Shattered Rose
The glass rose shattered with a sharp crack.
The man clutched the delicate object in his fist as though he were wringing his own heart. There was no reason to hesitate over something he had no desire to give and no one he wished to receive it from.
The spectators gasped and pressed themselves back against their seats. Even the Pig Princess and Abigail let out sharp little screams. The exquisite glasswork that had been so beautiful only moments ago was crushed to glittering dust and meaningless shards within the man’s grip, scattering into the air like powder.
His gaze lingered on the wreckage for a long time before he turned away. He kicked his horse’s flanks once more and rode toward the platform where the prizes for the mounted tournament had been displayed.
“How much?”
A man stood guard over a heavy pouch of prize money on a dais nearly level with the VIP seats. The Duke of Farrow addressed him directly.
“F-five hundred henis, Your Grace.”
“Only that much? The princess is rather stingy.”
With that irreverent remark, the man snatched up the silver coin pouch. It was respectably heavy, yet still far from satisfying.
“Hey, Cairone.”
The duke singled out Caironeia from among the Iron Horse Knights who had come out to greet him and issued a curt command.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Catch.”
He tossed the pouch as casually as if he were handing his coat to a butler, but Caironeia, unprepared for its weight, let it thud heavily to the ground.
At first the other knights stared with envy and jealousy, assuming the duke had awarded the tournament prize to their comrade. But the next words that followed made them all shrug with knowing looks and disperse.
“Scatter it.”
“Pardon?”
“Who the hell wants that measly sum stuck up their nose?”
The man ordered the money to be thrown to the crowd. Since they had sat through this tedious spectacle to the end, they deserved some form of compensation.
And so, that day in front of Salt Castle, silver coins rained down instead of confetti. The sudden shower of money caused the crowd to lose all restraint and riot. The ones left sweating to suppress the greedy uproar were the Pig Princess and the Lord of Salt.
Tichite Ranlam returned home fingering the silver coins in her pocket. Though she had been stepped on a few times while scrambling to pick them up, it was still an unexpected windfall.
It felt a little dirty to think this money was blood money paid for the life of a Guarding Knight who had been sacrificed as mere entertainment. Still, two silver coins meant she wouldn’t have to worry about food for at least a month. If she was frugal, she might stretch it to two. Provided, of course, that her foolish older brother didn’t go out and cause another disaster.
To ordinary commoners, a heni was a great deal of money. Thanks to the silver the Duke of Farrow had scattered, people quickly forgot their grief over Zylas. Sera was no exception, and neither was Tichite.
Was the duke trying to atone for the death in whatever way he could?
When Tichite asked with a thoughtful expression, Sera merely shrugged.
“It happened during the day, didn’t it? He’ll probably call a high priest tonight and offer prayers of repentance or something. It is a shame, though. Such a handsome man, gone so early to the Moon Mother’s side.”
Her logic was that a young, beautiful man retained value even in death. This was precisely the kind of faith Tichite found hardest to get used to in Bigland. Followers of the Sunset Religion believed in an afterlife after death. They also believed that sins committed during the day could be cleanly forgiven if one repented while looking at the moon. Perhaps that was why the people of Bigland had no qualms about doing shameful things while the sun was still up—getting drunk and starting fights, engaging in intercourse, or openly displaying desires that took precedence over morality.
“Want to go to a tavern before sunset?”
Sera asked, clearly excited. Normally Tichite would have hesitated, thinking she couldn’t afford to waste money on such a place. But today, for some reason, she felt like joining her friend. Perhaps it was because a sudden fortune had made her heart feel generous.
“Yes, let’s.”
Tichite nodded.
She decided to forget about her stupid older brother, who might or might not be waiting for her at home, and all her petty worries. Just for today, she would let herself drown in the festival’s excitement.
The two of them went to the Pearl Shell Tavern. The place was already packed with customers eager to enjoy themselves before the round sun dipped below the horizon. There were many unfamiliar faces—mostly travelers who had chosen the tavern for a meal and a bed.
“That Guarding Knight, you know? He deliberately raised the tip of his lance and stabbed the horse right in the neck.”
“Wasn’t it an accident?”
“It was on purpose, I’m telling you.”
“If it wasn’t, why would the duke…”
“Two mugs of ale here!”
The tavern was loud and rowdy. Even amid the deafening, scattered noise, fragments of conversation could still be caught.
“It was a warning. Don’t mess with me.”
“What an incredible match.”
“You picked that up?”
“I should’ve gone too.”
“He never took his helmet off till the end.”
“They say he’s an unbelievably ugly bastard.”
“Half his face was supposedly melted off.”
“His skin’s all torn and mangled, I heard.”
“Then what about the other half?”
Tichite pressed her large beer mug to her lips and listened to the chatter. The talkative men kept repeating the same stories until their mouths went dry.
Nyx Farrow, the man with the scarred face. The one who drew endless rumors wherever he went was now at the center of every conversation.
“The glass rose? He probably didn’t have anyone to give it to.”
“How old is he that he still isn’t married?”
“Maybe that part rotted off and fell right down too?”
No matter what, people loved to gossip about others’ flaws. Slander about a high-ranking noble made for excellent drinking snacks.
Every rumor they excreted was insulting. Listening quietly, Tichite thought that even if the duke appeared and took all their silver away, she wouldn’t have a single word to say in their defense.
“So what if his face is a little hideous? He’s a man who scatters silver from the sky. And he’s tall, isn’t he? I bet the rest of him is big too. Probably about this—”
Sera grinned, squeezing her own forearm for emphasis.
“Right. That man from Loudhill earlier. They said it was big and strong, but we never got proof. What was his name again?”
“Kanne.”
“Yes, that was it.”
The woman who had received his invitation to meet couldn’t even remember his name. Tichite supplied it for her. Sera quickly drained another mug of beer and giggled.
“His face was pretty decent. Too bad.”
It was more than decent.
Feeling a pang of regret herself, Tichite scanned the men filling the tavern. Most were Endel, though a few appeared to be foreigners from various regions. Among them, the only one with an obviously foreign appearance was Tichite herself. Nowhere in the room was there a man who could compare.
Not every woman in the world met her ideal man, fell in love, and married him. Falling for a man who perfectly matched one’s desires was nothing short of a miracle. Tichite Ranlam was a woman who had adapted better than anyone to that bitter truth. Still, if possible, she wanted to settle down with a tall, handsome man.
If I get married, could I escape Nirgi?
She knew that actions born from such escapist thoughts could never lead to true happiness. Yet she could not shake the desire to run away and use anything at all as a shelter.
Tichite was a hollow, lonely woman. She opened her heart too easily to anyone who showed her even the slightest kindness. The reason she still drifted without settling on any one man was largely due to her origins. Nirgi was a lying swindler, but of all the venom he had spat at her today, there was one truth she could not deny.
There’s no such thing as a man who truly loves a Tilamin woman. They’re all just bastards who approach you thinking they can get a free fuck.
Just as he said, Tilamin women were scorned wherever they went. Their pool of potential partners was inevitably narrower than that of ordinary women. No matter how unusual their personality, how plain their looks, or how modest their financial standing, a foreign woman had to lower her standards considerably to catch the eye of a local man.
And there’s no guarantee that any man I manage to choose would be any better than Nirgi.
In a gloomy mood, Tichite set down her beer mug. Sera had already found someone she could talk to and was happily chatting away with him. Tichite lifted her head to look for her own conversation partner. A group of tall men had just entered her line of sight—and among them was a face so shocking that her mouth fell open.
…Nirgi?
Had he come looking for her from the start? He scanned the room, and the moment he spotted her, he pointed directly at her. His eyes gleamed with the cunning of a snake that had found a nest full of eggs. The man she least wanted to see approached her with open delight.
“See? I told you I’d be here, didn’t I?”