The Anniversary of Bail
"You asked for me, my lord."
When Sadad arrived at Duke Randert's office, he carried an air of unusual tension. He knew all too well what day it was, and the Duke's sudden summons felt somehow more unsettling for it.
"Is there nothing to report today?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"I only said it because the absence of our usual morning routine feels strange."
"That is... because today is..."
Is it not the anniversary of the young master Bail's passing?
The single most difficult day of the year for his lord was today. Ever since he had bid farewell to his elder son two years ago, the Duke had received no visitors on this date, choosing instead to spend it entirely alone.
It was a day when everyone in the estate grieved together and honored the memory of young Bail. Naturally, Sadad had been keeping to himself, refraining from any unnecessary appearances.
"No news of any kind?"
"......?"
"Anything from the capital, or from the matters I ordered you to look into—report it at once if there's something to tell."
Could he have actually forgotten what day it is?
The thought flashed through his mind for an instant, but Sadad quickly shook his head. Impossible. The lord he knew would never—not once had Sadad ever seen his lord forget anything.
"The only word from the capital concerns Emperor Royan. He apparently crossed the border several days ago."
"How large is his party?"
"One imperial guard unit and a dozen or so nobles. With attendants included, I'd estimate around a hundred in total."
"A deliberately ambiguous number."
"Yes. Neither too many nor too few, so we're still deliberating where and how heavily to assign surveillance."
"Focus less on the imperial guard and more on the ordinary attendants. If there is a hidden master we know nothing of, he will certainly have slipped into that group."
"Have no fear, my lord. I've given strict orders on that front already."
"The other nations are no different."
"I instructed that there be no exceptions, even among our friendly states."
Anyone in their right mind would not come as part of a diplomatic delegation and attempt something reckless. But there was always an exception to every rule, and the delegations did not consist solely of the Dwyer Empire. Should someone strike and disguise the deed as another nation's doing, matters would become a terrible headache. Royan demanded special vigilance, of course, but the other countries could not be neglected either.
"What of the Carrington Academy chairman? Anything further to report?"
"Nothing unusual regarding the circumstances of the Academy's founding. What we've uncovered matches the known record almost exactly—not a single point worth suspecting."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. The only thing that gives me pause is the enormous donation the chairman has just made."
"And why would that be suspicious?"
A chairman donating money to his own Academy—what could possibly be strange about that? Duke Randert could not readily understand.
"As I mentioned before, the chairman's family, the Valerie house, is indeed noble—but they hold no territory, have never served in office, and keep no ties with the other noble houses. They wound down their business enterprises long ago, so they would have no meaningful income."
"No income? Then where did the money come from?"
"That is precisely my point. A vast sum of unknown origin. Does that not reek of something suspicious?"
He had ordered the investigation to continue, but in truth Sadad held little hope for it.
The Valerie family was peculiar in every way. The commonly known facts could be traced with such precision that their documentation seemed entirely trustworthy, yet whenever a question arose—like this one—he was met with nothing but a strange elusiveness, unable to seize the tail of the matter.
Vague, one might call it. Strange, if one thought it through—and yet no one paid it any serious attention. And so it gradually faded from memory. This investigation, too, seemed fated to dissolve the same way.
"Has he sold anything of high value recently—goods, land, property?"
"Quite the opposite, in fact. Only recently he purchased the most expensive mansion in the city of Carrington. Paid for entirely in cash, no less."
Again, the source of the funds was obscured. An absence of traces that left one uneasy. These were the moments Sadad hated most—and, at the same time, feared.
"Then we have no choice but to put men on him."
If they wanted to catch anything, that was the only method available for now.
"I'll narrow it down to our most capable people."
"The father of that boy who is my son's friend."
"Yes. I'll see to it they proceed with care."
Their pursuit of the source of the unease he had felt from Eli had led them here. The Duke had judged it a necessary inquiry and given the order, but the boy was his son's friend, and courtesy and boundaries had to be respected. He could only hope nothing untoward would come of it.
"Is there still nothing on the God of Despair?"
"That one will require a visit to Carrington or the capital. Hamilton has no materials on the subject whatsoever."
"Why not make a request of the Temple?"
"They are already terribly busy—would that be appropriate?"
At Sadad's objection, Duke Randert simply stared at him in silence for a moment.
"...Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I was wondering whatever became of the man who never used to quibble over such details."
"My lord, how can you say such a thing—what do you take me for...!"
"What do I take you for? A rare talent who carries out his orders regardless of the means required."
"...Is that meant to be a compliment?"
"Work it out for yourself."
Instead of a proper answer, the Duke abruptly rose from his seat.
"Where are you going all of a sudden?"
"Are you asking because you don't already know?"
"Pardon?"
The Duke walked to his desk and picked up a flower—the flower Bail had loved most in his lifetime. This, too, had been prepared by Rita.
"I'm going to see my son."
"My lord..."
Sadad found himself momentarily unable to speak. So he had not forgotten after all. He was changing. No longer content to remain buried in pain, this was the beginning of his effort to accept the loss with composure.
"From now on, I intend to live as I always do."
He would carry on with daily life as though nothing had happened, and, as today, set aside time to come and honor his son. He no longer wished to sink into that deep mire.
For Bayul's sake as well as his own, he had to live that way—these past two years had taught the Duke that lesson bitterly well.
"So you need not walk on eggshells around me, either."
Was it only Sadad? Every member of the household had been treading carefully, their nerves stretched taut. Duke Randert, whose senses were keen as a blade's edge, could hardly have failed to notice.
"Let the knights know as well. I intend to conduct the final review this evening—tell them to be thoroughly prepared."
To properly display their bearing before the eyes of the entire continent gathered upon them, both genuine skill and impeccable conduct were essential. It was Duke Randert's will to verify that himself.
"As you command. Have a peaceful visit, my lord."
He did not offer to accompany him. As the Duke's personal aide and knight, Sadad would ordinarily follow him anywhere—but right now, what the Duke needed was time alone.
"Please give my regards to the young master Bail."
As Sadad opened the door, he said it to his lord with a smile. There was no reply, but a faint smile had likewise touched the corners of Duke Randert's mouth.
Duke Randert had spotted Bayul before the boy even reached the riverbank. On the anniversary of Bail's death, his son had always shut himself in his room and refused to come out, and so he had assumed it would be the same this year.
How could a father not know that the boy did it out of guilt toward his brother, out of a heart heavy with apology? And so the Duke had never forced anything on him. Just as he himself had needed time, he believed Bayul would too, and he had hoped the boy would find his own way to shake it off and overcome it.
The boy had changed so much since entering the Academy that a small part of him had dared to hope—but seeing it with his own eyes, he could not be more glad.
"So you've come..."
A quiet pride flickered across Duke Randert's face as he regarded Bayul's back. It seemed the boy was growing into himself even better than he had hoped, and it made something in his chest ache sweetly.
"I only wish he wouldn't cry so much..."
Following slowly behind his son, the Duke made a silent wish. He hoped the boy would smile before the brother he was meeting for the first time in so long.
But a wish was only a wish. Stopping at the riverbank, Bayul soon began to weep in sorrow. Beneath the pouring rain, the boy's small shoulders shook without pause.
And at his feet lay the same flowers the Duke carried—blue hydrangeas, the ones Bail had loved most while he lived. They were said to be the same color as his late mother's hair, and so every summer, when the hydrangeas bloomed, the estate would be filled with them from wall to wall.
If only it weren't raining, we might have seen them fresher and more beautiful...
The Duke quietly drew near to Bayul. The boy's sobs, once buried beneath the drumming rain, grew steadily louder, and each sound cut at his heart.
To him, Bail had been a child. But to Bayul, he had been the only sibling he had in all the world—his twin brother, born of the same hour, of the same day.
What could ever console a grief like that?
All Duke Randert could do was pat Bayul's back and soothe him. Against his intentions, the boy only wept harder—but even so, the Duke did not stop his gentle coaxing.
Once you've poured it all out, the heart grows lighter. He had known that truth long ago, yet he had never been able to teach it to his son. It was a pain he himself could scarcely bear, and in his preoccupation with his own anguish, he had had no strength left to look after the one son he had remaining. He grieved for the hardship the boy must have endured, all because of a father who had failed him.
"...Have you calmed yourself a little now?"
Bayul's sobs had subsided. His rain-soaked hair was a mess.
"Your rain hood has come loose."
Duke Randert gently settled the fallen hood back over the boy's head.
"I'm sorry, Father..."
Wiping his tears, Bayul spoke the words he had never been able to say before, offering them to his father for the very first time.
"And I am sorry too."
"...What?"
Bayul lifted his glistening eyes and looked up at his father.
"I fear I left you and Bail far too alone, the both of you. We should have come together like this long ago..."
Bayul had been left to bear his own burden, and Bail his own. How terribly lonely they both must have been. He felt like a fool for never having thought of it before now.
"From now on, let us come here together."
Duke Randert stroked Bayul's hair. He said nothing more, but for Bayul it was enough. In his father's touch, he could feel the words he had longed so desperately to hear.
It is not your fault.
None of this was your doing.
So don't torment yourself over it any longer.
And at some point, unnoticed—from a distance—Liam had been watching the two of them, father and son together.