Chapter 61 — A Son Who Refuses to Listen
What a curious young man.
Marquis Lanford stared across the room at the empty chair, and his thoughts drifted back to the youth who had occupied it only recently — Arendt von Eckhart.
By any reasonable standard, the boy deserved credit for how skillfully he managed his expressions. And yet, it seemed, he still lacked the experience to conceal the unease buried deep beneath them.
He would fuss with his teacup, or glance away ever so slightly out of old habit, or hesitate for a heartbeat in the middle of a conversation.
Even so, the longer they talked, the more Lanford came to understand that this was no ordinary green boy — because for all that he let his restlessness show, he never once lost his composure entirely.
Clean hands and a clean conscience, is it?
Rumor had it that all the trouble the boy had caused had been deliberate — a means of slipping through the cracks among his enemies. The affair was long over now, and the truth of it belonged to Arendt alone, but Lanford found the story rather plausible. The Arendt he had met with his own eyes was sensitive and sharp-edged, certainly, but he did not move like a fool without a plan.
He recalled their conversations.
When Lanford had praised his accomplishments, Arendt had offered nothing but a curt reply.
"I did it because I had to, and because I could."
Looking back, it had been an insolent enough remark to draw a hollow laugh — and there had been nothing more beyond it.
Honestly, though, he could understand it now. He understood why the Crown Prince kept Arendt tethered at his side.
The boy was that rare a talent.
Apparently the others felt the same. Those who had once balked at the marquis offering to arrange private meetings were now, he heard, falling over one another to summon Arendt themselves.
They want him on their side, no doubt.
For all his arrogance and lack of manners, Arendt von Eckhart was a far better conversational partner than expected. Lanford had summoned him intending to dangle a few enticements, but more than once he had found himself, before he knew it, pouring out his own thoughts.
What was more, Arendt had bared his true feelings only once — during that very first conversation. When Lanford offered to help him return to his county, to mediate so the Crown Prince would not work him half to death, Arendt merely said he would think it over. No firm answer, either way.
The nobles, as a result, were beginning to sweat.
Like trying to soothe a wild cat that refuses to be tamed.
The marquis let out a small, involuntary laugh. Still, the distance between them was unmistakably narrowing. Arendt had not refused a single invitation so far — which suggested, at least, that the boy didn't hate the attention.
Now was precisely the moment to drive the wedge home.
And the distinguished guest he had arranged for today would play that role, of that Lanford had no doubt.
Tap.
His finger, idling with faint boredom, rapped lightly against the arm of his chair — and just then came a knock at the door.
"Come in."
"Excuse the interruption."
The calm voice carried in from beyond the door.
The latch clicked, the door swung open, and a tall man strode briskly into the reception room.
Marquis Lanford rose to greet him.
"Welcome, Count Eckhart."
"It has been some time."
The Count answered stiffly, not a muscle of his face moving.
Father and son could hardly have been less alike, and yet that frost-chilled voice alone — one could be forgiven for saying the son had taken it whole from the father.
Lanford watched in silence as the Count settled into the seat across from him. The man's broad, hard shoulders stood in stark contrast to Arendt, whose frame was small for a knight.
Every time they met face to face, Lanford was struck by it anew: a man with a truly glacial presence. Like a blade honed from ice, his eyes held no trace of warmth whatsoever — eyes steeped in the bite of north wind and drifting snow.
"Coming all this way to the capital must have been tiring."
"Not at all. Hardly worth the word."
"Did Arcus come with you?"
"Yes. I brought him along as an attendant."
"How fortunate, to have two such capable sons — and still so young."
The Count gave a level reply.
"You flatter us."
"How goes the territory these days?"
"Nothing of note. Only, some while ago, a man from the Neumann Merchant Guild visited briefly on business."
"I see. Then no doubt you heard about your second son as well. Everyone in the Neumann Guild is quite favorably disposed toward Sir Arendt."
At the marquis's offhand remark, Count Eckhart's face hardened.
Just then came another careful knock, and the butler eased the door open, set down tea and refreshments before the two men, and withdrew. Lanford lifted the warm cup and added, almost lazily:
"I too have spoken with your second son a few times. A most entertaining young man."
"……I heard the circumstances in writing. I also read the letter you sent."
After a brief pause, the Count finally spoke.
"Frankly, I still don't understand what is happening."
"I'd expect nothing less. And I can understand that feeling as well."
Lanford leaned back slowly into his chair and went on in an unhurried voice.
"But what's done is done. The Crown Prince trusts Sir Arendt now. And the Guildmaster Neumann — the man would play dead on command if your son asked it of him."
That much was only natural; Neumann had been saved by the boy twice over. But Count Eckhart could hardly be expected to swallow so easily what his own son had accomplished.
"It shames me to say this, but……"
The Count hesitated, then bit his lip lightly.
"They say he has a talent for the sword, but the boy can do nothing else. He can't so much as meet an elder's eyes properly, and all he does is stir up trouble. A pathetic creature."
"Perhaps he was. But that's all in the past. The Sir Arendt I met was nothing of the sort. Sensitive and quick-tempered, certainly — but no wonder he caught the Crown Prince's eye."
Lanford continued in a voice soft enough to soothe.
"Quite a few of the senior ministers still don't fully trust Sir Arendt, thanks to the treason charge. But that, too, will fade soon enough."
"……"
The Count gave no reaction. He simply lowered his eyes a fraction and stared down at his teacup.
"Every man has one foolish season in his youth. And from the look of him, Sir Arendt seems to have only just finished an extraordinarily long adolescence."
With that, Lanford raised his cup and drank, granting the Count a moment of silence. A proper conversation, after all, required pauses like these.
A long while later, Count Eckhart opened his mouth.
"It is absurd, frankly. To think so many words of praise would be needed to describe that child."
"The boy himself, it seems, cares little for such praise. A fine young man."
Lanford answered between sips of tea.
"So that is how he seemed to you, my lord. Before me, he showed nothing but his ugliest self."
"……"
"And after he entered the Knight Academy, he stopped returning to the territory altogether. Once he entered the palace, all contact between us ceased entirely."
With that, the Count shut his mouth for good.
Once again it was Lanford who had to reopen the subject.
"I've no wish to pry between father and son, but word does travel. They say you reached out to Sir Arendt first."
"I did. There was no reply."
In that instant, the Count's brow furrowed deeply.
"Insolent whelp."
Lanford could not help but be startled inwardly. The Count, a man who never let emotion show, had failed to swallow even a momentary flare of anger and had let out a low growl.
"The moment he entered the palace, word spread that he had torn the letter apart on the spot and handed the pieces to an attendant. Did you know, my lord?"
"I did hear that."
Lanford nodded, and the Count glared at his teacup, fury brimming in his eyes.
"Which is why I judged he could not be left as he is. It might be better to shut him away in some corner of the territory and simply let him drown himself in whatever drink he fancies."
Midway through the tirade, Count Eckhart caught his own mistake and faltered.
"……My apologies."
"Think nothing of it. I hadn't realized the rift ran quite that deep."
Lanford, jolted back to himself, exhaled a short sigh. After a moment's pause to choose his words, a remarkably candid admission escaped him.
"I'm sorry to say it, but Sir Arendt must not return to the territory. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"The Crown Prince is working him like a hound. So I had intended to cut the leash His Highness holds — and hand it back to you instead."
That leash, of course, meant the bracelet that permitted immediate execution.
"But my thinking has shifted somewhat. I wish to make Sir Arendt my own man."
"……"
"Count, you said it yourself — he's a troublemaker. More difficult to handle than the most stubborn colt, and liable at any moment to bare his teeth and bite the hand that feeds him."
Facing the Count, who sat listening in silence, Lanford added gravely:
"But taking all of that into account, Sir Arendt is a talent too tempting to pass up."
"In what way, exactly?"
"What he has already placed in the Crown Prince's hands — surely that says enough. His Highness will not let him go easily. And do not forget that the boy's very life hangs on the Crown Prince and Sir Laios."
Count Eckhart, who had been about to argue, shut his mouth instead.
"Besides, Sir Arendt seems rather worn down by it all. All we need do is handle him well. He has already begun to listen to what we say — and do not forget that our last hope, at this point, is him."
"Haah……"
Count Eckhart pressed a hand hard against his temple and sighed.
Our last hope.
An extreme way to put it, yet not impossible to understand. It was only that the words had been aimed at Arendt — and that was the desolate part.
Sooner or later, the Crown Prince would turn his blade upon the nobles.
Ever since the incident the former marquis had set in motion, a faint undercurrent of unrest had threaded through their ranks — and recently, with the Crown Prince himself voicing his proclamation aloud, that current had begun to take on a very real edge.
The creeping fear that they themselves might become the targets had left them increasingly on edge.
Worse, the Crown Prince had lately seized enormous gains while pursuing his enemies. That alone was threat enough. These were men who had cast themselves as his rivals, chasing their own profit and their own political convictions.
If Arendt were to cross over to the nobles' side in such a climate, the rewards would be immense. Friendly ties with the Neumann Merchant Guild, for a start. And handled deftly, perhaps even escape from the Crown Prince's tightening web of investigation.
Regrettably, Count Eckhart was himself one of those who had to chase that profit.
"What would you have me do?"
"We have made our appeal, but Sir Arendt has yet to give us a clear answer. So I want you to step forward yourself."
Count Eckhart lowered his gaze. The reluctance written there was plain for anyone to see.
A moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, slow breath.
"……Very well. I will speak with him."