APIBAGS Chapter 64

"Mother. My beloved mother."

"Don't speak anymore. You're hurting so much, aren't you? Oh—my baby, my baby. Don't worry. Mama will find a way to heal you, I promise."

Ryder had taken in all the love and worry washing over him and savored it. There is a feeling—your whole world stuffed full by a single person. But time was short now—rather than indulging in that, he had words to leave.

"This may be my last. At least let me leave my dying words."

"No, no! Ryder—why would you die? Why would you?"

Unlike the strangely composed child, Kinder wailed, something tearing at her from the inside. Outside, the rain swallowed her screams and grew harder. The postures of acceptance and grief seemed to have traded places entirely between them.

"Mother. Please listen."

A final testament. Perhaps it was that word—he was burning with fever and yet spoke without coughing, each syllable clear and deliberate, in a way that recalled the last fierce flame that burns in old people before they go.

Kinder did not want to believe it, but something instinctive in her recognized that this was the final moment. And so she swallowed her weeping and drew close to the child. It was her way of letting him speak softly and still be heard. Hot breath was forced against her ear.

"Please protect the marquessate after I am gone, Mother."

"Ryder?"

"I was not able to inherit the title, but you must protect it. You absolutely must."

Ryder spoke of what would come after he was gone. His last testament was not for himself—it was for his mother, who would be left alone and might lose everything.

With his father dead, and himself soon to follow—all that would remain for her was the marquessate. He could not let her lose even that.

"Don't trust the butler. Or the nanny."

Kinder nodded as if to show she was listening carefully. Ryder looked at that with something like satisfaction, then broke into a hard fit of coughing.

"Forgive me for leaving you alone, Mother."

Ryder had done his duty—had carried himself like a proper little marquis, as dignified as he had ever been. The tears broke loose. The child let himself go—clinging and crying the way only a child can, the way he had held back until now. Kinder's trembling hands wiped the tears from his face. It was as though someone had seized her heart and torn it to pieces.

"I really—I really wanted to be like Father."

"Ryder."

The father who didn't even survive as a faint memory in the child's mind—he had wanted to grow up to be like him. To be like the man every member of the Toten household had adored and grieved.

"I wanted to become someone worthy of the title of young marquis."

"No, Ryder. You have done better than anyone. There is no child in this world more admirable than you."

Ryder was clever enough to know exactly who, in all the world, that one person was.

"I hate it too, you know. This curse, or whatever it is. It's not as though I wanted it."

"It isn't a curse. It isn't anything like that. Who dared say such a thing to you? Mama will deal with them."

"Do you love me, Mama?"

"Of course. More than anything in this world."

I love you. My son. My beloved Ryder. Kinder kept talking without noticing the moment when an answer stopped coming back. Even the sound of crying was gone. Had the rain stolen it?

"Ryder? My child?"

Even the shallow rattle of his breathing had stopped. Kinder stared blankly at Ryder. Her vision went dark at the edges, flickering. The child had sunk into a deep, still sleep. Her pupils widened. Kinder reached out and smoothed his eyelids closed. His skin was strangely cold. The fever must have broken, just now. Kinder wiped the tear tracks from his face and tucked the heavy blanket carefully around him so the cold could not get in.

"He's only sleeping…"

Her fingertips trembled. Looking at the child who did not stir, she felt the world tilt. Kinder wanted desperately to cry out, to wail—but her sense of reality had come so strangely loose that she could not even shed tears.

No. Reality? This was nothing but a deeply unpleasant nightmare.

Slap.

Kinder struck her own cheek. She had struck hard enough that the taste of blood came into her mouth.

"Why does it hurt?"

How strange. This really is a dream. Ryder is only sleeping, and he will wake soon. Kinder stood motionless. Behind her, the thunderstorm let loose.

In the end, the end had arrived. Ryder had at last breathed his last in the rainy season in which the sun had vanished without a trace.

"O God—did you not even pity my child?"

Was that why He had hidden behind the clouds until the very day the child died? In the end, Ryder died as he had lived—the Sun God looking away.

Kinder stroked the child—unable to accept it—then looked at his face, all life gone from it, and broke down weeping; then laughed, hollow and vacant. Yes. Rather than directing her grief at a God who could not hear her, let her find someone else. She had been abandoned by the divine—there was nothing for it but to seek another existence. Whom she should seek was clear.

"I have to go to Lady Rohanson."

Evangeline Rohanson. Yes. That white demon had said: if you make a wish of me, I may be able to bring the child back. But it would require the exchange of a living person's life. Could that life be Kinder's own?

I can give my own life readily enough—but what if it requires someone else's?

Yet the time for deliberation was short. Had Kinder not already made one wrong choice and was now paying for it in bitter regret? When the white demon had made the offer then, she should not have hesitated. She should have taken the hand without pausing.

Kinder erased the distorted expression from her face and put on the composed mask.

Yes. Today was, as it happened, the very day of the banquet at the imperial palace. She had agreed to serve as Lady Rohanson's chaperone, hadn't she? So going to find Lady Rohanson now was not a strange thing at all. There was still time enough before the banquet began. She would meet Lady Evangeline early and ask for her help. Kinder had been Evangeline's chaperone—Perhaps she would spare a little time—even just a very small amount—if asked.

"Is anyone there?"

"Yes, my lady."

A cracked voice. The door opened very quietly, and a maid entered. She carried a washbasin and towel—it seemed she had come back with wet compresses. Her clothes still bore the undried marks of the rain; she had gone out in it and returned.

"Ryder's fever has finally broken."

The lie came easily. Ryder would come back—she couldn't let rumors of his death spread. Her reputation would plunge into the abyss as it was. She'd end up treated as a monster, just like Lady Rohanson.

"Is that so? What a relief."

The maid looked at the young master and saw, just as the lady had said, a face from which the fever had drained, sunken in deep sleep. For all the unpleasant weather, having gone out again and again to replace the compresses had been worth it.

"Where has the nanny gone, that you are here? I don't recognize your face."

"Ah, I'm Weder, my lady. I've been here four years, but I'm still in the laundry, so it's only natural that you wouldn't know me."

"Forgive me. I thought you were a new girl."

Weder waved her hands. What noble would ever apologize to a laundry maid?

"Not at all! The nanny said she was just stepping away for a moment to prepare the young master's room for an arrival."

"Young master? 'Young master arriving'— that's what she called him? The nanny said that? Not Diess—young master?"

"Pardon? Yes."

Kinder, who had been drained of all energy and life, turned suddenly sharp with fury, and Weder shrank, wondering if she had said something wrong.

The young master just mentioned was not Ryder but Diess—the marquis's younger brother. But the nanny had apparently served as nanny to the late marquis's generation as well. Would it not be natural to go on calling someone young master when you had raised them as a child?

"So. While my child was dying, she went to see to Diess's comfort."

Only then did Weder understand what had gone wrong.

I have just reported the nanny's whereabouts, haven't I.

"Weder."

"Yes—yes, my lady!"

"I need to step away briefly to meet Lady Rohanson. I am her chaperone. So I have no choice but to leave my post for a while."

Kinder gripped the maid's shoulders hard. Weder nearly cried out—it hurt that much—but she couldn't find words and just stood there, helpless and squirming.

"While I am gone, you will guard this room. The child is deep in sleep, so do not wake him and do not go near him. Whoever comes—if anyone tries to enter or causes a disturbance, tell them that I will settle accounts with them when I return. Even if the nanny or Diess come, do not let them in."

"Me?"

"If you do this well, I will grant you whatever you wish. I ask you this. There is no one else I can leave him with."

"Yes! I'll do my best!"

Weder gripped the wet compress tightly with a firm resolve. She squeezed it so hard the water gathered in droplets along the cloth.

Kinder left her beloved son in the care of a maid she had met for the first time today and stepped out of the room. It was barely two hours before the banquet was to begin. She would have liked nothing more than to run straight to the Rohanson estate, but for the sake of appearing normal, she called her maids and had them hurry through her preparations.

"Just twist my hair up. Apply the powder thickly enough to hold in the rain. Accessories—bring my bridal pieces."

The maids moved quickly at Kinder's instruction. Compared to the usual half-day she devoted to preparations before going out, the directions now were far too spare—and so Kinder's appearance, when she was done, looked simpler than usual.

One of the maids, thinking of the flawless marchioness she knew, ventured to ask:

"My lady. For a banquet at the imperial palace, isn't it a little too modest?"

"I've been worn down caring for Ryder, so keeping the preparations simple seems right. Or do you want me going out in full dress while my son lies ill?"

Today of all days, the usually gentle marchioness was sharp. Ryder was to blame, obviously. The maid who had spoken quietly assigned the fault to the young master and let the matter rest. The other maids, who had nothing to add, read the room and held their tongues—and shot glares at the one who had opened her mouth unnecessarily.

Kinder breathed out—slow, deliberate—and when she spoke, her voice had iron in it.

"It's all right," Kinder said, breathing out. "The protagonist—that's not me."