11. Princess Irene
I met Irene again—not as the Hero Tati, but as Tatiana.
It had been a long time. Irene's face was pinched in a scowl, and the reunion was plainly not a welcome one.
"Princess Irene. It is an honor to meet you."
I offered it as properly as I knew how: the sort of greeting a commoner Hero had been drilled in, so he might scrape together at least a little of the courtesy owed to nobility. The bow I gave her was an awkward, fumbling thing.
"No one who meets me ever uses the word honor. For the distinguished young lady of House von Clyde to say so, the honor is mine."
"I'm grateful you see it that way."
"Let us set the preamble aside. Your note said you would help me succeed to the throne."
"Yes."
I wanted the empty courtesies of a noble lady swept out of the way just as badly. Fortunate, then, that the princess was of the same mind. If she meant to clear the tedious etiquette herself, so much the better.
I sat on the sofa without ceremony and met her eyes straight on. Her brow twitched, then smoothed almost at once.
"Specifically, in what manner?"
"Exactly as it sounds."
"Then it is nothing but a promise made of words, is it not? There ought to be some proof that the North will stand behind me."
Ah. She had a point. What did I actually have to offer? What was there to promise?
"Isn't it enough that I'll be at your side?"
"Pardon?"
"People of a kind always move in a pack. Isn't that how it goes?"
"We are not gutter rabble. This is the imperial house."
"Trace my roots to the North and I'm a barbarian. You, Princess Irene, are a commoner's daughter. Must we really fuss over that?"
Act the proper noble, and those people would only find us more laughable. Better to simply be what we were. A young lady ought to live as a young lady—so they say. In the end, though, even a war of words doesn't agree with my temper.
"You are remarkably frank. And what does the young lady gain from this? Revenge on my brother, perhaps?"
Oh. So that was where her mind went. I could hardly announce outright that I wanted to bury the name of a woman whose engagement had been broken, and calling it revenge would only sound pathetic.
"Revenge? No. Enjoyment, I'd say."
"Enjoyment?"
"Think about it. A princess born a commoner, propped up by a noble little better than a barbarian, climbs high and drives the aristocrats of Felione to despair."
They would scramble to line up behind her, too late. They would swear loyalty to the very person they had despised, because by then she would hold real legitimacy.
"To say that to my face. You truly are something."
"A princess with commoner's blood becoming emperor—that would be an achievement in its own right, wouldn't it?"
The princess's face twisted into something strange, an expression I couldn't read as offended or otherwise. Then she stared straight at me, as if she meant to dig out my real intention.
"You really are an odd one. Have you always been like this?"
"What does it matter, either way?"
What mattered was whether we took each other's hand.
"It can hardly be so simple a preference."
"I want to see those nobles' faces twist. That's all."
That, at least, would kill the rumors about me at Felione. I had decided to think of nothing else: securing my footing here, and beyond that, bringing the nobility to their knees.
That bastard Carn doesn't sit right with me. But the wretch is the Hero now—a half-wit, and a lacking one. Throughout human history, whenever an inadequate Hero appeared, humanity's domain was driven back, and whenever a slightly better one came along, we pushed forward again. Retreat and advance, over and over. That dependence on a Hero has to be broken. That is the work I have to do as a young lady of this house. And if the chance ever comes to take down the Demon King, I will have to take that too.
"To say all that with such a blank face. Very well. As it happens, word has already come from the imperial capital about this succession contest."
"Has it?"
Good. Taking a shot at it wouldn't be the worst idea.
"I had meant to give up. It seems I shall have to enter after all."
"And the format of the contest?"
This body was born to a life in a kingdom's gutter. Whatever the contest, I can meet it.
"Nothing is certain, but it may be tied to this matter of the Holy Sword changing hands."
"Find the Hero who vanished?"
"In a succession contest, the tasks assigned all differ. The one certainty is that it will unfold here, at Felione Academy."
Hard to say what that meant. So even the emperor does not hand the throne to just anyone. And if it happens at Felione, then the nobles and connections one cultivates will matter for the succession as well.
"For reference, the last contest?"
"Nearly half a century ago, I believe. Quite a number of princes and princesses entered then, and as I recall, it concerned the nobility."
"Meaning we still don't know."
And if, on top of that, the emperor set a task around this business with the Hero?
"Which is why you must have an audience with His Imperial Majesty alongside me."
"Fine."
"And you claim you are only in it for the enjoyment?"
No need to lay my weaknesses bare before this princess. Let her think I merely wanted to watch the old powers collapse. That was all she needed to be told.
She had been staring at me for some time, though. Wondering whether there was another reason, I met Irene's gaze head-on.
"Why have you been looking at me like that?"
"Have you heard the rumor, by any chance?"
After watching me a long while, the princess seemed to take my measure, then spoke with some difficulty.
"What?"
What rumor?
"You. That is—Tatiana von Clyde. Word at Felione is that you are the lunatic who drew steel and started a fight."
Was that a good thing? Better, perhaps, than the jilted young lady. Even so—lunatic. The nobles certainly loved having that word in their mouths. Odds were it was a nickname that had spread from the commoners.
Lunatic. Lunatic. Amusing.
That version was better, honestly. I had no wish to look like a jilted lady straining behind the scenes to make trouble for her former fiancé. Felione's Lunatic. Was that what I would be called?
"Not bad, really. Lunatic. Lunatic. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
"The you of before would have sworn to catch the culprit on the spot."
That was then. Try to catch that culprit now, and I might only get pinned as the jilted lady instead. And yet I was perfectly at ease. If anything, an infamy like that was satisfying.
"Infamy beats anonymity."
Right before they could gleefully tear into me as the young lady whose engagement had been broken, they went with lunatic. Nothing wrong with that.
It startled me how close it sat to my old nickname. Back when I was the Hero, I had once threatened the kingdom's nobles into granting me concessions. They called me the mad Hero then.
In any case, I would walk a different path from the Tatiana who came before. If the old Tatiana had tried harder than anyone to become a proper noble—if she had strained to be recognized by the aristocracy as a true grand ducal house—then I would throw all of that away and put the family's real power to use. This much, at least, I had to do. As the Hero Tati, the restrictions bound to the Holy Sword had kept me from a great many things.
"Understood. Come with me when I go to the imperial capital. I will send word separately."
"Yes. Come to think of it, which courses is Your Highness taking?"
If we could sit a few of them together, so much the better.
"General studies, for the moment."
"I haven't seen you there."
Not while I was looking, at any rate.
"Ah. I was gathering information on the Hero. The former Hero, Tati, and I wrote to each other often."
"Aha. I see."
We had. Imperial blood doesn't come along often, and I had thought it wise to keep in touch. Then I learned she was a half-formed royal with not a single foundation under her, and I had been puzzling over how to cut the tie. And now she was someone I actually needed. How ironic. Was flaunting a connection to the Hero some kind of achievement? Pitiful, really.
"And magic. Hmm. Swordsmanship, and theology."
"Quite the assortment of things that don't suit you."
They truly didn't. On looks alone, perhaps they did. But swordsmanship and theology were departments one entered with at least some interest or aptitude, weren't they? A woman who looked as if she would struggle to swing a single sword, taking up the blade? Fine—then study something related, at least. And theology, of all things, poring over doctrine that didn't suit her in the slightest?
"No—really. Must you? Is there no way this stops?"
The princess flushed and snapped.
"What?"
What, exactly, wasn't working?
"Saying that outright, with the person herself standing right in front of you—"
"Consider it. Would you rather I go back with my aide Laura and gossip—oh, that princess is taking courses that don't even suit her—or say it to your face, like this?"
Saying it to her face was better. At least, that was what I thought. Muttering behind someone's back wasn't my style.
"Yes. To my face. To my face, of course. To my face—but there is such a thing as the bare minimum of courtesy between people. No, before that, why are you even thinking of talking about me behind my back?"
"Ah. By my measure, it isn't gossip. I only worried you might take it that way."
"Kind in the strangest, most useless ways. Enough. Though, well."
The princess broke off and scowled. She stared at me, then heaved a sigh heavy enough to cave the ground in.
"No. Saying it to my face is certainly better than saying it behind my back. I'll grant that."
"Good. Then you're not entering archery?"
"That one's a bother. Swordsmanship is already enough. Add the bow, and my shoulders give out."
So the sword was as far as it went—just enough, probably, to guard her own person. She wouldn't choose to fight monsters herself. Precious blood, after all, and a woman besides, so she would mind her looks and think of what happened if some accident left a scar. Not that I particularly cared. That was simply how I saw it.
"And with a mind like that, you reach for the emperor's seat."
"You have no intention of helping me, do you?"
Courses hardly mattered, in truth. Still, when someone was that desperate, didn't they usually at least try putting their name in here and there?
"No. Even if you hate it, I'll help you by force. Force-feeding people who claim they're hungry happens to be a hobby of mine."
I would feed her until she wasn't hungry the next time. The princess was no different. She had said she wanted to be emperor, so I would make an emperor of her, and thoroughly.
"You really are—"
"Let's speak plainly. There are plenty of pointlessly incompetent kings, aren't there? I don't care if the princess becomes one of them."
The way her face crumpled suggested a great many complaints. Why so many? Wasn't a person meant to speak honestly? I wasn't the type to simper and flatter.
"So you mean for us to attend together from now on."
"Yes. I'll train you."
"In what?"
"Swordsmanship."
I spread both arms like a peddler who turns up often to hawk cure-alls, and made what I considered a tempting offer. Holy Sword arts aside, I could still teach her enough to keep herself alive. Do that, and this incompetent princess might at least earn the name of an incompetent princess who knew how to protect her own body.
"You know how to handle a sword?"
"A sword, and a little magic."
As for magic, it was truly nothing but the basics. I fought trusting the sword alone.
"Unexpected."
"House von Clyde learns everything there is to learn."
"Even so. The idea that you learned it."
What rumors had the old Tatiana picked up, to be treated like some uneducated bitch? All the better. Those who knew nothing of me would come, little by little, to know the new Tatiana, and the ones who had looked down on her as nothing but a rabbit would be taken all the more easily.
"The two of you. The conversation is all very well, but."
"What is it, Laura?"
"Er. Might you leave off abusing your authority and go attend your lecture?"
Was it class time already?
"Ah. Well. I suppose I should."
Somehow, I still had no sense of reality.