What He Refused to Let Go
…What?
The weight crushing his limbs had lightened past all belief. Organs that had been rotting knit themselves whole again, and new flesh budded over the meat that had melted away. It was, unmistakably, recovery.
Surely this uselessly sturdy body was not healing itself yet again?
He had deliberately doused himself in lethal poison so he might see the vision of those blue eyes, and irritation surged through him all at once. But that was not what mattered.
What mattered—
Ludville clutched at his chest by instinct. Something inside him was trying to disappear. He could not tell what it was, but the sensation was unmistakably one of loss. Something unbearably precious was slipping, of its own will, out of his grasp.
It felt as if his spine were being torn out of him. As if the center of the world were shaking. A monster roared before his eyes and poured out its breath, and none of it reached his ears.
He reached by instinct toward somewhere within himself. He had to catch it. He must not let it go. He understood nothing else, and yet one thing alone was certain: he could not release that small, pitiable thing trying to slip free on its own.
Even as he fought the monsters, Ludville was waging war on another battlefield no one could see, without knowing what it was he meant to hold.
And then, just when he felt as if something had barely caught upon his fingertips—
Got it.
He seized what had come into his hand, a thing on the verge of snapping, and would not let go. Like a starving ghost's jaws. Even feeling that it was about to break, he clutched it desperately to his chest.
At the same moment, warmth flowed once more from the deepest place within him. The connection held, by a thread.
Ludville dragged in a great breath, as if he had been drowning and had only just fought his way up to haul oxygen into his lungs.
"Ha—!"
Laughing in sheer rapture, Ludville raised his sword. Madness lit his eyes as he shattered the monster before him to pieces. Crushed beneath that overwhelming force, the creatures were soon past any hope of being recognized for what they had been.
"No. That won't do."
He laughed low. It was a strangely elated sound, threaded with relief.
"You think I'd let you run?"
Ludville muttered words he himself could not tell were meant for the monsters or for someone else. Then, just as planned, he cut them down one after another. Under the pretext of purifying the domain, a storm of swords came pouring down. To any eye it was nothing but a massacre. And yet, if wiping out every living thing could be called purification, this was purification made perfect.
I suppose… I ought to repay them.
The moment she left House Cardel three months ago, Odelli had begun setting money aside, little by little. She had some help from Ludville—more precisely, from his memories. An imperial potter's jar buried in the earth. Old books a bookshop had been selling for next to nothing. Gold coins whose owner was long gone.
I'd meant to use it as money to settle somewhere, but…
She no longer needed it. In the name of a contract marriage, she had to stay fixed at Ludville's side and keep watch without rest, so that he would not end his own life.
She took out the modest sum she had gathered and prepared gifts for the two of them. For Leona, first, she ordered fine thread and silk.
…Maybe this isn't right.
She had spent a whole day laboring over embroidery on the silk, but the result, if she was honest, was wretched. Offer a thing like this as a gift, and it might well look like a wordless hint that she meant to end things between them. Odelli hesitated a moment, then carefully folded the handkerchief again.
And of all moments, that was when Leona stepped into the room.
"Oh my, what's this?"
"Nothing. Just… a rag, or something."
"My name is embroidered on it, though?"
"…"
Leona accepted the handkerchief as if it were precious, and spoke more solemnly than ever, each word set neatly in place.
"I shall keep it as an heirloom of our house, generation after generation."
At that, Odelli gave a small, helpless laugh and shook her head. Truly, this was the girl she was. Always the same.
She had prepared a gift for Theodore as well, and went to find his office. Odelli knocked.
"Do you have a moment?"
"…My lady?"
A faint surprise crossed Theodore's face as he opened the door. Odelli carefully held out the box.
"Thank you for the coat. I don't know whether this will do as repayment, but… I prepared this."
Theodore took the box without a word. When he lifted the lid, a mana-stone nib revealed itself, etched with exquisite work. A small spell-seal was carved into the black gold, and a crystal of mana shed a soft light.
"It's a magic tool for keeping records. It eases the strain on your wrist, and they say if you press this button the color changes, so sorting documents becomes easier."
Perhaps he had never expected to be repaid. He gazed at it in silence for a long while, as if the words had left him, and at last bowed his head briefly.
"…Thank you, my lady. It is far more than I deserve."
His voice sounded caught in his throat. He seemed more deeply moved than she had expected, and she was a little flustered. Feeling somehow abashed, Odelli let her eyes wander—and in that moment caught a strange scent drifting faintly through the room.
Looking about, she saw a tray and an assortment of tools laid out on the desk. Dried leaves, thin paper, thread, and several cigarettes already neatly finished.
"What were you doing?"
She asked it carefully. Her years working as a healer had left her reasonably familiar with medicinal herbs. The leaves were norvaline—known as a powerful remedy for severe insomnia, though its side effects were as fierce as its effects, and it was an herb scarcely ever used.
At her question Theodore seemed to hesitate a moment, then reluctantly told her the truth.
"The medicine prepared for His Grace the Archduke appears to have run out entirely. I was making more, so that he might use it the moment he returns."
"…That's hardly medicine. These are cigarettes."
Odelli took a step closer and looked down at the tray. However she examined them, they were plainly meant to be smoked.
"Hm. Taken by mouth, it did little for His Grace's insomnia."
He lifted one cigarette with care, binding it off with thread, and spoke as if with a sigh.
"It seems he can only just fall asleep if he inhales the herb in this form."
"But norvaline is an herb with serious side effects, as I understand it…"
"It is."
The steward agreed at once, as though he had already known it well enough. He let out a deep sigh and went on.
"The senses dull, they say, and consciousness grows dim, and in the worst cases even memory is lost. But without even this, he cannot sleep at all…"
For a while she could not say a word.
This far…
His condition seemed far graver than she had vaguely imagined.
…Even then—when he had repeated the same stretch of time thousands of times, and said himself that he was not in his right mind—it was never this bad.
The man in her memory had known many sleepless nights. But never once had he collapsed so far that he could close his eyes only by numbing his mind.