired to cry on top of everything else.
Ceria said there is no God. She said Holy Power might just be something like Mana. …I don't really know. I'm sorry. Magician, my ass. I can't even go to the academy because everything there makes me think of you…
Claudia looks so haggard. But her tail is still incredibly full and pretty. The sheen on it is ridiculous.
We only ever gather for a few days around Sister Flora's memorial day, but just like you used to — I'm brushing Claudia's tail. We pray together. We make stew.
I still hate it, honestly. Some of it's my fault, but some of it's theirs, too. …Even knowing how sad and hurt you'd be if you knew.
And yet when I look at Claudia, I remember how gentle you were. When I look at Ceria — who says there's no God, but still always prayed for us — I see your warmth.
The truth is, I still can't believe it. I keep thinking that if I just open my eyes, you'll be right there beside me.
I even asked House Rueshatia. They said you were dead. A letter written by the acting head of the house himself, apparently. I didn't want to believe it, so I just burned it.
It's already been five years, and we can't talk about anything if it isn't about you, Riel. If I'd known it would be like this, I would have told you I loved you more. I would have hugged you one more time.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
Drip—.
The vow not to shed tears scattered like dust and vanished. Beside Sister Flora's grave, a single wooden stake had been driven into the ground. They had never found a body — nothing at all — and there were too many memories clinging to any keepsake to bury one. Just a stake.
Riel—
A stake with a name written on it. Rhea knelt before it, prayed, then rose. In five years every trace of Riel had vanished without a trace, but the place where they had lived together still remained.
Creeeak—.
She pushed open the warped wooden door and found Ceria sitting on a ruined cot, sobbing. And Claudia, haggard everywhere except for that still-lush tail. Rhea took both their hands and sat them at the table.
She cooked stew the way they had as children, cleaned together the way they had as children, prayed the way they had as children, and brushed Claudia's tail together. Then they went to the living room, the way they always had.
Every day, every single day… the place where they used to gather because Riel would say, Let's play together.
"…I'll be the mom."
The game they had always played with Riel.
"…Riel isn't here."
"…Just pretend he is."
House.
"…We've done this so many times. Everyone knows how Riel would talk…"
They played house with one person missing. Because these were the only memories they had left to hold onto.
Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia spent a day at the church, then two. They had been adopted into new families, but sadly, they had nowhere to return to — so they stayed until someone came for them.
It was three days after Sister Flora's memorial day when the sound of hoofbeats arrived, followed by the sound of someone dismounting. They all thought someone from one of the houses had sent a carriage for them.
"…It's gotten shabbier than I expected."
A silence fell as if the air itself had stopped. Too vivid to be a hallucination.
The tears that had gathered in Rhea's eyes spilled and soaked into the floor. Ceria clamped a hand over her mouth, her whole arm shaking. Claudia's tail — that tail that had been twitching so unnaturally — began to sway hard, sweeping back and forth.
Because the voice coming from outside was one none of them had forgotten in five years.
It was Riel's voice.