The King's Brother, Ianbert Yeats
Winterhome was in an uproar over the sudden arrival of a guest.
But on the day the guest actually arrived, the castle was quiet.
It wasn't because some accident had struck at the last moment. The reason the castle was so still was simple enough: there were barely any people left inside.
So where had everyone gone?
That, too, was simple. They were all drawn up in formation outside Coldon.
The lineup was a mixed one. The Felwinter family, Alfred and Elizabeth foremost among them, of course. Iona, chief seneschal and elder, the priests, the bureaucrats, the clerks, knights and soldiers, and every sort of worker who kept the castle running.
Naturally Karem was there as well, standing with Catherine—who had most of her subordinate mages in tow—staring blankly out across the snowfields beyond the outer walls from an hour so early it still felt like the dead of night, when you couldn't see a step ahead.
"I'm freezing to death."
"Where's your cold-ward potion?"
Catherine asked as if it were nothing. Karem, shivering, shifted his grip on the basket and shook his head.
"I forgot it. I only put on my clothes and came out."
What kind of nonsense is this, at an hour this early? Karem was used to getting up early for cooking. This was earlier still.
What a miserable job this is.
He understood, of course. Having the master of the house come out with his whole family to greet a guest was something that had happened often enough in his previous life. It meant you were truly glad to receive them.
Still—this wasn't a fellow duke, or the king himself. Putting on this much of a show for the king's younger brother felt excessive.
Which only meant Alfred was that determined to welcome his friend's little brother.
They had been ordered the day before that this was how it would go. Knowing that, though, did nothing for how bothersome and sleepy it still was.
"Do you need one?"
A light jab to his arm made him turn. Mary was holding out a small vial filled with a red liquid—a cold-ward potion.
"You seemed to have forgotten it on the way out."
"Thank you."
Karem accepted it gladly and drank it at once. The liquid—sour, with a dense heat like Tabasco—slid over his tongue and down his throat, and his body temperature flared up in an instant.
"Whew. This stuff works well, doesn't it?"
"Well, who do you think made it? Of course it does."
Catherine spoke without much feeling, but she didn't seem displeased; she gave Karem's arm a light thump.
"I could use this in cooking, or as a seasoning."
"…A potion?"
He had only drunk it a handful of times, but the thought came every time. Karem nodded.
"Do as you like. Something else has been bothering me since we came out, though."
Catherine spoke without turning her head, her face indifferent.
"What's that basket on your arm? And the Gourmet's Lid on top of it, no less?"
"Ah—salmon bread. Salmon bread."
"What?"
Karem cracked the lid open a fraction.
In that instant, everyone standing in formation outside Coldon caught the rich, savory smell unique to freshly baked fish-shaped pastry and went round-eyed.
Of course Karem was not the only one who had brought food. Plenty of people had heard what was coming and planned ahead. Mostly jerky, nuts, dried fruit, hardtack, cookies, tarts—small snacks easy to carry and easy to nibble on the sly.
Ugh. This is exactly why mages are the worst.
It's bread I wouldn't look twice at any other day. That smell is insane, though.
Ahh… I'm starving.
But cold, dry things—or anything that had already gone cold—could not compete with the warm, fragrant smell of pastry just out of the oven. Asking for one was out of the question. Time, place, and company all made it impossible to push one's luck.
"Huh. Thoroughly prepared, aren't you."
"I figured it might turn out like this, so I got them ready while I was cooking last night."
"And yet you forgot the cold-ward potion?"
"Urgh—if things had gone as they should, I would have been the one preparing it…!"
There were people, however, who had no need to care about the atmosphere at all.
"Karem. Alicia wants some too."
"…!"
Alicia popped up from under the basket all of a sudden. Even Catherine flinched, her eyebrows twitching at the abrupt appearance.
Should I… set a few aside for her?
How many are in there?
A full basket.
Then give her some.
After the silent exchange of looks, Catherine waved a hand in permission.
"How many shall I give you?"
"Eleven."
"…That seems like a lot. Is that for the whole family?"
"Half of them are for Alicia."
Well—with an appetite that strong, still thinking of her family was admirable, he supposed. Wait a second. Two each for the rest… the numbers didn't add up.
"Not twelve?"
"There is no share for mean Robin."
So they had fought again. Alicia had somehow gotten hold of a leather pouch, packed it carefully full, and trotted off. The salmon bread that had filled the basket was noticeably gone.
"So how long do we have to stand here?"
"Until the king's brother arrives. Why are you only holding it out and not offering any?"
"Custard flavor, with roasted alraune mixed into the batter and the filling."
"You could have said so earlier."
Catherine snapped the words, then snatched a salmon bread and bit straight into the head. It had cooled a little in the short time, but the soft, sweet, savory taste still spread from the center of her chest.
"So we really just stand here until that guest shows up?"
"Early morning if we're lucky. By dawn at the latest."
At the news that there was still a long wait, Karem shuddered where he stood without meaning to.
"I understand our lord wants to welcome the king's brother, but standing around like this staring into space is not my idea of a good time."
"Because of research hours?"
"Obviously."
At her open grumbling, Karem glanced around. The overlapping murmur of people chatting in low voices was enough that their words seemed to sink into the noise.
"You don't need to worry about anyone overhearing."
"How am I supposed not to, when you talk like that?"
"Hah. Do you know who I am?"
Who else—the youngest Sage-class archmage, Catherine. Only then did Karem catch her meaning.
"A soundproofing spell?"
"I put it up the moment Her Highness Alicia left."
"Whew—give me a signal next time. I nearly had a heart attack."
Karem trusted that Alfred's temperament wouldn't punish them for a little talk like this. Catherine was far too valuable a magical asset for that.
"Anyway, once the king's brother arrives, will there be more bothersome schedules like this?"
Karem raked through memories of his previous life—sports days, bazaars, school festivals, a superior's unit inspection, and so on. By comparison, this predawn welcome was paradise. There had been no separate rehearsals. Just coming out at dawn and waiting, as they were now, was the whole of it.
"Well, aside from the evening banquet, they won't stage anything this large-scale and annoying. At most he'll tour various parts of the castle."
"Sounds a bit like sightseeing."
"Not wrong. He'll be curious about this place too."
Catherine closed her eyes and waved a hand.
"So just focus on your own work."
"Gladly. Ah—the sun's coming up."
Time had slipped by without them noticing. As the sun began to rise beyond the snowfield's horizon, dyed a deep blue, the last of the darkness left only shadows behind and vanished.
"Is it already time for sunrise?"
"Something's coming over there."
"Hm?"
"It might be the king's brother's party."
Karem stared hard at the far snowfield where Mary pointed, but the distance was too great, and the light of dawn made it impossible to see a thing.
"They said he'd arrive early in the morning…"
"Quiet down, all of you."
Mary seemed to be right. People had begun murmuring for a different reason, then gradually fell silent when Alfred gestured.
Crunch—crunch—crunch—
While the carriage and its escort drew nearer, the only soft sound under the wind was the crisp bite of salmon bread.
Around the time the basket was nearly empty, the procession halted before Coldon's main gate—directly in front of Alfred.
"They're here."
"So they are."
Creak—
A man presumed to be the king's brother stepped down from the carriage. A deer-skull pauldron, a helm of antlered bone, dark full plate under a fur cloak. Most striking of all was the long hilt of a greatsword that seemed to grow straight out from behind his head.
He's not as huge as I expected.
Compared to Richard Felwinter, Baston, and Sir Giant Churchill—the men Karem had seen so far—his build was much smaller. Ordinary, really.
The man approached, stopped short, glanced around, and locked eyes with Alfred, standing at the very front of the Felwinter family in the middle of the formation.
"Good heavens. Is that supposed to be Brother Alfred?"
"…What did you say?"
The man removed his helm. His gaunt face could not hide his shock, and Alfred's brow furrowed hard.
"How much weight have you lost?!"
"Ianbert!!!"
Alfred suddenly roared. An atmosphere as heavy and cold as an Iceland winter wind settled over them. The escort on the other side reflexively tightened their grips on their weapons.
It was the feeling of walking on thin ice. Only the wind sweeping the snowfields whispered in the silence—until Alfred, who had been scowling as if the world had wronged him, gave a snort of laughter.
"I dropped the weight ages ago. You got the letter, didn't you?"
"Anyone can write words on a page!"
"How long has it been since then? Of course I lost it."
"That Fat Fred could get this thin…"
The mood flipped as abruptly as a coin. Ianbert seized the hand Alfred held out and pulled him straight into an embrace.
Lord Atanitas. His Grace the Duke was fat?
No. First I've ever heard of it.
I've never heard that either.
Silent questions and answers passed between them. It wasn't only the three who were thrown. Everyone young, or who hadn't worked at the castle long, was equally stunned.
By contrast, people like Iona, who had served at Winterhome for years, were nodding.
So he really had been heavy as a boy. It was hard to picture.
Whatever anyone thought, Alfred suddenly threw an arm around Ianbert's shoulder and walked toward Coldon's main gate with his family.
The welcome ended as naturally as it had been abrupt. The people who had been standing since early dawn, and the escort left standing where they were, simply fell in behind Alfred and Ianbert.
"Olivier doesn't seem to be here, though."
"Someone has to hold the Tower. Nothing to be done about it."
Catherine frowned and clicked her tongue, as if the whole thing sat badly with her.
"I should have answered that letter a little later."
"What, so you could dump the Tower Master and advisor posts on Olivier?"
"Then that damned old man would have to handle all the annoying work, wouldn't he?"
Thinking of when the two archmages who had both received scouting offers had arrived, if Olivier had gotten there first, the chief magical advisor would have been him.
"That would put Olivier over his own contractor's head. Are you all right with that?"
"…Good heavens. Even imagining it is horrifying."
Catherine twisted her already furrowed face even further and scrubbed at her ears.