MB Chapter 10

After Therio Alte disappeared, the Marquess moved to the seat he had just vacated. And then, as though nothing whatsoever had happened, he inquired after her health.

"I understood you'd sent someone ahead—did something go wrong, that you came yourself?"

"No particular urgent business. Visiting one's fiancée doesn't require an official reason, does it?"

The Marquess coming without reason—even her seven-year-old half-brother Valter Rubiette wouldn't believe that. The openly suspicious look she gave him drew a soft laugh from Entzi.

"Also to clear out some deadwood while I was here?"

Deadwood...? Surely not Therio Alte? That a man of the Marquess's standing should refer to the heir of House Alte with language fit for the marketplace—Goiyo's lips gave an involuntary tremble. It was mortifying, and yet she could not entirely dispute that it suited him rather well.

She swallowed the urge to laugh.

"That deadwood you're referring to... you can't mean Therio."

"You don't actually think I don't, do you Goiyo?"

Goiyo. The sound of her name in his mouth again made her shoulder give a small, involuntary twitch. She couldn't have misheard it twice; she had been addressed by her given name.

"Did you just call me by my name?"

"Would that be wrong of me?"

"...No. We've made an engagement, after all. There's nothing wrong with it."

"I'm glad. Then perhaps I might be addressed by mine as well, Goiyo—it would look rather lonely otherwise. Entzi Bethelgius. Entzi, if you please."

Goiyo hesitated a moment, but she recalled quickly enough what his reasons for this marriage were, and gave a small nod.

She didn't know precisely why Entzi Bethelgius had chosen to marry Goiyo Rubiette.

But recalling how, before her return to the past, he had made his engagement to Melishi known far and wide—it was plain that at least one of his purposes was to appear close to House Rubiette. Whether that was misdirection to deflect suspicion, or whether he intended to draw genuinely close in order to manufacture false evidence against them—the precise reasoning could wait.

"Yes, Entzi," Goiyo answered, without difficulty. On the side of him she could not see, his hand gave a small, involuntary movement.

"In any case—thank you for what you did just now, Entzi. I was in a difficult position."

"Things may become considerably more difficult before long—but I'll accept the thanks all the same."

"More difficult... before long? I don't mean to pry, but where exactly did you send Therio?"

She had been too surprised by his sudden disappearance to think about his destination—but the question caught up with her now. Without laying a hand on him, Entzi had moved another person across a room. Common sense suggested he couldn't have sent him very far—but then, was there anything common about Entzi Bethelgius?

The strange rumors that had circulated since the war painted him something like a demon lord—though primarily in terms of ability rather than temperament. One story, for instance: that Entzi could accomplish with a single gesture a spell that would take the sages of the Magic Tower thirty minutes to cast. That he had never once been beaten by the sword.

Absurd, of course. If he were genuinely that powerful a combat mage, he would not have been satisfied with a marquisate; he could have swallowed a country whole.

"Where, indeed... the underworld, perhaps?"

"People will have seen Therio coming to Rubiette."

"Don't worry. If we simply insist there's no evidence, who's to say otherwise?"

"Annie saw him."

"I won't kill her. There are methods for erasing a memory."

So he could work mental-type magic as well. A monster is a monster, whatever the rumors claimed—though perhaps not quite so monstrous as that.

Goiyo tried again.

"Jokes aside—where did you actually send him?"

"Well, not the underworld, exactly. Let me think... somewhere rather high up, with rather beautiful scenery, and quite a variety of creatures living there. A perfectly habitable little hill, you might say."

The Avalanche Mountain Range—one of the five most precipitous ranges on the continent, celebrated in certain circles for being rather high up, with rather beautiful scenery, and home to quite a variety of creatures—had recently acquired the affectionate local nickname of that perfectly habitable little hill.

Not knowing what the Marquess was describing, Goiyo nodded.

"House Alte, then. The only place near the capital that has mountains."

"More or less. But—why did he come today?"

You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not, he added, low beneath his breath. Goiyo shook her head.

She had no particular desire to hide it. The trouble was there wasn't much to tell. She didn't understand herself why Therio Alte was interfering in her life to this extent.

"Therio is probably—"

"Alte."

"Pardon?"

"Lord Alte, if you prefer a title. Or Alte heir—that will do, though I can't say I'm fond of the sound of it. Aren't you trying to put more distance between yourselves?"

There is nothing quite like a form of address for putting distance between people, he added. The remark made it clear enough what Entzi Bethelgius was suggesting.

"For instance, such as the late—"

"Lord Alte," Goiyo said.

"You catch on quickly."

She chose to ignore the murmured regrettably and continued.

"Lord Alte seems to feel a certain responsibility over the broken engagement. So I imagine he's opposed to a political marriage because having me be unhappy would only weigh on his conscience."

"From what I understand, the responsibility for the broken engagement lies squarely with him. ...Not that I went looking for that information—my aide is a man of limited virtue and excellent hearing for all the wrong kinds of gossip. He talks ceaselessly; I am helpless but to hear. Regrettably."

His expression was relaxed, his voice unhurried—and yet what came out sounded oddly like a defense. There was nothing to defend oneself about in hearing common gossip, so it couldn't have been that—exactly.

"It's true. Ther—Lord Alte fell for my younger sister, and my sister returned his feelings, and so the engagement was broken. That's all of it."

"That's an affair, by any name. He conducted an affair, which caused the engagement to break, and now he feels responsible?"

"Going by how he talks, it seems so. Honestly, I don't understand what's going through his head—but I don't have to, do I?"

She wouldn't be seeing him again. Goiyo's face was calm as she said it, and Entzi nodded, slowly.

The fury that had been so plain on her face before his arrival had vanished entirely. Either she possessed an uncommon capacity to manage her own emotions, or she was simply expert at concealing them. She could not possibly be unaffected—and yet.

A faint restlessness settled somewhere in his chest. Entzi breathed out, quietly.

"That tea looks untouched—would you mind if I had it?"

"It's gone cold, I'm afraid—wait just a moment. Let me have fresh tea brought—"

"It's fine. I prefer my tea cool, actually."

It was hardly his place to intervene; he had said himself that he was all right. Besides, regardless of the engagement between them, they had only known each other two days.

He had always been, by nature, a person of little interest in others. That he had taken any notice at all was already more than his duty as an affianced required. This was a marriage of form and purpose; that was all it was.

Entzi set aside, as he always did, a measure of feeling, and put on his nobleman's face.

He reached for the teacup before him with a perfectly elegant hand and lifted it.

The handle snapped cleanly off.

Naturally, the tea went everywhere.

What on earth— Entzi looked down at his damp hand in a daze.

"..."

"...Ah. Now that I think about it—Lord Alte was holding that handle rather firmly, just now."

"...I see."

"It seems to have broken."

"Albré porcelain is not inexpensive—you may wish to send him a bill."

"Thank you for the advice."

Entzi Bethelgius had gone. Looking back, Goiyo was not entirely sure what he'd actually come for—though she supposed he had been worried about the engagement being derailed by Therio Alte.

Only once both men had left could Goiyo allow herself to settle properly into the sofa. She closed her eyes. Annie came to her side.

"My lady, it's noon—what would you like for lunch?"

"Something light. Whatever's easy."

"Lord Therio!"

Annie was on the verge of relaying the request to the kitchen when a sudden cry came, and someone swept into the drawing room.

Bright golden hair. Wide, softly-drooping blue eyes. Melishi Rubiette.

Melishi had come looking for Therio—she had clearly not expected to find Goiyo here, and the surprise showed plainly on her face.

"Hello, Sister Goiyo..." Melishi greeted her in a small, quiet voice.

"And Lord Therio...? I heard he'd come."

"He had urgent business and went back to House Alte."

Urgent enough that he'd been dispatched without a chance to say goodbye—but there was no call to wound Melishi's feelings. Goiyo held her tongue.

"Oh, I see... I was too late, then."

"The timing didn't work out. Speaking of which—where is Lady Kazehl? Didn't you come out together?"

Melishi gave a small flinch, and her golden hair swayed.

"Ah... Mother said she had to call at the Imperial Palace briefly. She has lunch with Father there today, she said."

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. But my stomach isn't well, so I thought I'd skip it."

Melishi slid a careful glance toward Goiyo from beneath those round eyes.

Goiyo knew that Melishi, who was lively enough around their other family members, grew unusually subdued in her presence—but today Melishi was even more watchful than usual.

Because her sister had become engaged to the man Goiyo had once been promised to. Goiyo arrived at the conclusion without difficulty.

"Watching your figure is one thing—but there's no need to overdo it. The engagement ceremony will be longer than you might expect."

"That is—ah—yes. Yes, Sister."

I'll go to my room now, Melishi murmured, barely audible, and slipped quickly out of the drawing room.

Goiyo watched the door through which she had disappeared and spoke to no one in particular.

'That's how it ought to be.'

How did Therio Alte say those things so easily, she wondered—the words about wishing for her happiness, the words about undoing everything and going back. How did they come to him so readily?

Without realizing it, Goiyo had creased the skin around her eyes.

Seeing the fatigue plain on her face, Annie asked carefully:

"Are you all right, my lady? You're not unwell?"

"I'm fine—just a little tired."

That thinking of Therio Alte should still exhaust her—that, at least, was nothing new.

"Oh—that reminds me, Annie. A little later, could you send a bill over to House Alte? The drawing-room teacup—it was Lord Alte who broke it. Whatever his engagement to Melishi, I'll collect what's owed."

"Yes, of course, my lady."

Trees that had grown so tall the sky had ceased to exist.

Thin threads of pale sunlight found their way through the dense canopy. In the exposed places—the neck, the backs of the hands—the cold was immediate and without apology; a muted chorus of insects rose and fell somewhere deep within the underbrush.

'Where am I?'

Therio Alte blinked into the dimness.

Only a moment ago he had been sitting in the drawing room, raising his voice at the Marquess—and then he had blinked and opened his eyes to find himself in a forest.

A forest? Or—a mountain?

Therio stumbled backward in his disorientation, caught his heel on a tree root, and lurched sideways. His sense of balance was good enough to keep him on his feet, but he was forced to catch himself against the nearest trunk.

"Urgh—what the—!"

It was not a trunk. What he had grabbed was an enormous flower, perfectly identical in color to the surrounding bark, and it lunged toward him without delay.

Fortunately, Therio Alte was a rather accomplished knight, and so did not become the flower's meal.

Sshcrk. Cut cleanly in half, the severed bloom released an odor that twisted his face into something unrecognizable.

'Where in the world is this. Oh. Right.'

He remembered, belatedly, the object he always carried. Therio fumbled quickly through his coat.

The location-tracking artifact maintained for the safety of the Alte heir was, mercifully, where it always was—close against his chest. He unfolded the map-shaped device and read his position.

The Avalanche Mountain Range.

The color drained from Therio's face in an instant.

For the first time in four years—four years since the Imperial Court had placed it under interdiction—the monsters' sacred ground had received a visitor.