Randolph Serdia (2)
"Even fried, corn stays yellow, doesn't it?"
When Blow answered, Randolph tilted his head and turned the question back on him.
"Does it?"
"Yes. When we make corn cheese, we bake it at a heat every bit as fierce as frying, and all that happens is the surface turns brown."
"Ah. There's reason in that."
"Have you tasted it yourself, Your Highness?"
"Mm. The chef I brought with me fries corn for me now and then."
"......"
"And then it turns white as a cotton boll. Curious, isn't it?"
"Oh! Is that really true, Your Highness?"
"It is. Of course, you have to use a different variety of corn."
Blow, who had been doubting every word, felt his heart drop.
...What the hell is this bastard?
White as a cotton boll. Wasn't that popcorn, plain as day? Nowhere in his memory had he ever eaten popcorn, or even seen anything like it. And Oolred—the name the prince had praised a little earlier for being so well chosen—was itself a parody of a word from the most famous cartoon.
...Don't tell me this prince has been to that other world. Or that he's a reincarnator.
Thrown into confusion, Blow fought to stay calm and turned back over everything he and the prince had just said.
...No. I might simply be too sensitive. If the prince were a reincarnator, it would be strange for him to have sat still all this time. I've come this far on knowledge that isn't even special, and a man in a prince's seat has been content to watch? Corn exists here too. Somewhere I don't know of, people might already be making popcorn—the recipe isn't difficult.
He tried to reason it out. His mind stayed thoroughly unsettled.
His throat gone bone-dry, Blow took another swallow of coffee, and Yulia tapped his thigh with the tip of one finger. In that instant he realized he had lost the thread of the conversation. He let out a breath and shifted his gaze back to the prince, who had been talking without pause.
"—which is why I say the whole continent has been unsettled of late."
"I see."
"Yes. As you know yourself, Yulia, the elves seem to be stirring more aggressively as well."
"I used to think there might be no war in my time."
"If anything, that would be the strange part. The continent is far too vast for it, wouldn't you say? You think so too, don't you, Blow?"
"With His Majesty ruling so wisely, I find I can't say."
"Polite past all belief. Blow Deblique."
The prince broke into a loose laugh, and Blow barely managed a smile to match it. Every nerve in him was bent on sliding through this talk without catching on anything. He could hardly look Prince Randolph in the face, here and now, and ask whether he was a reincarnator. Better to finish the meal however he could, then speak with Jane—the one person who already knew his whole situation.
...In the end, it's Jane I go looking for at times like this. Should I have told her to stay from the start?
"And so I often think this peace might shatter all at once. Lady Yulia."
"Even imagining it is frightening, Your Highness."
"It's only that I worry too much. Which is why I consider the ones sitting here—and a girl like Herbena—important now."
"Us, and Herbena?"
"Yes. This is the age of a changing of the guard, isn't it? Rachel, in fact, looks as if she's found her footing completely."
"It does seem so."
"Quite. And Herbena, now that I think of it—how is she? The sting of defeat must be considerable."
With that, Randolph's gaze moved to Blow. Blow cleared his throat and answered at once.
"She looked better than I'd expected. Once the third exam is over, I mean to talk with her again."
"Better than you'd expected."
"Yes. That's how it seemed to me."
"Then it really is fortunate. From Herbena's side, that was her first defeat, wasn't it? As far as I know."
"It was."
"Look after her well. I know perfectly well how difficult that is."
"I'll do everything I can."
"Good. Do everything you can, so this peace doesn't break."
"Wanting this peace unbroken—I'm the same."
"Are you certain?"
The question came in hard and sudden once more. Blow fought to keep his face still and nodded.
"Yes."
"I hope so."
Again, Randolph's words left an aftertaste. Was he speaking without much thought—or was he all but saying that he himself meant to break that peace?
He exchanged a few words with an attendant, then smiled at Blow.
"Blow Deblique?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"What would you say to seeing each other once more, in winter? The food left quite an impression."
"It would be an honor. When I go to the Imperial Capital this winter, I'll be sure to call on you."
"Good. Next time I'll be the one to host. I've eaten far too well."
"You mean something like that dish of fried corn?"
"Just so. That one, I insist on serving you myself."
...Avoiding him isn't the answer, anyway. I'll have to meet him, and meet him again, until I learn what this Randolph is hiding.
A few more words passed between them. Randolph looked them over, then slowly rose from his seat.
"Until next time. Blow Deblique."
"Until next time."
Smiling, Randolph drew his attendants after him and stepped out of Hills. Unlike every meeting until now, what lingered was not a clean relief but a sour unease. Blow waited until the prince had climbed into his carriage, then let out a deep sigh and had no choice but to turn back into Hills.
After Randolph was gone, Hills was deep in the work of being put back in order, and Blow and Yulia had sat down to talk over the meal just past.
"Young master, His Highness was difficult today, wasn't he?"
"He was. It wasn't easy."
"I was worried you'd lost your concentration partway through. You came back quickly, though."
Yulia forced a smile, watching his face. Sorry to have made her fret, Blow spoke with care.
"You were worried, Senior."
"A little..."
"I'm sorry, my lady. For causing you concern."
"It's nothing else. You've always had such ease about you, and today you didn't. It surprised me a little."
"I'm sorry you had to see me like that."
"Young master. Young master—wait."
A trace of fear on her face, Yulia leaned toward him and laid a trembling hand against his forehead.
"Something's wrong, isn't it? Right now you... you don't look all right."
Today he had found someone who might have come from another world—still only a possibility, but a possibility all the same. And that someone was Prince Randolph, a man he could neither treat lightly nor read at all. For the moment, none of it could be fine.
"I'm sorry for worrying you, Senior."
At those words Yulia's shoulders sank, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Young master, whenever something happens, I always tell you. I lean on you a great deal, in truth. But it seems you can't do the same with me, and my heart just hurts so much."
"......"
"I received a kindness from you this time that I can never repay, so if you have a worry, I believe I ought to lighten it. And—this is a little embarrassing to say—I think I have at least that much ability. So rather than apologizing, I wish you'd tell me what's caught at your heart. Let's solve it together. All right?"
She pleaded with him, flushed to the ears. Blow turned her words over, weighing a decision that could change his future from the roots.
...Wouldn't it be right to tell Senior? About what I went through in that other world? If she accepts it and understands, she would be an enormous support. But once she's heard me, she might be disappointed instead. She'll learn that everything I'm doing now was brought from somewhere else.
What met his eyes was Yulia's gaze, taut and anxious, as if the tears might spill at any moment. He swallowed a sigh and went on thinking.
...She's come in deep. Whatever anyone says now, we've become people who change each other. Still, there's the time we've spent together. I'll trust that, once.
Having settled it inwardly, Blow opened his mouth with care.
"Senior."
"Yes, young master..."
"Do you trust me?"
Yulia smiled brighter than he had ever seen and nodded with force.
"I trust you more than anyone in the world."
"Then give me ten minutes."
"What?"
"Just ten minutes. I need time to put my thoughts in order. I'll speak with Jane briefly and come back."
"Can't you tell me now? I can listen. I really can..."
"In a little while, when you've heard what I have to say, you'll understand me as I am right now."
Seeing Blow grow clear-eyed again, Yulia felt relief—and, along with it, a pang of regret.
I could listen just as well as Jane. Does Jane even take his anxiety away? But before any of that, he asked me whether I trusted him. Then the only thing I can do now is trust him once more. And it's only ten minutes. Not a day, not a week, not a year. Just ten minutes.
Yulia drew a deep breath and nodded.
"I'll wait, young master."
Before leaving Hills, Blow sent Melo and Hans upstairs as well, then stepped into Red Forest. When he opened the door, Jane—who had been waiting as if her life depended on it—searched his face. Reading the haste there, and a little unease, she spoke carefully.
"My lord, what...?"
"I think we need to talk, Jane. Let's go up to the second floor for a moment."
"Did something bad happen?"
"Second floor. Linne, mind the shop."
"Yes, boss!"
The two of them climbed upstairs. To Jane, tense and swallowing against a dry throat, Blow explained piece by piece what had happened to him that day. Her mouth had fallen open in surprise as she listened; by the time he finished, she was pressing her fingers to her temple and letting out a long breath.
"His Highness's words really do have a way of pricking, don't they."
"The more I think about it, the less it sits right."
"What you want now is to tell Senior Yulia your secret, isn't it?"
"I feel as if I have to, now."
Jane thought for a moment, then nodded without hesitation.
"From where I stand, too, it's better if you tell Senior Yulia."
"You think that's right as well?"
"Yes. As you know, she's come in far too deep—through the business and otherwise."
"You thought so too."
"And Senior Yulia makes decisions in the business the way you do. Hiding a matter this large seems even less reasonable."
"......"
"Her knowing would be good for Hills and Red Forest. That's what I think."
"If even you think so."
"Honestly, I thought it was something you didn't need to ask me. Rather than making Senior Yulia wait..."
"Even so, I wanted to talk to you first."
"Well, I was the only one who knew your secret. I was a little disap—"
Jane startled and cut the word off in a rush. What had nearly come out was nothing other than regret.
...Why was I about to say something strange? He's already so shaken. If I'm his confidant, I should say what a confidant ought to say. So why did that word try to leave my mouth? Don't tell me I liked it—the fact that I alone knew his secret?
The thought carried her that far, and she bit her lower lip before she knew it. Blow, who had been waiting for her to go on, stepped carefully closer.
"Jane?"
"It's nothing! I just think it'll be better once Senior Yulia knows! She's far wiser and smarter than I am, so..."
She forced a smile as she said it. For some reason, hearing her, Blow's face hardened, if only a little.
"Jane. What are you saying?"
"Just that Senior Yulia is better than me. In every way......"
"Jane."
"Yes?"
"To me, you are you. I'd like you not to forget that."
At a tone more serious than she had ever heard from him, Jane's eyes went wide, blank with astonishment. He smiled at her, soft, and added:
"Come with me, Jane."
"My lord."
"Help me from my side. The way you always have."
"Yes. I will."
With that answer Jane stilled her pounding heart as best she could, and the two of them stepped into Hills. Marchen, who had remained inside until then, offered Yulia a greeting and headed for the carriage.
The ten minutes he had been gone had felt like ten hours. The moment he sat down in front of her, Yulia's tears fell.
"Thank you. Truly, for coming back."
"What?"
"I thought—I thought you might not come. That you'd leave me like this and just go..."
"That would never happen, my lady."
"I just. I was just worried."
She said it, then dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. Looking at her, and at Jane's awkward smile, something came back to Blow. He brought a bottle of wine and poured a glass before each of them.
"Young master..."
"You remember, don't you? At the monastery, before."
"Yes."
"The three of us drank like this then, too."
"We did. I was going to teach you about wine."
"That's right. We were. Strange, though—then and now, whenever the three of us gather, it turns into my story."
"....."
"Shall we have a glass first?"
The clear chime of three glasses meeting rang through the hush of Hills. When the sound had fully died away, Blow, gone still, looked at Yulia and spoke.
"Senior. From this moment, everything I tell you is the truth."
"Yes. I'll listen. I'll listen with everything I have."
Yulia's hands were clenched tight. Seeing them, Blow steadied his breath, and at last he opened his mouth.