The Pure White Knight (1)
Her master had always laced the girl's cup with poison. He did it to test whether she could tell the taste of wine from the taste of death. Real experience was the only true teacher—that was his philosophy.
And so Lia learned what poison tasted like. She learned that lethal toxins always arrived in a wineglass. Some lessons had to be burned into her by coughing up blood.
The most painful, and the sweetest, form of death one person could offer another.
That was the girl's definition of wine. So when the empty glass filled with deep red wine, she could not stop the wary glint that rose in her eyes.
"What, can't hold your liquor?"
"..."
"Or is this your first time?"
Claus asked the hesitant Lia as if he had known all along. Even if he never meant it that way, the words still landed like a challenge.
"Of course not."
"You don't have to force yourself."
"Shall we toast?"
Drinking wine offered by the White Knight's lover—if her master had seen it, he would have called her insane. Yet there was no better chance to sound out this man's true intentions.
"You've worked hard all this time, Claus."
"Aw, I didn't really do anything."
"You've done a great deal. How much you've contributed to this city—"
"Ah, please stop. I'm not used to compliments."
"..."
"Well then—shall we drink?"
He brushed it off with his usual easy grin and drained the glass without hesitation. The girl, by contrast, tilted hers slowly, as if trying to savor every drop.
Fortunately there was no poison. Yet she had held the wine in her mouth so long that heat rushed through her body. Watching her cheeks flush against her will, Claus let out a quiet snicker.
"You really don't have much experience, do you? First time drinking?"
"Master gave me some a few times. Some of it was quite strong."
"That's rough, that master of yours. Pouring liquor into a kid like you. Not exactly a moral guy, was he?"
"Strictly speaking, no."
"Guess all masters are like that. Did you grow up with him from when you were little?"
Was he prying? The way he slid from one subject to the next was the mark of a practiced deceiver. With that open face and easy tongue, fooling someone would have been effortless.
She had no intention of surrendering the initiative so easily. The girl casually clinked her glass against his and turned the question back on him.
"It's no fun if only one person talks. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"
"Nothing special about me. Born ordinary, lived ordinary—like everyone else. Until I got wrecked by you."
"And that master of yours?"
"Just a cranky old man. I used to think he might've been somebody important, but looking at how he acts now, he's just a blustering old geezer. Come to think of it, it's been ages since I sent a letter... Wow, this wine is really something else."
It was ordinary stock anyone could buy at the Beimesher market. Yet he kept murmuring in delight as he drank, looking for all the world like a simple farmer. Had she not seen him with her own eyes, Lia would have believed the act completely.
But he was the White Knight's hidden lover—a highly trained spy sent to draw her in. She still did not know why he had involved himself with the organization, only that she needed to decide, once and for all, whether he was ally or threat.
"So what is your relationship with that knight, really?"
"I already told you before—that's all there is to it. Nothing special."
"You seemed pretty close for 'nothing special.' You speak so casually to each other."
"That's just how I am. But someone like me? She probably doesn't care."
"Any particular reason?"
"Well, she's a high-and-mighty noble lady, after all."
A tender love. A past that had to stay buried. And the wall of status standing between them. The ingredients were common enough that the story could have belonged to anyone. There was no reason the White Knight should be an exception.
So the past was exactly as she had always imagined. The girl tilted her glass again. Now the only thing that mattered was uncovering his present purpose.
Had he truly come to stand on their side? Or did he still harbor some other design?
"...It's good. Really good."
"You must be a little drunk if you're saying things like that. You almost look like a kid now."
"I'm the same as you. Our people are no different from ordinary citizens."
"Yeah, it does seem that way. Sure, at the core they're thieves—no, people who've made some mistakes—but their natures look kind enough. That Jeff guy today was a lot more timid than I expected."
"They had no choice but to make those mistakes. We weren't born nobles. Same as you."
She let the common ground surface while holding his gaze. Like a wounded animal deliberately baring a soft place, she offered weakness to draw him closer.
"So I want to hear your true feelings. Did you really come to help us?"
"Strictly speaking, I came to help you. No matter how I looked at it, a kid like you hanging around with bad people just felt wrong. But it turned out there were more people who needed help than I thought."
"Does that mean you'll keep helping us?"
"Sure. It's not like I've got anything waiting for me back home anyway."
The answer was so cheerfully positive it was almost harder to trust. An ordinary employer might have been satisfied; the head of an organization was not.
So Lia closed the distance—mentally and physically. The eyes that met hers grew deeper still.
"Why are you so good to me?"
"Huh?"
"I want an honest answer. If I'm with criminals, then in the end I'm one of them too."
"What's with you all of a sudden?"
"Is there a reason you want to be especially kind just to me?"
The girl was confident in her own allure. Her master had once said there was no harm in using it if the chance ever came—and this seemed to be that moment.
Then, from Claus's mouth, an answer she had never expected.
"Hmm... because I like you?"
"What?"
"Or would you rather I disliked you?"
Simple. Unadorned. Offered with a foolish, open grin. His cheeks were flushed with wine, and he smiled so brightly that his already thick eyebrows stood out even more.
For some reason Lia simply stared at that face. Then Claus suddenly flicked her forehead with a finger; she raised her hand by pure reflex.
"Ow."
"Hey, you're drunk. Quit trying to act like a grown-up and go to sleep."
"What?"
"I should head to my room too—wash up and crash. This stuff tastes great, but why does it hit so hard? Maybe because it's been a while?"
While Lia was still reeling from the unfamiliar turn of events, Claus quietly held out his hand. She took it without thinking, and their steps naturally turned toward her room.
"Ugh. Dizzy. Your room's here, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'll just make sure you get into bed, then go. Ugh... not sure I'll even find my own room like this."
Even while muttering nonsense he never let go of her hand. He held it so firmly that the moment he released her, the sudden absence of warmth spread through her like a sharp chill.
Beyond that strange sensation she saw Claus's smile. Even staggering, he did not forget to say goodbye.
"Drink some water before you sleep. Otherwise your head's gonna kill you."
"Okay."
"I'll turn the light off. Good night, Lia."
"You too."
"Ahaha..."
Leaving that dazed laugh behind, he swayed away down the dark corridor. With the afterimage of him still lingering in her sight, Lia quietly turned over the day's harvest of information.
Yet nothing was certain. He might truly have come to help her—or he might not. He might be hiding some purpose—or he might not.
One thing alone she could be sure of. That man possessed ordinariness. The simple, everyday quality that she and the White Knight could never claim, the quality every ordinary person in the world took for granted.
And so she thought she understood why the White Knight had chosen him as her lover.
"..."
A faint thirst rose. When she reached toward the drawer for water, she found the apple she had taken one bite of that morning and left behind.
Ordinarily she would have thrown it away. For some reason Lia picked it up again. The once-bitten fruit still held the same bitter-sweet taste it always had.
The place that, because no other name could be given without the owner's leave, was simply called the North Mountains.
A knight climbed the slopes alone. Her name was Ru Everdeen, though the world knew her only as the White Knight. The footsteps of the knight who had tracked the Black Lady in secret, relying on nothing but her own two legs, stopped for the first time that day.
Not because she had reached her destination. Beimesher still lay roughly a day's march ahead.
"..."
Yet she could not take another step in haste. She knew the tremor she had just felt was no ordinary natural event. Near the North Mountains, nothing could be ignored and simply passed by.
Had the dragon stirred? The thought crossed her mind, only to be discarded. This was not that kind of vibration. It was sharper, and it carried a clear, deliberate intent.
As if someone on the far side of the mountain had intentionally unleashed a sword strike.
"...So that's how it is."
A true master's blade could be felt even with an entire mountain between them. As far as the White Knight knew, only four people in the world—including herself—possessed that level of skill.
But this was not the Black Lady's. Her sword was far keener, far more menacing. The present tremor was powerful, yes, yet it did not quite reach her height.
Had they deliberately held back? Or had they simply lacked a fraction of power? She could not say which. The intent, however, was unmistakable.
The other side knew the knight was coming.
"Quite a bold warning."
Beyond the ridge, traces of blue lightning crackled and leapt. That man's handiwork, no doubt. The only person who would unleash such a strike while fully aware of the White Knight's presence was him.
In that moment she realized how pointless all her careful concealment had been. As expected, the opponent was no easy prey.
"Fitting for the Black Lady's close aide. Sharp instincts, just as I thought."
"..."
"I wonder if I even need the disguise anymore."
Smiling bitterly, the White Knight suddenly removed her helmet. The long hair hidden within spilled free and cascaded down past her shoulders.
"Haa..."
The knight—no, she—drew a slender breath and savored the sunlight after so long. Light that had clung to her long lashes slid downward, painting her sweat-damp hair a bright golden yellow.
What dazzling freedom. She gave quiet thanks for the man's sword strike that had allowed her to cast off empty formality. And she gave thanks for the decisive battle of that day, which had made this moment possible.
Of course gratitude could never become the foundation of mercy. Those who refused the kingdom's summons would, in the end, answer the call.
"...Black Lady."
She spoke the name of her long-time enemy aloud. Yet for some reason, the prospect of reunion with the man who had stood at the Black Lady's side filled her with far greater anticipation.