North: Blood or Wine (02) - 027
Not red... more like a slightly brighter scarlet. It resembled what people commonly called a ruby, though he'd never seen one in real life. To say she had jewels embedded in her eyes was quite the extravagant expression. Still, it felt right. In the dimly lit room, the ruby fixed on Kalen gleamed with vivid clarity.
"Not the family head, then."
"You mean the one who summoned me here?"
"I thought it was Grand Duke Hiatt."
"Who knows."
A soft, languid tone that naturally eased the listener into comfort—but Kalen couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease.
"I could be the family head, you know?"
"I haven't heard that the Grand Duke has stepped down."
"Ouch, you're cold."
Rustle—the faint brush of fabric as she shifted, and the ruby flashed lazily.
"Just like back then."
Her darker maroon hair swirled in tandem. Soon, the woman drew near Kalen. Their height difference was negligible, though he still had the edge.
Rakatus had been leveraging Hiatt's power to pave the way for Dranus's return. But Hiatt had a change of heart, throwing the plan into disarray. To reinvigorate it, they'd demanded Kalen as payment. Naturally, this was the Hiatt family's collective will.
Yet Kalen sensed something amiss. If it truly was the family's decision, the head should have been the one to summon him. Instead, the moment he arrived at the estate, he'd been ushered straight to someone else.
If this twist was still part of Hiatt's design, all well and good. But if not...
Kalen furrowed his brow slightly. "Was it the lady who summoned me, not Hiatt?"
A simple clarifying question, perhaps—but at this juncture, it was of utmost importance. If it wasn't Hiatt's will, they might withhold aid from Dranus even after he finished the job.
"You're anxious. Worried Hiatt won't back Rakatus."
"That's precisely why I'm here."
"No need to fret."
He didn't know her exact identity, but his demeanor bordered on rudeness. Makbel was a man of stature, entrusted with oversight; no lowly figure would await in a place he'd personally guided him to.
The woman flashed a bright smile. "By the time you leave, my will will be Hiatt's will."
Civil war. That's what people called Hiatt's present turmoil. It was absurd to claim detailed knowledge of the insular, fiercely independent North, but the rumors alone painted a picture of dire urgency.
"Oh? You know about it, then?"
"Is that why you called me?"
"Sharp as a tack~."
She tapped her chin with her index finger. The corners of her eyes curved gracefully, effortlessly.
"Curious... or necessary, I suppose? It's a civil war, but my side's short on allies. I needed someone capable."
As a scion of Hiatt, amassing talent should have been effortless. Most northern powerhouses were already sworn to Hiatt. But a civil war meant clashing against peers—or superiors. That explained it.
"I was in a real bind, but then I remembered you."
The ruby gleamed between her elegantly arched eyes, aimed squarely at Kalen.
"An escort formidable enough to brave the journey from the southeast estates all the way north alone. Heard you're the Grand Archmage's attendant—picked up a few spells along the way, they say~."
Her tapping finger stilled.
"The war's only getting worse. Can't even sleep soundly anymore, so I made the request."
"You said that by the time I return, your will would become Hiatt's?"
"Yep?"
A chill prickled Kalen's skin. Her innocent facade belied a mind of unfathomable depths.
Accepting the request would prove his devotion to Dranus. And now that he was deep inside Hiatt's estate, escape without Blamia's intervention would be all but impossible. She'd engineered an inescapable bind, reeled him in, then sprung the trap.
Her words had danced around it, but boiled down to: Help me. Her will supplanting Hiatt's meant victory in the civil war. The qualifier "by the time you return" implied his pivotal role in that triumph.
A flawless snare, impossible to wriggle free from. Not Hiatt's summons, but a personal plea—timed so realization dawned too late to refuse.
She needed his aid so desperately she'd resort to deception. One wrinkle, though: had she truly assumed he couldn't contact Blamia? Or was that another calculated gamble, flawlessly performed?
Always one step ahead. Probing her intentions only dragged him deeper into the labyrinth.
Was that her intent? As Kalen fell silent, she spoke.
"...Your instincts are spot on, aren't they?"
She'd even read that he'd pierced her scheme.
"Can't give you much time, though?"
Yet she held the leash, tugging it ever so gently around his neck. Any ordinary soul would have gasped for air by now.
But one oversight on her part.
Kalen never shied from a wager.
"No."
"...Pardon?"
"No reason to."
The civil war appeared graver than he'd imagined. Leaks offered no granular insight—whether it was merely brewing or raging in earnest remained unclear.
In that chaos, she craved his strength. The leash wasn't tethered solely to him.
Unknown perils abounded. Aid her, and he might catch hell in the war; win it, and she might still renege. Far too many uncertainties to shoulder.
His counter-gamble: furnish a compelling rationale.
"Can't flee the estate outright, but dodging around and siding with 'the other faction' seems feasible enough."
"..."
"How does one trust a bond forged in lies from the outset?"
She resumed tapping her chin at his words.
"Let's start with introductions—"
"Selasier Hiatt. The Hiatt family's eldest daughter. Am I wrong?"
"Hmm~."
A woman over a man. Magic over the sword. Selasier Hiatt, mage and Hiatt heir. It wasn't hard to deduce.
A status lofty enough that victory equated to claiming the family outright. Above all, her signature maroon locks were infamous.
The initial clues hadn't sufficed for certainty, but now? Undeniable. Even in the North, her prowess as a mage rang clear. Fresh from her coming-of-age rite, yet wielding the 2nd Hierarchy with mastery—a feat that amplified her prestige.
Even she found him intriguing. What was a grand duke, after all? None withstood that aura unruffled. Not even the most promising heirs from great houses could mask their tension before her refined grace.
Yet this boy before her neither quivered nor faltered. He calmly dissected her ploy and struck back.
Dissecting that she needed him.
That realization prompted Selasier to drop the pretense. With his type, blunt confrontation worked best. Easier, even. Far preferable to the sycophants slathered in hypocrisy and schemes. Trustworthy.
And that was precisely what she'd desperately sought amid the mire of betrayal and doubt.
Too soon for absolutes. But the first to approach without groveling flattery or sham loyalty.
"Your name?"
"Kalen."
"A promise, then?"
Selasier turned away, her bright smile fading.
"You won't betray me. And when it's all over, I'll honor mine."
Two sticking points: the perils of plunging into civil war, and the risk of empty promises afterward.
The first had an answer: his condition. Blamia had called it perilously fragile. That inexplicable darkness in his heart demanded one recourse—elevating his hierarchy. War was hazardous, yes, but rich in live combat. Given his state, diving in made sense.
"What guarantees your promise?"
"Hmm... conscience?"
"If you're toying with—"
"I'm serious."
Kalen faltered mid-sentence. Her ruby eyes had sunk to an unnerving depth.
"Truth be told: once the war ends and you report back to the Grand Archmage, you could compel me to uphold it."
It clashed so starkly with her prior smiles that it rang unnervingly genuine. Stubbornness, rather. Her gaze burned not with menace, but raw tenacity, venomous resolve.
"The risk falls heavier on me. I can only lean on your goodwill; you've got the leverage."
Irrefutable logic. Spill it to Blamia post-war, and Hiatt was manageable—no match for the Dranus network entire. She was the vulnerable one. Loyalty hinged wholly on his heart.
As he pressed, Kalen puzzled over her insistence. A mere glance hadn't revealed such desperation.
Woman or not, mage or not, even if outmatched by foes—surely she had reliable retainers aplenty.
Why him, specifically?
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Your reasons fall a bit short. Is that really all?"
That glint of defiance, of grit? Apt for most. The hallmark of conviction, resolve.
But Kalen saw deeper. Loneliness. The void Eliana had worn at their first meeting, mirrored in Selasier's ruby gaze.
Was that what stirred him? Every rationale to aid her, not Hiatt, now aligned.
Having resolved to help Selasier, the question slipped out unbidden.
"The reason..."
Selasier tapped her chin anew, her bright smile restored in an instant.
"Who knows?"
A firm rebuff: not sharing.
"Shall I take that as acceptance?"
"Who are your opponents in this war?"
"Our pestilential brothers... and probably Father?"
"The family head himself?"
"He's turning a blind eye, so you could see it that way."
Power incarnate, just as he'd surmised. Kalen nodded slowly.
"I accept."
"Thank you. Head back today, then?"
"Safe to be alone amid civil war?"
"Hasn't escalated to open hits inside the estate yet. Though that might shatter soon... Anyway, it's fine for now."
"Understood."
Thus, their precarious pact was sealed. Kalen departed the room under Makbel's guidance.
Creak—the antique door swung shut.
"The reason..."
Selasier's murmur drifted faintly.
Riddles everywhere. She'd acted unbreakable, then flipped. That uncanny poise beyond her years—how? Sharing her vulnerability to build trust made sense, but why withhold the true motive? And that gaze she'd fixed on him...
Whatever. Trust was irrelevant. A myth in this world.
Someday, she'd discard the boy herself.
Selasier slumped onto the bed, arm draped over her eyes.
The end drew near. No leisure to nurse festering wounds.