APIBAGS Chapter 65

Standing beside Evangeline Rohanson was all that mattered. Whether she was dressed splendidly or dressed in rags made no difference at all.

Kinder finished her preparations quickly and descended the stairs. In the entryway, the butler was seeing to the carriage.

"My lady."

Kinder regarded him in silence—the butler who had served the Toten Marquessate loyally his entire life. Even after her husband's death, he had always treated her with proper courtesy and respect. She had been grateful for it. She had trusted him deeply.

It pained her, now, to have learned so late that his devotion did not extend to her child. Had Lady Rohanson not pointed it out—had her son not warned her—Kinder might never have noticed at all, not in a lifetime.

Evangeline's words kept circling in her mind. The demon brought her back. Those words. They had taken on the shape of a single thread of hope—the hope that even if Ryder truly died, he might return.

"When did Diess say he would arrive?"

"I was told tonight, my lady. Though he may come earlier."

The butler said so with something in his expression that was—almost pleasant.

Yeah. Delightful for you, I'm sure. Kinder ground her teeth. A man who had never once set foot in this house—and the timing of his arrival was exquisite, wasn't it? The butler must have sent word. Ryder had been gravely ill this time, so perhaps he thought the boy would die. He'd read the situation far faster than she had. Or maybe he just had good instincts.

If Ryder's death became known, the title of Marquess would pass to Diess—her late husband's blood. Kinder, who bore the Toten name but shared none of the blood, had no claim to the succession. And if that happened, she would fail to honor even Ryder's dying wish. Never. She absolutely could never let that stand.

"Then you'll be going straight to the imperial palace, my lady? I'll give the coachman his instructions."

Kinder had been looking at the carriage. She looked away from it.

"Bring me a horse. I'll ride—just the one."

"My lady, in this rain? Without a carriage?"

"Butler." Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "Since when do you interfere in my business? I'll borrow a carriage from the Rohanson estate. That will do."

Perhaps it was that she knew the truth now—perhaps that was why the words would not come out softly. She had snapped at him without meaning to. Rather than apologize, Kinder mounted the horse the servant hastily brought round.

She needed a chance to speak with Evangeline. The palace had too many listening ears. Lady Rohanson's carriage would be the safest place. Of course, it was possible Evangeline had already departed for the palace—possible she might refuse to take Kinder at all. But that was a bridge for later.

"Oh—"

The butler exhaled behind her. He had not even had time to stop her. Kinder pulled her robe's hood over her head, settled into the saddle, and spurred the horse forward.

'Would you truly abandon the Rahel you love so dearly, and lean upon a demon instead? Even if the price were not the estate—but a human life?'

Evangeline's voice was still vivid in her ear. The demon. The demon…

At last, Kinder had an answer to give Lady Rohanson.

She regretted the days she had spent wavering. Kinder urged the horse faster. The rain-slicked road nearly sent it skidding into disaster, but she paid it no mind. Her cheeks were wet. Rain. Not tears. She rode faster. Quickly, quickly—to where the demon is.

After Kinder rode away, the servants left behind murmured among themselves, trading observations about the marchioness's strange behavior.

"Why did my lady leave in such a rush?"

"I heard she agreed to chaperone Lady Rohanson."

"So she rode off to chaperone someone while the young master is sick? Our lady, on a horse she almost never rides?"

"Is Lady Rohanson really such a frightening person?"

Rather than reproach them, Lark turned his attention to the words he would need to choose for the distinguished visitor arriving shortly.

The die was already cast.

The only thing left was to pray the numbers fell high.

A short while later, a different carriage arrived at the marquessate.

"Ahh, our beloved home. It's been so long! I'm just so happy!"

The man who stepped down from the carriage stretched his chest wide and drew in a lungful of air. It was Diess—the late marquess's younger brother. Perhaps it was the rain, but even the damp, rotting smell that clung to the Toten estate seemed somehow refreshing to him.

"What's all this? Everyone turned out to wait for me? Oh, you really didn't have to."

They had, in fact, come out to see the marchioness off. Lark did not correct the misunderstanding. He bowed deeply. It was simply the more profitable course.

"Welcome, young master. You've arrived early."

"Yeah, well. Wanted to see my sister-in-law's face before things got busy. Is she in that carriage? Why isn't she coming out to greet me?"

Diess tilted his head toward the carriage still standing at the front of the estate.

"She departed on horseback, sir."

"What! Honestly, why does everything have to be so complicated!"

Diess gave the carriage a kick. The loosely fitted wheel clunked and rattled.

"What is this? Why is it so worn out?"

"Indeed."

Diess gave an awkward cough and changed the subject.

"I do hope my sister-in-law enjoys herself tonight. This may be her last banquet, after all—once I become Marquess Toten, she'll have no grounds to attend such things. Don't tell me she's thinking of remarrying me just for the title? Ugh—"

Watching Diess already act as if he owned the place, Lark reconsidered his choices. But the die was already cast. All he could do now was pray the numbers fell in his favor.

"It's raining—please come inside, young master. Sion will have prepared your room."

"The nanny too—haven't seen her in ages."

Lark escorted Diess inside. Diess, swaggering as if returning to his own house, stopped abruptly.

"Right. What about the kid? Did my sister-in-law take him along?"

The person Diess meant was Ryder.

"No, sir. The young master is unwell—he's resting in his room. Given that the marchioness has gone to attend the banquet, it would seem his condition has improved considerably over the past few days."

The butler, unaware of Ryder's death, offered his reasonable deduction. Of course the marchioness had left if the boy had improved enough—what other conclusion was there for a devoted mother? He had no way of knowing she had staged a fiction, that the child in the room was not sleeping.

"Tch. If you're going to drop, drop already—tenacious thing, that one."

Diess clicked his tongue in contempt. Lark inwardly agreed. Ryder had originally been given no hope of surviving past five, yet here he was, well beyond five years old, that thread of a life stubbornly refusing to snap.

And then there was the inexplicable precedent—someone had somehow broken free of a curse. If things had stayed as they were, Lark could have waited patiently for the inevitable. But the situation had shifted. The reason for his urgency was Evangeline's sudden appearance. Lark was afraid—genuinely afraid—that Evangeline might actually improve Ryder's condition. That could not be allowed. A cursed child could not sit in the Marquess's chair.

The one who had helped Lark through his deliberations was a stranger—an unfamiliar figure. It certainly wasn't the dimwitted Diess.

"Right, where is he? Uncle came all this way and the kid won't even come say hello. Well, he's sick, I'll let it go. Might as well go see his face."

Diess looked thoroughly pleased with himself as he climbed the stairs. To the butler's eye, he was the very image of a child about to throw a rock at a frog.

"……."

"……."

Wow…. so a father and daughter really can sit here like this, in utter, award-winning silence. Just the silverware.

Quite the achievement.

The Count had requested that we share a meal before the banquet—something important he needed to discuss, apparently. So I cleared time out of debutante preparations to come, and this is what I get. I might actually choke on this.

The Count had impeccable table manners, I had to admit, even by my freshly-acquired standards. No wonder Evangeline's mother fell head over heels. Ugh…of course she did. People really can't be judged by appearances.

Without quite meaning to, my mood soured—I threw all of Dolly's etiquette lessons out the window and stabbed at my steak. Rare, apparently. The blood was soaking right through onto the white plate, spreading out in a little pool. Ugh, there goes my appetite. I'm a well-done person, thank you. My palate completely deserted me, so I just hacked the meat up without eating any of it.

I was making it plenty obvious that I was in a foul mood, so the Count finally set down his silverware. Oh? What's wrong, sir? My table manners are dog shit and it's making you uncomfortable? Well. It's not exactly comfortable for me either.

Of course, the ones who had taken the hardest blow were the kitchen staff, who had been thrown into a panic when the Count suddenly declared we'd be eating in the dining room together. One of the servers, while delivering a course, had been shaking so badly that when he made eye contact with me, he almost upended a wine glass. I'd been watching for exactly that kind of incident, so I caught the tilting glass nimbly and righted it. Not a drop spilled.

"Do be careful."

"Y-yes. I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry—"

After that, all of my dishes were served by Yulma, who'd been pushed forward. Yulma had apparently managed all the cooking at the orphanage with Daisy, and now she was working in the kitchen here too. I'd wondered why they were making an assistant do the serving—but apparently from behind them someone had decided she was the only one who would survive it.

"Hope of the kitchen—charge!"

"You being here is truly the greatest gift."

"We're so glad you joined us."

"It's not like the young lady kills you for making a mistake—why is everyone so terrified?"

"What's your heart made of, seriously?"

They'd really been loud for people having a secret conversation—it had taken everything I had to convincingly pretend I hadn't heard a word. Glancing over, the Count was doing the same, eating with serene composure as though he hadn't heard a thing. Well, pretending you haven't heard what you've clearly heard is a virtue of the nobility, I suppose.

Yulma finished serving and gave a quick bow. It felt like ages since I'd seen her. I suppose that's right, given that I have no reason to come down to the dining room. Still—she was one of the children I'd helped rescue, and I'd wanted to ask after her.

"You look like you're doing well."

"Yes. Thanks to you, my lady."