MB Chapter 10

Therio Alte was gone. The Marquess moved into the seat he had occupied, and asked after her health as if nothing had happened at all.

"I was under the impression you sent word ahead. Has something gone wrong, that you've come in person?"

"There's no pressing business. A man doesn't need an official errand to call on his fiancée, does he?"

That the Marquess had come to visit someone for no reason whatsoever—not even Valter, Goiyo's seven-year-old half-brother, would have believed it.

He caught her openly suspicious look and laughed, lightly.

"And to dispose of the scrap heap while I'm at it?"

'The scrap heap…? Surely not Therio Alte.'

That a man of the Marquess's standing should refer to the next Duke of House Alte as "the scrap heap"—Goiyo's lips gave a faint tremor. The expression belonged to a street market, not a drawing room, and yet somehow, embarrassingly, it fit.

She got it down before it could surface.

"That scrap heap you're referring to—that's not Therio, surely."

“You don’t really think it isn’t, do you, Goiyo?”

Goiyo.

She startled—her own name, a second time. She couldn't have heard it wrong twice, which meant she had, in fact, been called by name.

"Did you just address me by name?"

"Would that be wrong?"

"…No. Given that we've promised to marry, there's nothing wrong with it."

"I'm glad to hear it, Goiyo. Then I suppose I can be called by name too."

"Pardon?"

"It would look lonely if only one of us were called by name. Entzi Bethelgius. 'Entzi.'"

Goiyo was briefly caught off guard, but she gathered herself quickly enough, recalling what she knew of his purpose. She didn’t know exactly why Entzi Bethelgius was marrying her. But recalling how he had announced his engagement to Melishi in every possible quarter in the prior timeline, it was clear that at minimum, one of his aims was to appear close to House Rubiette. Whether it was misdirection or building closeness in order to frame House Rubiette for something—the precise reason could wait.

"Yes, Entzi."

On the side she couldn't see, his hand moved.

"In any case—thank you for earlier, Entzi. I was in a rather awkward position."

"You may find yourself in a more awkward one going forward, but I'll accept the thanks."

"Going forward—if I might ask, where exactly did you send Lord Alte?"

She had been absorbed in the fact of Therio's abrupt disappearance; his destination hadn't occurred to her until now. He hadn't been touched. By any ordinary measure, that meant he couldn't have been sent very far—but then, was Entzi an ordinary measure by any standard?

The battlefield rumors about him were the kind that built legends out of men. Mostly about his abilities. Not his character. That the sages of the Mage Tower needed thirty minutes to cast a spell Entzi could manage with one gesture. That he had never once lost a duel with a sword.

Absurd. If he were that formidable—a true sword-mage of that order—he would have swallowed a nation whole by now.

“Where did you send him? Hell?”

“People will have seen Lord Alte come to Rubiette.”

“Don’t worry. If there’s no evidence, who’s to say?”

“Annie saw him.”

“I won’t kill her. There are ways to erase a memory.”

Mind-magic users are rare, they say. A monster is still a monster. Though perhaps not quite as bad as the rumors.

“That’s enough of that. Where did you actually send him?”

"Oh, somewhere a little elevated, a little scenic, and home to a little variety of living things. A perfectly adequate hill."

Goiyo nodded. The mountains near the capital. The only mountainous territory near the capital was the Alte estate.

"The Alte estate, then. It's the only place near the city with any real elevation."

"More or less. But speaking of which—why did he come? This time."

If it's something you'd rather not discuss, we can leave it. The quiet addition prompted Goiyo to shake her head.

She had nothing she particularly wanted to hide. The trouble was there wasn't much to say. She genuinely didn't understand why Therio Alte involved himself in her affairs to the degree he did.

"Therio probably—"

"Not Therio. Lord Alte."

"Pardon?"

"If you want a formal address, 'Lord Alte' or even 'Young Lord Alte' will do—neither sits quite well with me, but. You don't want further entanglement with him, do you?"

For keeping distance, nothing works quite like a title. At the addendum, Goiyo understood what Entzi was suggesting.

"Expressing feeling is fine too, of course. For instance—the wr—"

"Lord Alte, as it happens."

"You understand quickly."

Regrettably for him, she caught it. Goiyo pressed on.

“He feels responsible for the broken engagement. Which means his conscience is easier if I’m happy—and that’s why he’s opposed to an arranged marriage, I think.”

"As I understand it, the responsibility for the broken engagement rests with him." A brief pause. "I should mention—it wasn't I who went digging for this. My adjutant is not a person of particular virtue, and has a sharp ear for unflattering news. He was going on at length and I had no choice but to hear it. Regrettably."

His expression was perfectly even and unbothered, and yet what he was saying managed to sound very much like a defense. It wasn't a matter that required defending, so presumably that wasn't it.

"That's accurate. Lor—Lord Alte came to feel something for my sister, and my sister felt something for him in return—so in the end, the engagement was dissolved."

"That's not an ill wind—it's an outright infidelity. He was unfaithful, the engagement was broken, and now he feels responsible?"

"Hearing him talk, that's the impression I get. I don't honestly understand what he's thinking. But I don't need to, do I."

It's not as though I'll need to deal with him again. Goiyo kept her face flat as she said it, and Entzi Bethelgius nodded, slowly.

The anger that had been plain on her face when he had intervened earlier was entirely gone now. He couldn't tell whether she managed her feelings well or simply concealed them skilfully. She couldn't possibly be unaffected.

It was, obscurely, a little irritating.

He let out a quiet breath and reached for the teacup in front of him.

"The tea seems to be untouched—you wouldn't mind if I—"

"It's gone cold. Give me just a moment, I'll have fresh—"

"It's quite all right. Hot tea isn't really to my taste."

If he said he was fine, it wasn't her place to press the matter. The two of them had promised to marry, but this was only the second day they'd met. He was a man who was fundamentally indifferent to people; the degree of attention he'd paid this morning was already well beyond any duty owed a fiancée. Theirs was a marriage with a purpose, and a form to match. Entzi, as he generally did, tucked a slight quantity of feeling somewhere out of sight, and put on the face that went with his station.

He reached for the teacup with an unhurried, elegant hand, and lifted it.

The handle came away in his fingers with a small, dry crumble. The tea, which had still been in the cup, distributed itself at some breadth.

Entzi stared down at his damp hand, blankly.

"…"

"…Ah. Come to think of it, Lord Alte was holding the handle rather tightly earlier."

"…So it would appear."

"So it broke."

"Albretan porcelain isn't inexpensive. You might want to send him an invoice."

"Thank you for the advice."

Entzi Bethelgius left. Looking back, it was hard to say precisely what he had come for—but presumably he'd been worried that the business with Therio Alte would derail the marriage before it began.

Only with both of them gone could Goiyo ease her stance and lean back into the sofa, weight dropped. She closed her eyes. Annie came to stand beside her.

"Miss, it's nearly noon—what would you like for lunch?"

"Something light. Whatever's easiest."

"Yes, m—"

"Lord Therio!"

Annie had been about to relay the order to the kitchen when someone burst through the drawing room door with a cry.

Bright gold hair, round blue eyes that turned down at the corners. Melishi Rubiette.

She'd come looking for Therio, and clearly hadn't expected to find Goiyo here—the surprise on her face was visible.

“Oh—hello, Goiyo, sister…” Melishi said, quietly.

"Lord Therio—is he not—I was told he'd called."

"He had some urgent business and went back to Alte. Couldn't wait."

Too urgent, as it happened, for him to say goodbye—because the Marquess had sent him there himself. But there was no reason to put Melishi out of sorts, so Goiyo said nothing of that.

"Oh…" Melishi's face fell. "I came too late."

"The timing didn't suit.—By the way, where is Lady Kazehl? You didn't go out together?"

Melishi startled slightly; the gold of her hair swayed.

"Ah—Mother said she had a brief errand at the palace. She was to take lunch with Father there."

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. But I don't feel very well, so I wasn't planning to."

She let her eyes slide sideways, glancing at Goiyo.

Goiyo knew that Melishi Rubiette—lively enough with the rest of the family—went quiet and small specifically in Goiyo's presence. But today she was even more guarded than usual.

Because her sister had broken off her engagement to the very man Melishi was now engaged to.

"Looking after your figure is sensible, but there's no need to go to extremes. An engagement ceremony runs longer than you'd think."

"That's—ah—yes, sister."

I'll go back to my room, then. Barely audible, Melishi said it and slipped out quickly.

Goiyo watched the door she'd gone through.

'That’s what normal looks like.'

How could Therio Alte say what he said so easily. That he wished her happy. That the engagement might be undone. How had either of those words come out of him so easily.

Without noticing it, Goiyo's brow had drawn together.

Annie looked at her carefully.

"Miss, are you all right? Is something wrong?"

"No—a little tired, that's all."

The tiredness that came with thinking about Therio Alte was nothing she needed to note.

"Oh—Annie. Could you send an invoice over to Alte a little later? The drawing room teacup—Lord Alte broke it. Even if he is Melishi's fiancé, what's owed is owed."

"Of course, miss."

Trees grown so tall the sky was gone. Between the dense tangle of leaves, pale sunlight broke through in fitful patches.

Every inch of exposed skin—the neck, the backs of the hands—registered the cold directly. Beneath it, the faint whirring of insects moved in the undergrowth like something old.

'Where am I?'

Therio Alte blinked, slowly.

A moment ago, he had been sitting in a drawing room, shouting at the Marquess. He had closed his eyes once and opened them—to a forest.

'A forest? No—a mountain?'

He took a stumbling step backward in his disorientation, caught his foot on a root, and lurched. His balance was excellent enough that he didn't fall, but he had to reach out and brace himself on what appeared to be a tree.

It was not a tree.

Something lunged at him from where it had been waiting in the bark. Fortunately, Therio Alte was a rather good knight, and did not become the thing's meal.

Schk. What remained of the flower fell in two pieces. Therio's face twisted at the smell rising from the cut stem.

'Where am I—? Ah. Right.'

He reached into his coat. The heir’s locator—thankfully, exactly where it always was. He unrolled it and read his coordinates.

The Avalanche Mountain Range.

Color drained from Therio Alte’s face.

Four years under imperial interdict. Four years since anyone had set foot on these slopes without official clearance.

A sanctuary for monsters—and apparently it had a visitor now.