A Silence Like the Grave

"When did he start smoking those?"

"Two months... No. It has been nearly three months already. He has always had some trouble with insomnia, but it was never this severe."

Three months.

It had been immediately after Odelli's regression.

...The cause is all too clear.

Odelli looked down at the cigarettes stacked neatly in the box, her heart heavy. Could those truly be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠called a sleeping draught? A person who cannot sleep at all cannot go on living, so it must have been a measure they could not avoid. Even so, it was little more than a last resort for forcing into bed a man who was coming apart without even knowing it.

"There really was no other way?"

"Regrettably, no. His Grace knows perfectly well that this is no fundamental remedy. But without even this... he suffers terribly."

The butler seemed to hesitate before the word terribly would leave their lips. It sounded like a polished way of saying that he was raving.

"His Grace does not look after himself at all."

This was the same butler who had once tended even Odelli's health with scrupulous care. How much must they have agonized before they not only stood by and watched their lord destroy himself, but began to help him do it? Odelli watched the butler lower the last cigarette carefully back into the box, and her mind was already made up.

Whatever it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠takes, I have to make him put his seal on the marriage papers first.

By any means necessary. Only then could she step into Ludville's daily life, and only then would she have a claim to reach for the things that were destroying him.

That night, banners began to show along the far edge of the western snowfield.

A cavalry in black cloaks drove forward through the falling snow, and at their head rode a man who looked almost idle.

Ludville Exepsion.

This return, like every other, brought him home steeped in the smell of death. Dark crimson blood had dried in stark streaks across his armor, and from the scabbard the thick fluid of a monster dripped, drop by drop. He pulled his helm off with one hand and swung down from the horse without hesitation, flung aside his bloodied gloves, and gave the soldier who saluted him nothing but a nod.

"Was there any disturbance within the castle?"

"No, Your Grace. Nothing unusual to report."

The guard captain was midway through a crisp salute when he suddenly let out a vacant sound.

"Ah."

"A thief broke in."

"A thief?"

"Yes. He had been embezzling for ten years and was found out this time. He was caught stealing valuables."

Ludville paused.

"Why report a petty criminal like that to me now?"

He asked it as if genuinely puzzled. A matter of that scale was for the guard captain to settle quietly under the laws of the archduchy, without bringing it to him.

"The one who caught the thief was the young lady."

"...What?"

The moment he heard it, Ludville thought of the woman who had proposed the Contract Marriage.

He saw again those pale, lovely lips shaping the words. That quiet, clear voice still seemed to linger at his ear.

"She caught a thief by herself..."

Once he had the full account from the guard captain, Ludville was, for a moment, at a loss for words.

The North was a land of warriors. Most of the people in this castle, man or woman, knew how to handle a sword. A trained soldier, a junior gatekeeper, even a passing maid pressed into service would be stronger than a young lady said to be frail. And yet she had not only lured the thief in alone, but caught him as well? An embezzler who had gone undetected for ten years?

Then the guard captain added, carefully:

"...And that thief, they say, tried to kill the young lady on impulse."

In that instant the whole world went strangely quiet. Breath, the face of the guard captain standing before him—all of it receded from Ludville's awareness as if pushed beyond a fogged pane of glass. What remained was that single sentence.

The young lady of House Cardel nearly died.

Only those words kept circling in his mind.

The hand that had gone still slowly lifted the gloves he had thrown aside. Pressing them on finger by finger—gloves whose original color was lost beneath the dark crimson stains—he spoke.

The soldiers held their breath by instinct. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man who stayed listless even when a monster came within arm's reach was no longer hiding his killing intent. His face wiped cold and blank, he turned at once toward the underground prison.

Then a question brushed through his mind.

...Why does this grate on me so much?

It was only a servant's betrayal. Not even an assassin who had come specifically for the young lady. Just a man who had reached out on impulse because the woman before him was weaker than he was. A half-witted piece of trash who grew bold only against the weak. Why was he this furious at something so worthless?

No. Even if he had been an assassin come for the young lady, what business would that be of mine?

He had agreed to protect her for a fortnight. It would be inconvenient if something happened to her. If that was all this was, a harsher punishment would have been the end of it. Then why did it feel as if his blood were surging backward...

He closed his eyes. An emotion he could not explain by reason kept lifting its head no matter how he pressed it down, and that loathsome headache rose again.

Ludville opened his eyes in silence. There was no hesitation left in them. He started forward once more and set his foot on the stairs that led down to the prison.

Did reasons ever matter?

Such things had lost their meaning long ago. If he wanted to do something, he did it.

In the deep dark of midnight, what rose from the underground prison was neither a plea for life nor a scream.

Only a rupturing sound. Bone breaking, flesh bursting open. And after that, nothing but a silence like the grave.

She heard that Ludville had returned the next morning, just as the sun was rising.

"They say he went and took care of another one the moment he got back."

Leona would not explain any further. She was plainly reluctant to describe, in any concrete terms, what had become of Zeke in his cell. After a brief hesitation, she chose her words with care.

"If His Grace saw to it himself... well, in any case, don't go anywhere near the underground prison."

Then she shook her head.

...So he tortured him.

Odelli did not ask more. She felt she already knew far too well, even without hearing it. What troubled her was that Ludville had involved himself personally in the matter of a petty criminal.

The Ludville of the life just before this one had treated people strictly as resources and rendered only the coldest, most optimal judgments. She could not call that a good way to be, but at least then he had a clear purpose: the obsession with keeping Odelli alive. The man he was now had no purpose at all. He merely clutched his sense of loss and thrashed on emotion alone, so precariously that she could not tell when or where he might collapse.

She kept thinking he might live through an ordinary day and then, without any warning, take his own life. That terrified her.

I have to do something about the insomnia first.