A Walk in the Rain
"Head Butler Cunning, my lord is asking for you."
"Now, you say?"
"Yes, sir. He's in the study on this floor."
Cunning tilted his head and pulled out his pocket watch.
"It hasn't even been an hour yet…"
Not long ago, the Duke had stepped into the study after issuing a stern command that he was to be left entirely alone until dinner and that no one was to disturb him. Had some other task occurred to him in the meantime?
Setting his paperwork aside, the old butler hurried to the study and knocked softly.
"My lord, did you call for me?"
But when he opened the door and stepped inside, the room was, contrary to his expectations, completely empty. His puzzlement lasted only a moment. With a soft mechanical whir, one of the bookshelves slid open of its own accord, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.
"So that's where he is."
From within came the voice of Duke Randert.
"…So this is where you were."
As far as Cunning could remember, the Duke had not visited this place in a very long time. A room he had once dropped in on now and then—he had stopped coming altogether after young Master Bail passed away.
"It came to me suddenly, is all."
The Duke was gazing at a portrait.
"Beautiful, isn't she?"
The woman in the painting still wore the same radiant smile as on the day he had first met her. He had fallen for that smile—fallen into the feeling of love for the very first time—married her, and had children with her. He had assumed they would simply go on like that, happy, forever.
"I say this rather late, but my lady was far lovelier in heart than in appearance. That is why the servants of this castle, myself included, devoted ourselves to her so faithfully."
"For that, I am grateful even now."
When whispers about Ivette's origins had spread across the empire, his own castle had never once stopped laughing. She possessed some strange charm that put everyone around her completely at ease. Just as the Duke had been drawn to it, so had the servants.
"There is no need to thank me for what was only right. Sometimes, when I watch the rain fall, I find myself thinking of her. I wonder—could this rain be falling from her hand?"
"Hah. So you've had such fancies too?"
"And you felt the same, my lord?"
"She was exceptionally fond of the rain, after all."
"She was. And she'd stand out in it and never once catch a cold. I'd think it a mercy, and yet it never ceased to amaze me."
She had been a woman whom words alone could never fully explain. So many things about Ivette were unlike anyone else.
He had met her by fate on the way back from the battlefield, in a small mountain village where he had stopped briefly to rest. At first he'd believed the encounter mere chance, but it turned out the village chief had arranged it deliberately—sending the naive young woman, who knew nothing of the world, to attend to the visiting lord.
Strangest of all, she hadn't even known her own name. She had no memory of who she was or why she was there. The Duke himself had taken up the search on her behalf, making inquiries far and wide, but not a single soul who knew her could be found. All he could do was assume she had suffered an accident, or some terrible shock, amid the chaos of the war.
And so the Duke named her Ivette with his own lips, and asked for her hand.
Nothing else mattered. He had only wanted to keep her by his side and watch over her. For a long, long time.
"If we didn't even have this portrait, I'd have lost a great deal, wouldn't I? I should have had more painted…"
"…No one could have known the lady would leave us so soon…"
Ivette's death had been a shock to Cunning as well. There had been no hint of ill health, and so no one had harbored even the faintest worry that she might die in childbirth.
Sixteen years had passed, but the butler still remembered those days with perfect clarity. It was he who had entrusted the newborn twins—motherless from the moment they drew breath—to Ariel, Rita's mother.
Ariel, the only woman in the castle who had recently given birth, had gladly become wet nurse to the brothers Bail and Bayul. She poured out all her devotion and love for them until pneumonia took her life, and thanks to her, the two young masters had grown up healthy and strong.
"So Bayul found this place, I take it?"
"I beg your pardon? Ah—well, that is…"
At the Duke's sudden question, Cunning flinched and drew a sharp breath.
"Why so startled? Did Bayul ask you to keep it a secret?"
When the butler could only manage a startled expression without answering, the Duke let out a soft chuckle.
"If he didn't want me finding out, he shouldn't have cleaned the place."
"Ah!"
Only then did the pristine state of the room register in Cunning's eyes. By the Duke's own order, this chamber had been off-limits—so no one had been able to clean it, however much they might have wished to.
"Did the boy like it?"
"…Very much, my lord. He spent a great deal of time here before returning to Carrington. I believe he wanted to hold it all in his memory."
"I did it so the boys wouldn't suffer."
He had put everything away for fear that they would spend all day staring at the portrait, aching with grief. He had hoped, at the very least, that his two sons would not torment themselves as he did.
Still, when the longing grew too much to bear, he would slip in here now and then on the sly. There had even been a night when he sat until dawn doing nothing but gazing at her face. Each visit only deepened the ache, but the Duke had no other way.
"I know what lies in your heart, my lord. I'm sure Master Bayul understands as well."
"Did he say anything else?"
"…He asked about the whereabouts of a ring."
"A ring?"
"Yes, my lord. The one the lady is wearing in this portrait."
Bayul had asked him not to say anything, but with the secret already out, there seemed little point in hiding one small detail more. Besides—since the Duke had been searching for that ring so desperately, telling him might do more good than harm.
"Did he say why he wanted it?"
"Well… he said something rather odd and outlandish, but I don't believe he was joking."
"Outlandish?"
"Yes. He said the fate of a nation hinges on it."
The fate of a nation?
The Ten-Year War had ended, and the continent was slowly finding its way back to peace. There was no sign of war anywhere at present. The Dwyer Empire's recent movements were somewhat suspicious, but they were being watched closely—preparations could be made at any moment.
And yet, in such times, the fate of a country resting on a single ring? To the Duke, it was a claim he simply could not grasp.
"Does anything come to mind, my lord?"
"No. Not a thing."
"He seemed terribly earnest about it. It looked as though he was sorely disappointed that I knew nothing."
"Now you've made me curious as well. I'll have to ask him when he returns."
The ring Bayul sought was still hanging around his father's neck at that very moment. Watching the boy and hearing what he had to say about Ivette's keepsake—the Duke found himself looking forward to it already.
"And, Cunning."
"Yes, my lord."
"I've decided it's time to let my wife go."
"…I'm afraid I don't take your meaning…?"
"How stifled she must have been all these years, shut away in a room without a single window."
"My lord, you don't mean…?"
"Move her somewhere with the finest view of the falling rain. Somewhere Bayul and I can both come to visit freely, whenever we wish."
There was no longer any reason to hide her. The father and son had resolved to change. His wife's death, like Bail's, was a wound they would have to learn to carry together.
"A wise decision, my lord! Everyone will be overjoyed!"
Anyone who remembered the lady would bow low whenever they passed her resting place. Cunning counted himself among them.
"I should take a walk, for the first time in a long while."
On behalf of a wife who had always loved walking in the rain.
"I'll accompany you, my lord."
"No, that's quite all right. Our party has just arrived, as it happens."
The Duke cast one last, lingering look at his wife's face before descending to the lower floor.
"Did you leave something behind?"
There stood Sadad, just arrived and in the middle of shrugging off his rain cloak. If it were a work report, it would have been finished long ago—and with his entire afternoon schedule cleared, there was no reason at all for the man to come up again.
"Ah—no, Your Grace. Not that, but I did stop by looking for a few books."
"I see."
"And where might you be off to?"
When Sadad noticed the rain cloak in the Duke's hand and asked, the Duke tilted his chin toward Sadad's own rain gear.
"Put yours back on."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're coming with me."
"…Me? Where to, may I ask?"
"Just a walk."
At this baffling order, Sadad turned his head toward the window. It wasn't quite a downpour, but it was hardly weather suited to a leisurely stroll.
"Do you object?"
"It's not that, but…"
"Then follow me. There are more in our party."
The Duke strode ahead at a brisk pace. Sadad had had his fill of rain—more than his fill—but he held no power of veto here. Heaving a deep sigh, he trailed after the Duke.
"Jasper!"
Their destination was where Jasper and his family made their home. At the Duke's call, Jasper—who had been rolling around playing with his pups—sprang up and barked a happy greeting.
"Let's go for a walk!"
"Woof woof!"
"We're climbing your favorite hill behind the castle. You don't mind, do you?"
"Woof woof woof!"
"I'll have a nice pile of jerky waiting when we get back. Ruby, pups—you're all coming too."
It was to be a day when the whole family of six turned out in full force.
"Will they be all right in this rain?"
Jasper and Ruby were castle hounds, but their children were still young puppies. As Sadad voiced his concern, the Duke shook his head.
"They're Jasper's offspring. That one has never been sick a single day in his life. And can't you see they're already out there frolicking in the rain?"
Just as the Duke said, Jasper and the pups were splashing about outside in plain view—despite having a spacious, roofed area all to themselves.
"Born in Hamilton, man or beast, you learn to live with the rain."
That might not have been true once. But now, it was the only way to survive.
"Citrine! Rose! Smoky! Crystal!"
"Woof woof!"
"Woof woof woof!"
At the Duke's call, Jasper's pups abandoned their romp across the floor and came scampering on stubby little legs. They rubbed their bodies—smeared with rainwater and mud—with all their might against the Duke's trousers, but he didn't so much as furrow his brow. If anything, his smile only widened.
"Those names—did Your Grace truly choose them yourself?"
"The father and mother are named for gemstones, are they not?"
Jasper and Ruby.
Each had been named by Bayul and Rita respectively.
"I wanted a little consistency, that's all."
"Consistency is well and good, but a name ought to suit how the creature looks or how it behaves, and these little… haaah!"
Sadad never got to finish. The pups' full-frontal assault had begun. As if they knew the conversation was about them, they clamped their teeth onto the hems of his trousers and hung on, tugging and worrying, until the fabric gradually turned the color of wet earth.
"Must we really go on this walk?"
Sadad made one last stand, but it was hopeless. Duke Randert wiggled his fingers and strode off toward the hill behind the castle.
"Woof woof!"
Jasper and Ruby bounded at his heels, and Sadad—hemmed in on all sides by the gemstone quartet—plodded after them with the heavy steps of a man doing his best not to weep.