MB Chapter 15

【 Present 】 

It took three days for Entzi Bethelgius's ship to complete its circuit of the Orion River. When those three days were finished, Goiyo returned to the capital as Goiyo Bethelgius.

The port on the Orion was not far from the estate, so they took a carriage. A short enough distance—and yet it was pulled by four horses, an extravagance that had become nearly extinct since the railways came in. Entzi seemed to regard this as entirely ordinary.

By now, Goiyo had grown sufficiently accustomed to his more conspicuous choices that she shared his indifference.

He stepped down from the carriage first and offered his hand up to her with the ease of someone doing something he had been doing for years.

The estate was large enough that Goiyo found herself briefly suspicious it had been transplanted from the imperial grounds. Larger than what she had seen of Alte and Rubiette both, and large enough to be startling even to someone who had grown up in those houses.

The roof came to sharp, high peaks. The ornamentation along every surface was curved and intricate, and refined—not the kind of thing a nouveau riche would commission. Dozens of lamps burning a luminous violet, as though set with mana stones, hung along the entry in a row.

Where on earth does all this wealth come from, Goiyo thought, filing the question away unanswered.

A middle-aged man with grey moustaches approached and folded at the waist.

"Welcome home, my lady. I am the head butler of the estate—Lukurue Alto, at your service."

Flowing moustaches, round spectacles, a compact and round-figured frame—there was something lively and a little surprising in Lukurue's face, which was not quite in keeping with how seriously the grand estate took itself, and yet somehow suited it entirely.

"I'm Goiyo Rubiette. How do you do, Alto."

"No, no, madam."

Your name, then, madam? He asked it with the particular patience of a person who has explained something to a child before and does not mind explaining it again.

"Goiyo... Bethelgius."

"Well done."

"Please call me Lukurue, my lady. It is my honor to be of service, Madam Bethelgius."

"If you need anything, speak to Lukurue—though coming to me directly would be faster, frankly."

A small shrug, and Entzi nodded to Lukurue. The great doors opened with a substantial, settled sound.

"Let me show you through." He had been holding her hand since helping her from the carriage and had not quite let go—she hadn't noticed until he was already leading her inside.

She followed where he led, letting herself be conducted through the successive grandeur of the interior, beginning to feel vaguely overwhelmed, when something came back to her.

"Is there anything I'm expected to manage here? In terms of running the household?"

"No, the great majority of it is handled by Lukurue and Kolave. Kolave is my chief aide—Kolave Peroto. He's out on an errand at the moment, but he'll be back by evening and will come to introduce himself."

"I see."

She had not been entirely ignorant of household management—it was required as a matter of basic education. But what she had learned was barely more than a framework, and there was someone in place who actually knew it. That was a relief.

She nodded, and Entzi seemed to interpret this as something other than simple acceptance. A faint note of discomfort crossed his face, and he felt the need to add:

"I should say—it is not that I haven't given it to you out of any distrust. I don't manage the household directly myself, either. Having someone who specialises in it seemed—"

"Specialists doing it properly seems the more sensible approach. I don't mind."

Less than a year left anyway. She had no desire to make clumsy, unnecessary effort.

"Now that I think of it—I heard you haven't yet been granted a domain. Even after receiving the marquisate."

Entzi Bethelgius had come to the capital only a little less than a year ago; his title had come around the same time. That he had not been given a marquisate's lands alongside it was unusual—the domain was ordinarily established at the time of the award.

Then again—it wasn't a barony or viscountcy. A territory of that scale was not casually given.

Ah—becoming Grand Duke was already the plan, so the domain would come then. She had already answered it herself.

“I’ve been trying to handle it carefully—ah. Here is the garden.”

He cut the sentence off and looked away. She followed his gaze.

Her eyes went wide.

She wasn't sure how she had failed to notice it already, because missing it required effort.

The garden was enormous, and it was full of roses.

Red, pink, white, and every gradation between—roses of every variety across a space that went on further than it had any practical need to.

The perfume reached her before the full sight did, and for a moment she halted. But even Goiyo, who had no particular love for lavish things, could not be entirely unmoved by the sheer scale of it.

"Is this a rose garden? It's quite striking. The gardener must have put years into this."

"It's a modest little hobby of mine."

"Ah, modest—"

The word ran out of steam before she finished it. She blinked.

'Your hobby?'

"You did this yourself? But something this size would be—"

She was trying to work out whether he meant he had designed it and directed staff, since that was at least conceivable—although even that, for someone who was not exactly a person of leisure—

Something satisfied settled into his expression, and he answered before she had resolved it.

"All of it. Magic makes it rather less time-consuming."

"You can use magic for that?"

"The usual picture people have is offensive magic or transfer magic—but practically speaking, it has a range of uses."

"That's remarkable."

And she meant it.

"Shall I teach you?"

"What? Teach me—"

"Magic. It's not especially difficult."

"I'm sure I wouldn't be any good at it—"

"Have you ever tried?"

No. The answer came out small and a little uncertain.

Magic was not something entered into lightly. The money alone was astronomical. And of all disciplines, magic was where talent mattered most—which meant no guarantee the money would come to anything.

Most children felt the pull toward it at some age, and Goiyo had been no different. She had grown up in a household with no shortage of resources. Before her mother died, there had been the Balverdi merchant house, one of the great ones, behind them as well.

But the girl Goiyo had been hadn't had the courage to take on the risk of it.

What if I spend all of it and there's nothing to show for it. That small anxiety had been enough to crush the curiosity before it became anything.

After that she had never reached for it again. It wasn’t only magic she had stopped reaching for.

She thought of the someone she had, for the first time, wanted badly enough to fight for—and swallowed a bitter laugh. Perhaps she would never want anything that badly again.

"Talent is not something you can measure without uncovering it first."

"But finding a separate teacher would be—"

"'Separate'—a rather discouraging thing to say when the most capable mage in the world is standing directly in front of you."

The weight that had pressed in briefly lifted, just slightly. Goiyo didn't argue with the self-assessment and asked instead: Won't you be too busy?

"I happen to enjoy being busy. If I become somewhat busier, that's not a bad thing for me."

"Then I'll think about it."

"You won't lose anything by it."

"Thank you for the offer, most capable mage in the world."

Not at all, he said, looking briefly embarrassed.

The estate was large, but not large enough to require more than an afternoon. By early evening, Goiyo had seen the whole of it.

She met Kolave Peroto, endured his introduction, and walked into the dining room feeling quietly used up.

She gave nothing of this away. Her posture was exactly as upright as it always was when she sat down.

The dining table was also very long. Everything in this estate appeared to be constitutionally incapable of moderation. Not long enough that Entzi disappeared into the distance—but long enough that reading his expression from where she was seated was not straightforward.

Dishes were brought out in a steady succession. To his credit—or perhaps consistent with some deeper principle she was only now identifying—the table was not crowded. Extravagance in sight line, practicality in execution.

In at least this one way, we're alike, Goiyo thought, and cut her steak.

Something in her stomach had been hollowed out with fatigue, and putting food into it restored a minimal warmth to the rest of her.

Entzi, cutting his steak with equivalent elegance from the far end of the table, looked up.

"Does the food suit you?"

"It's fine, yes."

"That reminds me—I forgot to ask earlier. Meat, fish, anything noodle-based—is there anything you don't eat?"

"Nothing I can't eat."

"Nothing you'd prefer to avoid?"

"Nothing I can't eat."

"What do you like?"

"Nothing I can't—"

She trailed off and blinked.

There was no allergy. She had never eaten out of preference, only to fill herself. She had no vocabulary for the question being asked.

She was giving honest answers, and they all pointed to the same gap. He was too far away for her to read his face, but something about the shape of the silence suggested frustration.

A soft, extended exhale from that end of the table. Then the sound of a chair being pushed back, and Entzi crossed the considerable length between them with complete calm.

The etiquette was incorrect. A marquis who had never, in her memory, been anything other than impeccably composed, was pulling a chair up next to her and sitting in it.

“People really can’t escape how they were made, apparently.”

"Entzi?"

"I can apparently look more aristocratic than anyone alive when the occasion calls for it. But underneath—no improvement, apparently."

He crossed one ankle over the other and propped his jaw on his hand, regarding her sideways at close range from the new chair. The angle tipped several strands of hair down across his face.

Like that, looking up at her, with his voice dropped low:

"Am I being terribly uncouth, madam?"

"...'Terribly' is perhaps too strong. A little uncouth."

"A relief, then.”

And he smiled. Goiyo laughed after him, almost without meaning to.

"You don't eat with enjoyment—that explains why you stay so thin. If not food, then—what do you like? Outside of food."

"Outside of food—I haven't really thought about it."

"Things you dislike?"

"Ah. Flashy things, I'm not especially fond of."

She had found something she could actually answer, so she kept going, tentatively, feeling for the edges of it as she spoke.

It came out in fits and starts—not a habit, saying this kind of thing—but he didn't seem to find it inconvenient, which made it possible to continue.

"Things that are very vivid in color, or very heavy in scent—roses, for instance. I'm not particularly fond of them. Perfume as well. The fashions lately have been running very strong, and it's been a little wearing."

She had spent years avoiding what drew attention, moving through rooms without catching anyone’s eye. After her mother died, it got worse. And somewhere along the way, roses had become the flower she liked least.

That was the whole of it, more or less.

Entzi had been listening with something careful in his face. She noticed the expression shift, become slightly difficult to interpret, and asked: What is it?

"Is this, by any chance, a roundabout way of telling me you dislike me?"