MB Chapter 16

"What? Why— Entzi?"

"Isn't your husband the most splendid person in the empire?"

A laugh escaped before she could help it—not a real one, only a small, involuntary sound, and even that surprised her. She watched the man's expression fall further, and moved to recover.

"I don't dislike it. Only— I think it doesn't suit me."

"How disappointing." He rested his chin in one hand, considering her. "I thought we suited each other quite well."

"Uh..."

What was one supposed to say to that? Goiyo found she had no ready answer, and fell into a brief, uncharacteristic silence.

"Am I wrong?"

She thought about it properly before answering. She did not intend to simply play along with whatever Entzi was performing. But beneath the performance—beneath his entire habit of performance—she thought that they did, in fact, get along quite well.

There had not been many people in her life with whom she had exchanged words beyond a certain point. She could count on one hand those with whom she had ever had anything resembling a comfortable conversation. And yet with Entzi, something was different. She had found herself talking to him with an ease she hadn't felt before—with anyone.

She understood why, clearly enough. She understood his intentions precisely, and she did not expect much from him.

Even if he were to be disappointed in her, it would not hurt her.

That was the whole of it, but it was enough.

"No. It's not wrong, I think."

"That's a relief."

He laughed—a real one this time, brief and unguarded—and then lowered the hand supporting his chin and leaned toward her.

The touch on her lips was so fleeting it was almost deniable.

Goiyo's eyes went wide. Entzi, by contrast, had already leaned back again, expression entirely untroubled, and was now directing his attention toward the steak the servant had placed before him.

'This person—'

Her eyes narrowed.

"After all, saying you have no experience is a lie, isn't it."

"I simply have an excellent capacity for learning." He began cutting the meat. "I learned from my wife."

"By that logic, I also learned from my husband."

She said it recalling the deck. He appeared to recall it too. The knife in his hand struck the floor with a loud thunk, bouncing off to one side.

Goiyo looked down at it. At the handle, where the impression of fingers had been pressed cleanly, permanently, into the metal.

"You're quite strong."

"...That's how it was designed."

"In the shape of a handprint?"

"Yes. For practicality. Easier to grip."

She glanced down at her own knife. There were no such indentations. He followed her gaze there, and spoke before she could.

"Custom-made. We should order one for you soon."

"I'll pass. It isn't my preferred design."

"Of course. Preferences should be respected." He turned toward the waiting servant. "Bring a new knife. Dispose of this one."

"Dispose of it?"

"I have grown tired of the design. I've used it too long."

"How long have you used it?"

"I've never kept track in units that small."

He had recovered his composure with something almost artistic in its completeness. Goiyo found herself glancing at his ear. The very tip of it was red.

'His manner is so shameless, and yet his ears are entirely honest.'

She filed this away without allowing herself to show it.

"Your maid," Entzi said, introducing a new thread, "will have finished her training by tomorrow."

A face surfaced that she had not thought of in some time. Annie.

Most women, on marrying, brought a lady's maid from their previous household. Goiyo had brought no one to the Alte mansion. There had been no one sufficiently close to bring.

Annie had been her exclusive maid for a good many years. They were not on poor terms. Their relationship was simply what it was—employer and employee, no deeper current running beneath it, nothing to distinguish it on either side.

And yet. Knowing now what she knew—knowing Annie would die if she remained in the Rubiette household—she had suggested Annie come. The surprise had been how quickly Annie accepted.

"Are you speaking of Annie? That's sooner than I expected."

"She began her training immediately after the wedding. We timed it to coincide with your move into the mansion."

"I see."

She nodded, and returned to eating. Entzi, who had barely touched his plate, watched her move the utensils.

His gaze did not leave her. She tried to disregard it, but it remained fixed on her throughout, steady and patient, until she finished.

She had nearly prepared herself to address it when he spoke first.

"Goiyo, you seem to enjoy meat more than I would have thought."

"What?"

"You left all the salads. But the meat you finished entirely."

"Well. The main course was steak."

"Is that so?" He appeared to consider this with the gravity it warranted. "Then I'll rearrange the order of the courses."

The fingertips resting in her lap curled slowly against her skirt.

"...Why?"

"Because that way, I can discover what you enjoy."

She pressed her lips together. There was an inexplicable weight in her chest, and she covered for it by lifting her water glass and drinking without urgency, arranging her face into something composed.

Across the table, Entzi finally ate the meal he had left waiting while he watched her. The plate that had held the steak was clean. Everything else remained largely untouched. The servant who had carried the dishes had wasted considerable effort.

She glanced across the table's remains, and thought involuntarily of Valter.

"Entzi. You seem to have rather particular preferences. The chef will be grieved."

"Goiyo, do you know how much grass an elephant requires in order to survive?"

"...What?"

"At minimum, a ton."

"So?"

"Isn't it inefficient? You wouldn't know from merely looking at me, but the musculature concealed beneath my clothing is quite severe. I would need to chew on salads from morning to night merely to maintain it."

She replied without warmth. "That's quite an excess of nonsense."

"Is that so."

They rose from the table together.

Tuverang had been hovering just inside the kitchen doorway, as though drawn there by instinct, and emerged the moment they stood. He greeted them with the cautious hope of a man whose profession depends on being appreciated. There was a brief pause when he asked whether the meal had suited her taste.

"The steak," Goiyo said, "was delicious."

It was not yet time for bed, but there was nowhere else to go. They had already walked through most of the mansion that afternoon.

Her body felt slow and warm. The weariness was not unpleasant, exactly—the kind that comes from a full stomach and a day that has been longer than most. Even if she could not sleep, she wanted to rest.

"You look tired."

"...Not particularly. If there's a schedule, I can manage."

"There's no reason to push yourself. No one here can compel you to do anything, Goiyo."

"Except you."

"No. Including me."

Empty words, she thought. But she did not say so.

"There isn't much of a schedule left, in any case. I only wanted to show you where I live. Perhaps I overdid it."

"No—it was fine. Really." She paused. "I'm only a little tired. I'm not at my best."

That's a relief. She could hear what would have come next, and had expected him to begin leading her toward the bedroom, when Kolave appeared around the corner with the purposeful tread of a man carrying information he would prefer not to be carrying.

He hadn't run—he never ran—but he covered the distance quickly enough, and after the briefest of greetings he glanced at Goiyo, then leaned in close to Entzi's ear.

Entzi's expression, which had been merely neutral, turned darker as Kolave spoke.

'That ancient piece of scrap has returned quickly.'

Word had come that Therio Alte was back in Runabern. Worse, he had not gone to his own house. He had gone directly to the Rubiette estate.

Entzi smiled thinly. Therio had likely come straight from the Avalanche, not yet having heard about the marriage. He would walk into that house not knowing.

"What should we do?"

"What do you mean, what should we do. Tighten the security. And make it known that if he appears, they are to turn him away without hearing a word from him."

Goiyo asked quietly, reading the change in the air without being able to name it. "Is something wrong? You don't have to tell me, if—"

"No. Nothing serious."

He kept Therio Alte's name behind his teeth. If she heard it, her attention would move toward him—not from love, but from irritation—and then the man's face would persist in the corners of the day. Entzi had no patience for that.

May I go now? Kolave's expression was eloquent. It was past his hour to leave, and though the concept of leaving held a certain theoretical quality for a man who lived in the mansion, Kolave had always been attached to the principle of it.

Unfortunately for him, having looked at the desperation in his face, Entzi had just thought of something.

"Kolave. There's something I need you to do."

"I already have quite enough to—" The words were mostly swallowed.

"Burn down the rose garden."

A silence.

"What?"

"Entzi?"

"You worked so hard on it—didn't you read dozens of books on garden design?"

"It doesn't have to be roses to make a garden."

He should have left it at that. He was looking for a change of subject, and he had found one. But the longer he talked, the sadder it sounded. He began listing other flowers—baby's breath, chrysanthemums, lilies—and every one of them was a funeral flower, and his feelings were as plain as if he had announced them directly.

Goiyo looked at him.

"Entzi. Are you planning to burn it because of what I said?"

"If it had been a small pot, I might simply hide it somewhere and go on growing it. But the garden is not a small pot. I didn't know my wife disliked roses when I chose a bedroom with the most advantageous view of it. That presents a problem."

"I said it was all right to look at them. What I dislike more is the scent."

"If you walk through the grounds, the scent will follow you. Better to burn them."

He said it with a face of genuine melancholy. Goiyo made several attempts to dissuade him, but it was clear that Entzi Bethelgius, having decided something, was committed to having decided it. He had located himself in the role of a tragic protagonist and intended to remain there.

To burn down an entire garden—not artificial, but real flowers, growing things, cultivated and tended over years—simply because she had mentioned, in passing, that she did not prefer roses—

If she had known the conversation would reach this point, she would never have spoken about preferences at all.

Goiyo was not, by nature or experience, practiced at comforting people. She found herself doing the only thing she could think to do, which was to look at him squarely and say what she believed.

"If you're going to burn everything that's excessive, are you planning to burn your face too?"

"That's a good idea."

"Shut up, Kolave."

Then, more slowly: "Listening to you... that does make sense."

Entzi's expression cleared at once, like a sky after sudden weather. Goiyo, seeing it happen, hurried forward.

"I'll take the time to find out what flowers I like. In fact—I may not even dislike roses. I've only avoided anything flamboyant out of habit. That became my preference. But if I spent time near them properly, I might come to like them too, mightn't I?"

"The entire mansion is decorated flamboyantly," Entzi said. "Your taste may change, living here."

"Exactly. So leave the rose garden alone. I would find it uncomfortable to think that they all died because of something I said."

He nodded. The expression on his face was entirely fresh and unclouded.

Goiyo looked at him, and had the distinct sense of having been outmaneuvered—smoothly, so smoothly she had not noticed until it was done.