What Cannot Be Undone - 5
Revenge — what I wanted was something sordid, an emotion that stuck to the skin and festered.
It was not merely what I had felt across the endless cycles of regression; the feelings I held toward Yuria could never, by their nature, have been clean.
Why they had twisted, I could not say.
Yuria's heart had been warped from the day she was born. The world she saw had never been anything but colorless — she drew no distinction between the blood a man spilled and the blood an animal spilled, and so long as she believed herself in the right, whatever sacrifice lay in her path, she simply pushed forward through it.
I remembered, once, feeling a chill at the sight of her expressionless face — even on the day our mother died.
To nurse resentment toward such a woman would have been a fool's errand. Appeal as one might to a woman who never counted her own deeds as sin, it would amount to screaming at a wall where no one stood.
Yuria Taylor was, to me, an obstacle. An awkward, lingering adversary I would inevitably have to collide with one day.
How was I to break her? By what means should I clear her away — so thoroughly ruined she could never pick herself up again, left to stay crouched and broken forever?
The method that occurred to me was a rather simple one. Not so simple that it could be dismissed as such — after all, it was one of the things that had once been done to me.
Just as the name Yuria Taylor had been a nightmare to me... why not make the name Robert Taylor feel like a nightmare to her?
Tap. Tap.
I drummed my fingers against the armrest of the chair, lost in thought. As my plans took shape, my chest lightened with something like relief — a strange emotion indeed, for a man anticipating another person's ruin.
The hoofbeats slowed, and I soon realized we had arrived at the ducal residence. It was nearing midnight; Yuria must have returned ahead of me — her carriage already stood in the yard, and the lamplight kindled within the house had to be hers.
Worried I might run into her at the entrance as I had last time, I slipped inside with some care, only to be greeted by an empty foyer.
"You've returned, Young Master."
"Did the Young Matriarch have anything to say about me?"
I asked in case she might have remarked on my behavior, and Renald shook his head. "She came in a short while ago, but she said nothing in particular. Has something happened, Young Master?"
"...No. If there's nothing, that's all that matters."
As far as Yuria was concerned, so much as mentioning the Princess would have been a losing move. Young Matriarch of Taylor or not, with Father tacitly condoning my conduct, she would have found it difficult to take issue with the imperial family or with me.
Renald asked whether I would be returning to my room; I shook my head. It was better to cross paths with Yuria now, while her thoughts of me were still tangled. If she faced me in a state of confusion, rational judgment would slip that much further from her grasp.
When I said I would pay my respects to the Young Matriarch, Renald hesitated a moment, then nodded and started ahead of me. She did not seem to be in her chambers — he was headed for the dining hall, and there I soon found Yuria, drinking tea alone.
"You've looked rather out of sorts for some time now. Are you quite all right?"
"I'm fine. Nothing to be un-fine about."
She moved to head off, then paused and spoke again. "Things may grow noisy around here. See to it that they don't."
"As you command, Young Matriarch."
Even if he couldn't raise a warding barrier, sealing the mouths of servants who had overheard something they shouldn't have would be within his power. Renald vanished, and I stepped back inside.
The door burst open with a bang, and Yuria lifted her head. A small smile touched her lips at the sight of me, and then she spoke, quiet and silky. "I hear you spent the whole day at her side. Off catching a breath of fresh air, were we?"
"She isn't to my taste, that's all. Don't tell me you're jeal— ...oh dear."
Crash.
I watched, calm, as the teacup that had flown past shattered at my side; then I raised my eyes to Yuria. The smile that had graced her face was gone without a trace, leaving nothing but cold, bleak eyes. Not a single lamp burned on the table, and the guttering candle had been snuffed out, leaving a darkness in which we could barely make out each other's gaze.
Having thrown the cup at me, Yuria carried on as if nothing had happened, glancing at the fallen shards — apparently rather put out that it hadn't struck true.
"I never told you to dodge."
"You never told me to stand there and take it, either."
"You've grown terribly bold of late. Something must be propping you up. Robert Taylor."
"Something propping me up."
I gave a shrug and put on an airy smile. For now it was Mirazen and Mirazen alone, but I intended to build more. Besides — Father had tacitly approved of this business, hadn't he? All Yuria could do to me was throw a tantrum. She could hurl teacups a hundred times over; nothing would change.
"You saw it earlier, didn't you? The thing backing me."
"The Princess taking your side changes nothing that matters. A scrap of support, bought on the condition of opposing this one subjugation — I can't imagine how long you expect that to last."
"About a year, I'd say."
"And what could you possibly do with a year? One measly year, and you think you can tear down the standing I've spent my life building as Young Matriarch?"
"Yes. That is exactly what I think."
Yuria's brow knotted at once. A year from now — that would be around next winter. By then, the matter of the treason charge would be beginning to stir, which meant House Taylor had to rest in my hands. That was why I meant to move this winter. Everything had to be finished before next autumn came.
Perhaps because there was no longer a cup to seize, Yuria's hand trembled in empty air. Breath hissed out between gnashed teeth; eyes that looked ready to devour me fixed on mine. And yet the one who remained composed, as ever, was I.
I picked up a shard of the shattered teacup from the floor, and then I spoke. "You told me once, remember. That there are things that cannot be undone."
It had been a remark about trust, but the words meant something different now. A shattered cup never comes back. She had thrown it away with her own hands; glue it back together as one might, it would never again be the cup it had been. Wasn't her fate much the same as this cup's? It had not yet been thrown — but by this time next year it would surely lie in pieces.
That was why this was a warning. So that she might carry at least a flicker of vigilance — so that she would guard against me, fear me. So that, spying on my every move, she would bind herself, of her own accord, to each motion I made.
"I intend to be away for a long stretch this winter. I must prepare myself, in my own way, to become the Family Head — mustn't I?"
"...Ha."
"The North, and the South. In the North, I'll be working with Adele Egret. In the South, with Saintess Adrian."
Yuria, who had laughed as if the whole thing were absurd, went rigid, her face draining cold. Her fixed stare — probing, I thought, whether my words were empty boasts — soon began to narrow.
"You'd best not let those words leave your mouth, even in jest."
"Who can say? You'll learn soon enough whether it's a joke. You do keep me under watch at all hours, don't you?"
"Watch you? What utter nonsense. Have you come down with paranoia?"
"Paranoia, is it."
I toyed with the shard in my hand a moment, then hurled it toward the hanging curtain. With a short whish it cleaved the air — and thudded into something. Not the sound of striking stone. The sound of burying itself in something soft. I gazed quietly in that direction, and presently a maid who had been hiding herself came stumbling into view.
"Y-Young Matriarch..."
Clutching the shard embedded in her arm, the maid spoke. It was a face I knew well. She was the one who always brought me tea and sweets in Renald's absence — I had known from the very start that she was watching me. So I had simply taken care whenever I went out: I made a point of passing through crowded places, and did my best to shake any tail that picked me up. Which was why she could not have known I had gone to the Moon Tower. Had any of them truly seen, they would never have doubted that the Saintess and I were close.
Watching the maid show herself, I resumed. "I turned a blind eye to the shadows trailing my side all this time — for your sake, Young Matriarch. Isn't it embarrassing, being caught like this? You hold me in such contempt, and yet you spy on me like this."
Yuria gave no answer at all. She only stared at me coldly, listening in silence to whatever I chose to say. But the emotion she harbored was likely closer to humiliation. She had never once imagined I had grasped any of this, so it must have rattled her, if only a little.
I crossed the distance to where she stood, wordless. Stride by stride, far closer than when she had thrown the teacup — close enough now that our faces lay fully bare to one another. With practiced fingers I relit the candle, set the shard of the broken cup down before her, and opened my mouth. Smiling gently, almost in a whisper.
"...Could it be that you're afraid of me?"
"Robert Taylor!"
Yuria shot up from her seat and seized me by the collar — but that was the extent of it. Her wrist quivered, lending no strength to her grip; I gave it a light tap or two, and her fingers soon went slack and fell away. I brushed her hand off, straightened my collar, and went on. "If the answer was no, you had only to say no. There was no need to come at me so violently."
"...I have never once feared you. I always found you pathetic. I merely despised you — you who leaned on Mother, who could never do a single thing on your own."
Perhaps out of sheer exasperation, Yuria gave a short laugh and glared at me with venom. "Become the Family Head, is it? Go ahead, then — by all means. Whether you go north and win the Archduke's backing, or south and win the Saintess's, nothing will change."
"Is that so."
"I am Yuria Taylor. The Young Matriarch of Taylor — the one who set her sights on leading this family back when you couldn't even string a sentence together. You will accomplish nothing. Robert."
Watching her hold my gaze, a strange feeling rose in me. Looking at Yuria Taylor no longer stirred anything at all — only a hollowness, as when I looked upon a stranger. Yes. Just as when I looked at Theresia.
There had been fear, once. When this cycle was young, I had tried to numb myself to Yuria; afterward, for a time, I had nursed hatred. But now — nothing. I had grown certain: a woman who, unable to stomach her own rage and confusion, had let go of her reason would never again be a match for me.
"Then I suppose we'll know once the winter has passed. Whether I am fit to be Family Head — or not."
"You... will never be. Robert."
"No. I will."
Adele's backing. The Church's backing. And with the imperial family's besides, I would make Taylor mine. In the process I would raise my own faction and prepare for what came after — and I intended, as well, to reclaim my own realm of the sword to a certain height. When winter passed and the deep cold melted away — when spring came, leaving only warmth behind — would I still be calling Yuria 'Young Matriarch' then?
I gave a soft chuckle at Yuria's clenched teeth, drew back a pace, and inclined my head with scrupulous courtesy. It was a bow that observed every rule of etiquette — something I had never once given her. Yuria could only stare.
"Back then, you asked me whether I was confident."
It must have been before we went to the palace — a remark meant to provoke her, most likely. I looked at her, half surprised she still remembered, and Yuria drew a dagger and cut it across her own palm. Pressing hard on the blood-dripping hand, glaring at me, her lips parted again.
"...I will become the Family Head. Without fail. And I will make you take responsibility for what you said — as you rightfully should."
Responsibility. I knew full well what that word meant. How many deaths had I died, tangled up in that very thing? But I was not afraid. It had been long since I resolved that I alone would decide where this life ended, and I had not lived carelessly enough to die at Yuria's hands. So there was no need to harbor fear at all.
"I see."
But her wish would never reach its end. Because I had resolved to claim the Family Headship, Yuria — who had lived but once — could never defeat a Robert who had lived a hundred. That was simply how the story was written. In this play called fate, its script, its scenario, and its ending all fixed in advance, there was only one destiny left for her to meet.
Tragedy. I murmured the word under my breath, letting it settle. As if there were nothing more to be said, my expression remained utterly calm.
"Then by all means, try. By the next time we meet, the answer should be more or less plain."
I turned my back and walked straight out of the dining hall — and behind me, something shattered with a strident crash. For a long while it went on, as if she were smashing everything in the room, and then it stopped. In its place, only the howl of a woman screaming, mad with rage, was left ringing in the dark.