Regarding the Conversation Between the Spineless Girl and Her Blood Kin (2)
My brother took after me, so at least he wasn't ugly. Same blood and all. No one with Vintervalt blood running through their veins could ever be unattractive. Even if they started out plain, nobles only married pretty people, so ugliness meant either no pedigree or some freak genetic lottery win.
But even though we shared the same red hue, his eyes were nothing like mine. If mine were ground-up jewels, his were like swallowed embers. They didn't shine. Dull, ominous red like dying coals. To put it crudely, his eyes were fucked up. There was a hint of hostility in his gaze. Not the face of someone reuniting with long-lost family after ages. I'd figured it'd be a joyful occasion, even if it had been forever. Was I the only one who valued family?
"Do you know what happened to Father? Anything you've heard?"
His voice was raspy, but his tone was firm.
"They say he was tied to a wooden post in the square, surrounded by crowds, and burned alive."
Crunch. The sound of grinding teeth echoed through the underground dungeon. The vibration seemed to ripple along the walls, shaking loose a bit of dust from the ceiling. His jaw muscles bulged, the flesh beneath his cheekbones twitching unevenly before settling.
"...No one told you anything?"
"Yeah. Nothing. Except that you're... here, serving as the princess's maid..."
"Not a maid. More like a knight, in my own way."
I'd first heard it from Ariel's own mouth too. She called it a secret. Didn't realize it was this secret. Who'd have thought it'd be hidden even from my own flesh and blood?
The dungeon's light seeped from the walls, casting shadows over his dim-witted kin's face that made his eye sockets look deeply sunken.
"Never imagined we'd reunite in a place like this, huh?"
"Rebecca."
"Yeah?"
"The princess hasn't done anything to you, has she?"
His tone shifted oddly. At least, it didn't sound like the brother from my memories. It was almost gentle, like how he'd talk to a peer.
"Your speech got weird. Imitating Father or something?"
"...Answer me first."
A sharp retort came back.
"Just a little cut. It's healed by now."
"A cut?"
"We got dragged in as punching bags. What're you questioning?"
He didn't respond. His gaze flicked away slightly.
"Didn't see this coming? Never once thought about what would happen to me or the rest of the family if it failed?"
A hand appeared through the bars. Thick knuckles, veins bulging on the back. His ring and pinky nails had been yanked out and were regrowing slowly, crusted blood around tiny nubs.
After that, words failed us. We just kept opening our mouths like doors swinging ajar, only to shut them silently again.
The light seeping from the dungeon walls was constant. No sunrises or sunsets—just eternal dimness. No sense of time passing. No dripping water, no breeze. Just the iron bars between us.
He sat leaning against the wall, one knee up. I awkwardly gripped the bars with one hand, looking down at him, my other hand feeling empty.
We could hear each other breathing in and out. Was he about to speak, or just breathing? I strained to listen each time, only to drop my gaze to the floor when nothing came.
Flesh and blood—what a joke. Same blood, same house, same name, yet nothing to say.
His wounds caught the light: long gashes on his forearms, shackle marks near his wrists. And a puckered, reddened patch of flesh—burn scars. The one-eyed prick's work? Or someone else?
In the awkward silence, I spoke first. Reunion with kin after so long. I'd come down here glad to see him. Sure, after total failure and ages in this pit, things change... but he didn't match the brother in my memories at all.
"Long time no see, and we've got nothing to say. Pathetic, us."
"You seem to be doing just fine, though."
A hint of mockery, maybe. Or maybe I was hearing what I wanted.
"Doing great, unlike you. I'm loyally serving the princess."
His eyes changed. The dying coals fanned by a breeze, the red deepening slightly.
"Three square meals a day, not much to do. Just stand by her side, chat idly... not even hate it."
"..."
This must be what they mean by eyes like daggers. Not a metaphor—his actually looked sharp.
"Glare much?"
"Not glaring... just strange hearing you say that so casually."
"What."
"Playing lapdog for the bitch who ordered Father burned—the Vintervalt treasure."
"Hah, lapdog. Not wrong."
I laughed.
"Anyway, you're cut loose in the palace now. The coup failed... but that woman won't take the throne, so best to stay far away..."
"That'll be tough."
"..."
"I'm pretty loyal... Rolled off a carriage with her, took arrows for her, swords too... Hard to distance myself now."
"Why the hell would you──!"
"Because you and Father fucked it up──!!!"
I never knew this frail throat could belt out something so loud. How did this vibration come from such a narrow chest? How did all that air escape?
The dungeon amplified it insanely, bouncing off walls, ceiling, floor, my own words shaking my body.
And meeting those calm red eyes looking up at me... all the words I'd bottled up started spilling out, slow like a busted faucet.
"You could've been grateful instead of blaming me on sight. Not that troubled look when you saw my face, not weary... at least start with 'sorry.' Don't swallow your words."
"Right now..."
"I actually hoped seeing you would make things okay. Thought that, y'know."
My grip tightened on the bars. Cold iron.
"Figured if I could visit you sometimes, just confirm you're alive, the palace might be bearable."
"..."
"It's all your fault. Yours for failing. Or no? Father made the call, so his failure?"
"Rebecca. Shut your mouth."
He'd brushed off everything till now, but this got a reaction. His eyes flashed. The coals doused in oil, flaring red—but the bars still between us.
Just bars?
"Why kill the emperor?"
"For the greater good."
"Thought assassinating the emperor and crown prince would achieve that 'greater good'?"
"..."
"What even was this greater good? Answer me."
"None of your business."
"Living in this shithole and talking 'greater good'? What the fuck kind of noble bullshit is that."
My voice cracked—not a scream, worse than one.
"Those starving street rats, the exploited peasants—more important than me, the family honor you always yapped about, us?"
"One more word..."
"Just wanted to try being emperor, right? Empire's a mess, why not me? I'd get that. At least... wouldn't feel this pathetic, brother."
He—no, Oppa stood, hands on the bars, growling low.
"One more word, and I'll question if you even deserve the Vintervalt name."
"Think I can keep or ditch that name like it's a choice?"
His hand on the bars caught my eye. Blood seeped from the nail beds, but no pain showed.
"I'm Vintervalt. That's why I got dragged here, why I'm begging permission to talk to you through these bars in this hole."
His gaze went dead. Dark, sunken red I didn't want to see. His hand slipped down the bars. He slumped back against the wall.
Was I the same?
"Wh-why the hell do I have to live here...?"
Sunken eyes like that?
"Maybe it's this unforgettable face. Everyone knows who I am now. They stare like enchanted, eyes full of hate. Strangers hating me—people I've never met, never even heard of. I feel it without words."
No reply now. Just a face rotting in self-loathing.
Vintervalt this, honor that—maybe that's how he endured down here. But that shit vanished when the house fell.
"Head's a mess, don't even know fear anymore. Few days ago, slashed at assassins attacking Ariel, killed a knight I didn't like."
"..."
"Assassins don't matter... but I'd never killed before... killed a guy just 'cause he pissed me off."
Bars between us. Him slumped against the inner wall. Me collapsed on the outer floor.
"Sorry. Shot my mouth off. I'll come again."
What do you call this? Miserable.