Chapter 4 — Count Randert
The imperial capital was abuzz. The rain that had fallen all day long had chased every last frown from the faces of its citizens. Children born into drought, who had never once seen rain in their lives, could only stare in open-mouthed wonder at the drops falling from the sky.
Water could now be drawn from wells that had run dry, and the reservoirs were slowly filling once more. As farmers watched their fields soak up the blessed rain, tears of joy streamed down their faces without end.
The capital had become nothing short of a festival. Feasts sprang up on every street corner as people threw themselves into the downpour, savoring every drop of it.
Amid all this, a rumor spread like wildfire through the empire — carried on the lips of everyone who passed through the palace — that it had been Duke Randert's son who brought the rain. Some scoffed that such a thing was impossible, but the overwhelming majority praised the two father and son as saviors of the nation, declaring that this was only to be expected of Duke Randert's blood.
As a result, Duke Hector's mood — already at rock bottom after being forced to step down from his council chairmanship overnight — sank to even darker depths. Duke Randert's prestige had always pierced the very heavens; now his son's fame was heaped on top of it, and the envy gnawed at Hector like a sickness.
Meanwhile, his own child had caused an incident at the Academy and been expelled. No one dared mention it to his face, but he knew. The wildly divergent paths of the two boys of the same age were already the talk of every drawing room.
"Duke Hector, are you truly stepping down from the chairmanship?"
They had gathered to discuss a countermeasure, but every man among them stood mute as honey-swallowing fools, each eyeing the others. At last Marquis Drow, apparently unable to bear it a moment longer, spoke up.
"We've been played completely by Duke Randert. He attended that meeting fully intending this from the start. It was calculated down to the last detail! It may cost us some face, but the chairman's seat must be held at all costs!"
"It seems the marquis has grown rusty after so long an absence from court."
"What is that supposed to mean, Marquis Voytek?"
"It was a council meeting attended by His Majesty himself. How can a servant renege on a pledge made before the Emperor? Words spoken in the Grand Hall must be answered for — without exception."
"Do you think we don't know that? But if Duke Hector relinquishes the chairmanship, the council becomes Duke Randert's den! Are we simply to stand by and watch that happen?"
The council chairman held the power of appointment over its ministers, along with the authority to involve himself in and direct every great and small affair of state.
If Duke Hector stepped down, it went without saying that one of Randert's close allies would rise in his place — and their own footing would shrink beyond recognition. Marquis Drow would sooner die than live to see such a day.
"Duke Randert has hidden his son's power all this time. Until now, the boy was known as a sickly invalid, was he not? The Duke himself should be charged with a crime!"
"A crime? On what grounds, pray tell?"
"Did he not possess such power all along and deliberately pretend ignorance? Had he showered the capital with rain the moment it was needed, the treasury's losses could have been cut substantially. If we expose Duke Randert's negligence and bring the matter before His Majesty and the council, could we not preserve Duke Hector's position?"
Drow's argument was a stretch wrapped around a stretch — yet it was not entirely without merit. In any ordinary circumstance, they could have seized on it and made it a genuine case.
They had the power to do so, and such maneuvers had in truth been carried out many a time before.
But even a scheme has its season. With the entire capital rejoicing over rain it had longed for with all its heart, to drag the very architect of that miracle before a tribunal would send every arrow of resentment and fury flying straight back at them.
Drow was a swordsman of proven skill, but occasionally he showed lapses of judgment like this. Marquis Voytek barely managed to swallow the sigh that threatened to escape him.
"Marquis Drow, the timing is wrong. To raise such talk while the whole nation celebrates the rain would be like throwing cold water over a festival."
"Then what would you have us do? Sit on our hands and do nothing?"
"As of now, there is no way out. It burns us, it is unjust — but for the moment, withdrawal is the correct course."
"Voytek is right. We have no play at present."
Duke Hector, who had been glaring out the window at the falling rain as though it were his mortal enemy, spoke in a voice dark as the clouds themselves.
He had witnessed it with his own eyes, and still he could not believe it. How could any human command nature itself? The Duke felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare.
"There's no telling what controversy Duke Randert will stir up next. For the time being, we must keep our heads down and devote ourselves to preparing for what comes."
"They'll press their advantage and come for us, no doubt. But I won't simply lie down and take it. If they think me an easy mark, they'll find they've made a grave error."
"He asked His Majesty for an official post and a title for a boy of barely seventeen. He hid behind the boy as an excuse, but surely it was for his own standing. Duke Randert's ambition has been laid perfectly bare by this affair!"
"What title do you suppose His Majesty will grant? It should end at a barony, at most."
Marquis Voytek was gravely troubled. Whatever the title, this would be unprecedented. What galled him most of all was that the youngest person ever to be granted a rank for merit rather than inheritance should happen to be Duke Randert's son.
"Yesterday His Majesty appeared ready to grant something far greater than that. You all saw the Crown Prince championing the boy — age be damned. And with His Majesty raising no objection, he clearly feels the same."
"Support for Crown Prince Lindemann will only swell. But that too will be fleeting."
"Fleeting? Marquis Voytek, what do you mean by that?"
Drow turned to him, bewildered. Duke Hector too knitted his brow and waited for the marquis to explain.
"I had intended to share this once things settled, but perhaps it's better you hear it now."
"Enough stalling — out with it!"
"Lady Catherine is with child."
"With child...?"
"You mean she carries His Majesty's child?"
"Yes, Your Grace. A little over ten weeks, by all accounts."
Lady Catherine — born Voytek's daughter, now a royal consort of the Emperor — had at last accomplished what her father and Duke Hector had so desperately longed for.
"When can we learn the child's sex?"
The question of the baby's sex came before any word of congratulation. There had been but one purpose in placing the marquis's daughter in the imperial bedchamber.
To bear a son and enthrone a new Crown Prince.
That was the only road that lay ahead of Duke Randert. Only a new heir could open the door to their era.
"We already know."
"...You can know this soon?"
"Some time ago Her Ladyship dreamed of a golden dragon. We consulted a gifted diviner, and he pronounced it a son beyond any doubt. From Lady Catherine, the Crown Prince will surely come."
To dream of a dragon was the most auspicious of all conception omens. His daughter had achieved whatever she set her mind to since childhood; she had never once disappointed her father. The day Voytek became grandfather to the Crown Prince was not far off.
"A Crown Prince! If that comes to pass, I could ask for nothing more! I would gladly depose the present one this very instant and welcome a new heir!"
"Careful with your tongue. Not a word of this may leave this room."
At last, a thread of light had appeared in what had been an unrelentingly dark future. In fame, they could never surpass Duke Randert.
But power was another matter. If they enthroned a new Crown Prince and took hold of the imperial household, the empire itself would be as good as in their grasp.
"Marquis Voytek, my thanks. Convey to Lady Catherine that I shall pay her a visit before long."
For the first time since the rain had fallen, a smile crept onto Duke Hector's lips. Voytek answered the belated congratulations with a smile of his own, and the two men looked forward to the days to come.
While Duke Hector lost himself in sweet imaginings, Bayul and his friends were in the thick of their preparations. It was not their first royal party, but today carried a weight of meaning all its own.
What made it most extraordinary of all was that the guest of honor at today's party was Bayul himself. It was the Emperor's personal gift to the one who had brought rain to the capital.
"Um... isn't this kind of ornament a bit much?"
It was not merely the resplendent formal dress — sparkling decorations studded his shoulders and chest in overwhelming number. When Bayul balked at the result, Eli practically leapt out of his skin.
"Bayul, you're the guest of honor today! A guest of honor has to look the part! This is already me cutting it down a lot because I know how much you hate this sort of thing!"
Bayul would soon be a titled noble, and Eli had insisted he dress accordingly — that was how he'd come to take charge of the styling personally, which was exactly the problem.
"I don't know if it's right to be dressing up while the spirits are still working themselves ragged out there."
The rain was still drumming down beyond the windows. From several hard-won lessons, they knew the spirits became exhausted after channeling their power for long stretches, so this time Bayul had scheduled their efforts in shifts from the very beginning.
Yesterday they had deliberately poured out prodigious energy — it was the first day, and there were watching eyes.
But under cover of night, while the people slept, the spirits had rested. The rain was somewhat lighter than the day before, yet because it did not stop, the citizens could breathe easy. With Innocent's power consumption reduced, the work had become far easier for her as well.
After so long a famine, keeping the rain falling for at least a week was what mattered. He could only pray the little ones held out through it.
"You can praise them all afterward, can't you? That's just what spirits do, you said so yourself. Besides, is now really the time for you to be worrying about spirits?"
"...Huh?"
"Why are you standing there all blank? Don't tell me it hasn't even crossed your mind."
"Crossed my mind — what, exactly?"
"The person who's about to be put through the wringer in a few hours. You."
"Through the wringer? Me?"
When Bayul failed utterly to grasp what Eli meant, his friends shook their heads in unison, as if on cue.
"The spirits really did turn your brain to mush for a second there."
"Bayul, you're the one who brought rain to this drought-stricken land. The story has already spread beyond the palace walls. Did you really think people would leave you alone?"
"Even before you did anything, people were curious about you just for being Duke Randert's son. And now on top of that, you're a Spirit User."
"You do have the confidence to handle it, right?"
"Even my good looks won't be enough to steal the spotlight today."
People might be dazzled by Eli's beauty for a fleeting moment, but it would fall far short of diverting their attention from Bayul. The rain had been an event of that magnitude.
"...So there's no way I can skip it, then?"
As his friends explained, Bayul found himself, against his own expectations, growing afraid. Being the object of stares was an old story, and it would continue — but the day he grew used to it seemed forever out of reach.
It would be lovely if he could enjoy it the way Eli did, but given Bayul's nature, that was a very difficult thing indeed.
If only time would just stop, right here.
Never before had the lack of such a power ached quite this much.