Chapter 6: Friends
After the duel ended, the stage went on hosting one performance after another. At first, everyone had been too busy chattering about the appearance of the beautiful knight to pay much attention, distracted as they were—but as always, the topic soon shifted, and the party's atmosphere ripened once more.
"That was rather harsh of you earlier."
In a relatively quiet corner of the hall, Professor Rothius—dressed more neatly than usual, in Aidan's words—grumbled at Duke Randert like a sulking child.
"Personally, it felt wonderful to watch, of course, but I do have a certain standing to consider, you know."
"...Standing?"
From Duke Randert's perspective, the remark made no sense at all. What did his quarrel with Duke Hector have to do with Rothius? It was talk with neither head nor tail.
"I am not the little boy who used to beg you for pony rides, Your Grace. I'm a proper grown man earning my own bread these days."
He looked at the Duke with an expression that said isn't that right?, but Randert gave no reply, as if to say go on, then.
"And what is my bread-winning trade? Teaching children at the Academy, is it not? Like it or not, that means both Bayul and Jared are my students. That boy is in for a truly spectacular scolding, I imagine."
"If he's done something worth scolding, then he should be scolded. That's how children grow."
"I only worry he might crack a rib or two."
"...A rib? Surely you don't mean Duke Hector strikes his own son?"
"He's already famous for it. Honestly, I find it stranger that you didn't know, Your Grace."
And it wasn't only Jared. Rumor had it his hand reached as far as his wife and daughter as well.
Duke Randert was bewildered. Disciplining a child for wrongdoing was a parent's proper duty. But that was something to be settled through words—laying hands on them was out of the question. That was nothing short of violence, of abuse.
"I heard he was a son born late in life, hard-won after many years..."
"Which is why he's been indulged so much."
But Duke Hector was a man too. And everyone has a limit to how much they can bear.
"With so many eyes about, nothing drastic will come of it, I'm sure. But you saw Duke Hector's face earlier, did you not, Your Grace? He completely lost his composure and fled without so much as a backward glance. With Commander Yeger herself stepping forward, I suppose he had high hopes."
"No matter who stepped forward, Hayes would have won. That is precisely why she was sent out."
Never show him an ounce of mercy. Make the gap in skill unmistakably clear.
That was the command Duke Randert had given Hayes before the duel. And she had carried it out with the utmost fidelity.
"Is this about the disciplinary committee, then? If so, the outcome was admittedly not to my taste, but efforts are being made to resolve it within the Academy. It is rather a headache..."
"That is not it."
"...Is there something else troubling you?"
Professor Rothius stared in surprise at Duke Randert, who had cut him off so coldly.
The Duke was not a man to explain things piece by piece—least of all another person's failings. He said nothing, yet somehow, Rothius had a fair guess.
"Hm, now that you mention it, I did find it a bit strange. Intimidating your opponent the way you did today—it's simply not the style of a man I respect."
"And whose words were those, pray tell?"
"Think of it as a teacher's worry for his pupil. I honestly don't know where to begin fixing that boy."
"If what you say of Duke Hector is true, then today should teach him a great deal indeed."
He would never dare point a sword at Bayul so carelessly again. It pained Randert a little to think of the boy being scolded by his father, but he had achieved what he set out to do. For now, that was enough.
"Will it be, though?"
At the voice that cut in abruptly, the heads of Duke Randert and Professor Rothius turned at once.
"Sixteen is more than old enough to know right from wrong. And after a place where violence has passed, there can be no remorse or regret lingering there. Only resentment toward his father and a burning thirst for revenge against the one who humiliated him."
It was the woman who had quietly sipped her tea and kept her place while the two men spoke. Though wrinkles had gathered on her skin, unable to withstand the weight of the years, and her hair had gone snow-white, her eyes remained clear and bright with a gentle grace.
She was none other than Empress Dowager Priscilla—the mother of the reigning Emperor and grandmother to the Crown Prince, the most senior figure of the imperial family—and, as it happened, a friend who had known Duke Randert for many long years.
"Duke Randert, how long do you intend to treat me as though I weren't here? And Jane, you wretch—you finally come to visit after all this time, and not so much as a proper greeting?"
"What do you suggest? Shall I embrace you and plant a kiss on your cheek?"
"What did you say?"
At Professor Rothius's outrageous remark, the Empress Dowager's brow curved. It was clearly a sign of displeasure—yet somehow, what shone in her eyes was nothing but boundless, warmth-giving affection.
"Can you not see how many watching eyes are upon us? I'm holding back for their sake. Just wait a little—I shall embrace you most passionately later on."
Professor Rothius's manner was every bit as impudent, but the feeling held in his blue eyes differed hardly at all from the Dowager's own.
"My apologies. You seemed so peacefully at rest, Your Majesty, that I deliberately held my tongue."
"Treating me as a shut-in crone already, are you? And here I thought we were still friends."
"You state the obvious. As your friend, I merely wished for you to rest easy, if only for a moment."
Though she appeared healthy enough at a glance, the Empress Dowager in truth suffered from a chronic illness. The reason she—who had long ceased attending even official functions on account of her frail body—was present here today was one and the same: to celebrate the coming-of-age of her one and only grandson.
She had powdered her face finely for the first time in ages and donned a splendid gown, but it could not wholly conceal the pallor of sickness beneath.
"So that is why you turned the visitors away?"
Priscilla was the eldest member of the imperial family. The endless stream of well-wishers paying their respects had been held back by Duke Randert, who pleaded that he had urgent matters to discuss with her.
"Do you take offense at that?"
"Fufu, not at all. And even setting myself aside, I imagine it was no great loss for them, facing this old woman. I saw the Crown Prince, so that is quite enough."
In her heart, she wished to sit her grandson right in front of her and gaze at him for hours on end. But she knew better than anyone that such a thing was impossible.
"And yet, for all you say so, your eyes brim with sorrow. Is the Crown Prince worrying you so much?"
At Professor Rothius's question, Empress Dowager Priscilla could neither affirm nor deny it.
He was the grandson who would ascend the throne after her son. Lately her heart had been unsettled on account of that boy, about to take a wife. Perhaps because what days remained to her were few, her worries only ever multiplied.
"What is there to fret over, with Duke Randert standing right here like a mountain? You may lay your worries down and let them sleep."
"I am glad you are here."
A man she trusted even more than her own son the Emperor. To Empress Dowager Priscilla, Duke Randert was precisely that kind of friend.
"So that boy over there is Bayul."
The Empress Dowager smiled, pointing toward Bayul standing at a distance.
"He takes after you a great deal. I can feel a goodness in him."
"He has quite a few fine points about him."
Professor Rothius answered with a smile in the Duke's stead.
"Judging by his results in his very first examination after transferring, he's quite clever as well—honest character, and though he looks frail, there's a surprising steeliness in him. Even amid all your busyness, Your Grace, it seems you've raised the boy rather well."
"Are you appraising my son to my face, Jane? You?"
As Duke Randert looked at him in disbelief, Professor Rothius straightened his back and struck a mock-dignified pose.
"Oh dear, have you forgotten again? What exactly is it I do for a living?"
"Right. And that's precisely why I keep forgetting—it's such a marvel."
"I feel the same. I still cannot believe this man became a teacher. Does the Academy not administer any kind of qualification review?"
"Your Majesty! Qualification review, indeed? For all his looks, I'll have you know I'm the most popular professor there is! Do you have any idea how eagerly the children await my history lectures? Why not sit in on one of my classes? Then those words of yours will slip right down your throat!"
"Never mind that. Have you quit the pipe yet?"
The question he dreaded most came flying straight at him. One could not dare speak falsehood to one's sovereign. But neither could he tell the truth—not when this old woman, who worried for him so, would surely erupt in fury.
Which left only one way out.
"By the way, who is that woman over there? Hayes, was it? I've never seen her face before—when did she join the knights? Her skill was absolutely staggering. Your Grace's finest pupil, is that the story?"
"Jane, you—"
"Do introduce us as well. That flair with which she shattered Commander Yeger's blade in a single stroke! Ah, truly, I fell in love at first sight. As a martial artist—no, as one who reveres the martial way—I dearly wish to convey to her what I felt in that moment. How would it be, with Duke Randert standing as your patron?"
The art of escaping a crisis had grown considerably in his absence. Cornered by Professor Rothius's shameless silver tongue, the Empress Dowager at last raised both hands in surrender.
"Shall we have another cup of tea?"
The Empress Dowager sighed and nodded, and Duke Randert gestured to a maid with a smile. Before long, a warm cup of tea was set between the two of them.