MB Chapter 11

The day of the wedding arrived. It had been barely three weeks since the match was settled, and Goiyo had expected something smaller—but the ceremony, when it came, was not modest. If anything it erred on the side of excess.

Unlike with Melishi's arrangements, the venue was not a chapel but a vast ship, one of Entzi Bethelgius's own possessions. Ship was, strictly speaking, a generous way to put it—standing on its deck, Goiyo found herself wondering where on earth Entzi's resources came from. She had known he was not a simple commoner's son, but this was quite a lot.

The plan: after the ceremony and the guests had been seen off, the ship bearing Goiyo and Entzi would leave port and circle the Orion River before returning to the capital. By the time she stepped off the gangplank, she would officially be Goiyo Bethelgius. Just as Goiyo Rubiette had intended.

"You look beautiful, Goiyo."

"The dress suits you."

"Thank you, Lady Kazehl. Melishi, too."

"He seems capable and clear-headed—I think he will suit you well."

Lady Kazehl offered a few warm words of congratulations, glanced at the clock, noted the time, added one final blessing, and withdrew.

Melishi had been moving to follow her mother out. She hesitated, then closed the door again.

Melishi? At the questioning note in Goiyo's voice, Melishi opened her mouth carefully.

"Sister—have you had any message from Lord Therio?"

"Has he not come back from the Avalanche yet? The betrothal ceremony isn't far off."

"House Alte sent word—he went for some progress with his swordsmanship training and intended to stay a little longer. But there has been nothing personal from him… nothing directly."

"I'm sorry, Melishi, but I haven't had any private message either. If he were going to contact anyone personally, it would be you, not me."

Goiyo Rubiette and Therio Alte were no longer friends, while Melishi was his fiancée.

Of course Goiyo knew his movements. She had been right there when Entzi sent him off. She simply had the destination wrong—she’d believed it was House Alte, not the mountain range. She had only learned the truth when the news broke that the Alte heir had departed for the Avalanche without a word. Entzi had confessed then, readily enough, that the hill that was perfectly livable had been the Avalanche all along.

For a moment she had worried she might be treated as an accomplice—but it seemed Therio Alte had not said it was the Marquess who sent him. Pride, she supposed. A young knight renowned for his gifts, made a fool of by someone barely two years his senior, would naturally prefer almost any other explanation.

According to the information that had come through, when Alte urgently reached him by emergency sending-stone, he had claimed to have come for training. Because I wanted to, he had said, in so many words.

Entzi had laughed at that and added: having said so, he cannot now ask to be helped out, and will be wandering the range on his own. He won't be crashing the wedding.

Entry was permitted to knights even in interdicted terrain; at least it was not illegal.

Goiyo recalled the situation and felt faintly at a loss.

My husband sent your fiancé to the Avalanche, and he's wandering it on his own out of wounded pride—she could not say this.

Melishi's shoulders dropped.

"I see… Then I'll be going. I'll see you at the ceremony."

"Yes."

"…Sister, I know I'm not in a position to say this—but I mean it. Congratulations on your wedding. I hope you'll be happy."

"Thank you."

She said it back, knowing it was untrue. There was no next time she planned to visit Rubiette, which meant the next occasion she and Melishi would meet would be Melishi's own wedding, perhaps. Melishi’s wedding, maybe. Goiyo turned it over absently. Then: perhaps not even that. Melishi wasn’t of age yet. The betrothal could happen soon, but a wedding was at least a year off.

And in the life she remembered, House Rubiette had fallen a year after Melishi married. That would have been to Entzi, in that other timeline. Now it would be to someone from House Alte—but the timing that led to the end, whatever shape it took, might still converge somewhere near Melishi's wedding day.

By then, House Rubiette would perhaps be gone. Melishi, as the Alte heir's wife, might be protected by emergency registration if someone acted quickly enough. But apart from that, Goiyo Rubiette's life would also end.

The thought was strange—a mild, weightless thing.

"Melishi—I may not be able to come to your wedding. Perhaps. Perhaps, was all."

"Oh, yes—if you're busy, of course you might not be able to. That's all right."

"Yes. So let me say it now instead."

Be happy. Live on.

It was, after all, the right thing to say at a goodbye.

The ceremony began. Beyond the awareness that everything was proceeding as planned, Goiyo found that she felt very little.

She was mostly just irritated.

The dress was heavy. Her face was stifled under the cosmetics. The heels were not painful but they were uncomfortable. The perfume was too thick. She had a headache, and her stomach was unsettled.

When she had married Therio Alte, the nerves and the hope and the thin edge of guilt had kept her from feeling any of this. Now the ordinary physical discomfort asserted itself with complete frankness, and she had nothing to set against it.

She kept smiling anyway. She simply wanted it to be over.

Entzi wore black. A tuxedo—the fabric fine, the design elaborate, more like a dress uniform from a formal military procession than an ordinary suit. But his face eclipsed the clothes entirely.

Even Goiyo, who never gave much thought to faces, noticed it. He was handsome. She was almost surprised.

Her only point of interest in the proceedings. She was staring a beat too long; she registered it a beat too late, and when she glanced back she found Entzi watching her with an amused little smile. She turned front again. It happened to coincide with the officiant turning to her.

"And so, does the bride swear to love the groom forever?"

Forever. As if that meant anything. She thought this coolly, and answered as required.

"Yes. I swear it."

A brief kiss. The ceremony was over.

The foghorn sounded, long and low.

The ceremony was over. The guests had all gone home. Goiyo changed into a slip and came out onto the deck before the ship had even set off.

The night sky hung like a curtain, dense with stars, and the stars floated in the champagne in her hand too—a whole scattered field of them.

She leaned on the rail and looked up at the night sky, thinking nothing at all. Then, all at once, her shoulders grew heavy.

She glanced at the coat that had appeared over them.

"You’re quite practiced at this," she said, without particular feeling.

"Hmm."

Entzi rearranged it. He undid the coat and set it back crookedly—one sleeve hanging loose, the whole thing sitting slightly off. It dangled at an awkward angle.

"Like this?"

"You're quite skilled at pretending to be unskilled."

No escaping that, I suppose. He shrugged, and put the coat back as it had been.

Entzi Bethelgius settled against the rail beside her. He had changed out of the ceremonial dress as well—not the resplendent formal wear, but a plain black shirt.

"Goiyo. Why didn't you become Duke of Rubiette? You were the one in the most advantageous position."

"An unexpected question." She considered it. "I'm not that extraordinary a person."

"Being extraordinary isn't actually required to lead a house. Looking at the one currently at the top of a certain peak would confirm that."

"…Even with just the two of us, you speak so relentlessly."

"I was naturally referring to Lord Alte's situation. The Avalanche Mountain Range is exceptionally elevated, after all."

It isn't just a little elevated. He said it with total composure. The sheer nerve of it surprised a small laugh out of her.

"I have some aptitude for study. But I'm poor at handling people. I'm not the right material for Duke."

"Do you think so?"

"Perhaps with enormous effort something might have come of it—but I didn't want that. And I don't regret it now."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't love Rubiette."

She rested her arms on the rail and leaned her face against her hands. The cold air or the champagne had put color in her cheeks. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool wind.

"I didn't want to strive—to hold something I don't love, to protect it, to lead it."

"I see."

Entzi nodded, unhurried.

"Then what do you want? What do you wish for?"

"My dream?" She didn't look at him. "You heard it—during the argument with Lord Alte. From the moment the scrap heap was making that absurd proposal."

"I did hear it. From the moment the scrap heap said marry me."

"Really…" She stopped. "When the guard on duty said he didn't see you—I had a feeling. Did you teleport into my house as well?"

"Hmm."

He looked away. She was staring at him, expression flat.

"Perhaps the guard had momentarily removed his spectacles?"

"His eyesight is excellent."

"Then he must have removed his eyes."

"His hearing is also excellent."

"Dear me. He must have been attending to the quarrel between some couple on the street. Neglecting to notice a guest arriving, while devoting himself to other people's private affairs—you shall have to dock his wages."

He shook his head, decisive, as though no reasonable person could behave otherwise. There was not one trace of embarrassment on him. He looked, for a moment, like a judge delivering a verdict.

"You are genuinely the most brazen person I have ever encountered."

"That's an insult—are you saying I'm more brazen than Therio Alte?"

"Good heavens, is your character to be compared against the scrap heap?"

Goiyo Rubiette had just called him the scrap heap. Of all the ways that sentence could have ended. He blinked—caught, genuinely, for the first time—and she laughed. Properly and openly, a clear sound he hadn't heard from her before.

That laugh, arriving without warning, caught him further off guard. His hand, still resting on the rail, closed a little too tightly.

Oh.

The railing had bent—his fingers had pressed it out of shape. He looked down at it, dismayed.

Goiyo didn't see. She was already speaking.

"My dream was an ordinary home. My mother and father were joined by an arranged marriage. So there was no love between them. And having been born of that, they couldn't love me either. When I was small, I thought it was simply how things were—but after my mother died, and Lady Kazehl came to the ducal estate, I understood it wasn't."

Her eyes grew distant, as though she were looking back at something far away.

She had grown up in a home where the absence of love seemed natural. The young Goiyo had thought, at least, that her parents treated each other with respect—a cold kind, perhaps, but respect. She hadn't known anything was wrong.

But the crack that had always been there widened. Deepened. And ended in her mother’s suicide.

"After that, there was nothing in the world I wanted more. An ordinary life—someone you love, a marriage, children to love. It might sound trivial to you."

"No. For people like us, I know how hard that is."

"Thank you." She was quiet for a moment. "But I've let that go. Nothing remains of that dream now—though my heart is, in a way, easier."

To die a little less painfully—if that could be called a dream, she supposed it was. But it felt more like a scheduled appointment than anything she'd chosen.

A life that asked for nothing was hollow. But it was also, in its own way, restful.

Goiyo Rubiette, who had drifted across a boundless sea, has now dropped anchor. She is waiting for the ship to go under. No longer searching for a happiness she couldn't locate. Waiting quietly for the storm.

And the storm was right beside her.

She turned to it.

"What do you want, Entzi?"