Seven and a Half Billion Penar
"My youngest sister, Odelli... she must have believed I was committing some wicked act. The child was always frail, and had never once set foot beyond the house. She knew nothing of how the world works, and I can only think she misunderstood my intentions."
For a moment his voice softened, and a tenderness crept into it. It was the face of an older brother calling to mind a sister he loved—idealistic, and still hopelessly naive.
"When I learned that the child who had gone missing was living in the north... I cannot tell you the relief I felt. For me, that alone was enough. Whatever she thought of me, the mere fact that she was alive..."
The words thinned as they went, trailing off. Then, as if he had only just realized how private a thing he had let slip, he shut his mouth in haste.
Gawin slowly rolled the scroll back up.
"Had my subordinates followed my will as they ought, the tragedy at Belader would never have occurred. Yet even if there was no such intent... the responsibility lies with me."
With those last words, Gawin bowed his head low.
"Every loss the north has suffered in this affair, House Cardel will bear in full. And to the empire, to the imperial house, and... to my younger sister, I offer my sincere apology."
A brief silence followed. The nobles nodded, cautious, and the priests closed their eyes, whispering the words of a silent prayer.
From one side a single patter of applause began, slow, and soon it spread through the hall. It was not fervor. It was closer to a political compliment—that the crisis had been neatly contained.
Coming down from the dais, Gawin quietly turned his gaze aside.
Belloa Cardel. The second of House Cardel, and the one who had drafted every line of this script. She sat with a smile that looked painted on. Gawin met her eyes for the briefest moment, then turned his head away.
Archduke Ludville Exepsion had watched the whole of it, from the first word to the last.
It was the way Cardel had always done things. The blame shifted onto someone else, the sin watered down, and at the end a tear-stained apology to close it—a stale, tiresome little farce. Most of those gathered in the hall surely guessed as much: that what Gawin was saying was not made of truth alone. But every one of them shut their eyes and stopped their ears. House Cardel possessed the symbol that allowed it, and the power that left them no choice but silence even when they knew. And so they nodded, recited their prayers, and clapped.
Ludville rose quietly from his seat.
At the scrape of the chair legs, the whole hall went tense at once. His face was blank, as it always was, his eyes languid and cold with scorn. Whatever thought might be crossing his mind in that moment, no one dared to guess.
The Iron-Blooded Archduke, who brought home nothing but victory, and by every outrageous means imaginable. The rumor even went that the goddess of victory favored him above all others. He had always drawn out a result beyond the best that could be hoped for, and the road to it had never once been smooth.
What would he do this time?
Someone killed their breath. Someone clenched a fist hard upon a knee. What came to them, naturally, was the thought of political retaliation.
But what Ludville carried was nothing like their expectations. It was far more primitive than that, and far more violent.
What if I cut off every neck in this room and lined them up across the floor of the great sanctuary?
That was the thought he was turning over. Madness of the purest kind, without so much as a speck of reason in it. All that remained in him, once the memories of his past life were gone, was an emptiness without cause and an anger that could not be explained. And now that anger was turned upon the people seated in the hall.
Shall I pin the false reports they wrote, and their speeches, onto the severed heads, so anyone who looks can see who spouted what nonsense?
At least it would be quiet then. Peace of mind would follow.
Ludville clenched the hand in its leather glove, then slowly opened it, over and over. But the impulse surging up inside him—
"They'll try to smooth it over with compensation. Take them for everything you can."
A single sentence from Odelli. The short, firm words she had spoken before he came here put out the fire of his madness at a stroke.
"..."
The feeling that had climbed so high went cold, absurdly fast. Where the heat had been, only emptiness remained, and Ludville opened his mouth in a languid voice.
"To have my time taken up by a matter such as this. You must have thought me quite that idle."
The hall went so still it seemed even breath had stopped.
"Still, it is fortunate that you mean to accept responsibility."
There was no sharp anger in his voice, only a cold, merciless indifference. He went on as if reading out a sentence, without interest.
"I have calculated it precisely. The losses sustained by the north—lives, supplies, the cost of purification—and, included with the rest, the expense of treating my frail betrothed, and compensation for the harm done to her mind..."
At last he turned his head and looked at Gawin. No feeling lived in his eyes. If anything, the whole situation seemed unbearably tedious.
"In total, seven and a half billion penar. The invoice will be sent to the accounting office by tomorrow."
Leaving not the slightest room for compromise, Ludville turned his back and walked out of the hall as he pleased.
Only after the door had shut did those left behind let out their breath, faces gone stiff. A blank, dazed silence settled quietly over the hall.
"You got fleeced for seven and a half billion, and you came back?"
The office of the head of House Cardel.
The heavy door slammed, and with the sound the duke's voice struck down like lightning. The vassals, the minister of affairs among them, kept their silence and bowed their heads. In the chill stillness, the anger only burned hotter.
"What in the world did you do in there? You bowed your head, said you'd take the blame, and handed over seven and a half billion... Was that the game you set?"
The duke's face had gone red enough for the veins to stand out. Gawin could not bring himself to lift his head. The head of the house glared at Belloa, then turned his eyes back to Gawin.
"Seven and a half billion, Gawin. Seven and a half billion! You threw years of the empire's pension for meritorious service at that madman, and that woman walked off with the title of Saintess of Cardel besides!"
"...Father."
"The Purifier has been revealed to the world! Do you not understand what that means?"
"Yes. I know. It is something that should never have happened..."
"In the first place, weren't you the one who lost her when she ran? You fell for a scheme so full of holes it was absurd, and you couldn't even answer it!"
"..."
Gawin still could not raise his head. He bit down hard, and the point of his jaw trembled.
Odelli. She had brushed the veil of purification, then run straight for the north and taken the Archduke of Exepsion into her hands. Who could ever have predicted that?
Where did the leak begin?
That woman had moved only after she held the whole of Gawin's plan. He had suspected a spy within the house and torn through everything, and not a single thread remained. What came ahead of the hollowness was a rage boiling up.
Stopping the plague ought to have been my part.
A piece of refuse that had fled was now set to become the archduchess of the north? And wearing the name of Cardel, no less?
The Purifier was a being who must never be shown to the world. A sacrifice belongs behind the stage. Only then is a hero made complete. And yet now every story was being bent to fit her.