MB Chapter 40

The one caught off guard by Goiyo's immediate answer was, in fact, Entzi. His face frozen in an expression that hadn't quite decided where to land, he confirmed what he'd heard.

"I was... referring to Lord Iell Eliom."

"Yes, Lord Eliom. He resembles Razine, but as you said—quite striking."

She had told Entzi to his face that he was handsome, so it stood to reason she could say the same of anyone who struck her that way. But he found himself unable to conceal a certain bafflement.

What is this feeling. An unpleasant heat rose from the very bottom of his chest, like something being scorched at low heat, and his insides were warm in a way that was not comfortable.

'Handsome?'

He tried to recall the face—encountered a few times, never examined closely. All that surfaced was something washed-out, like paint diluted with far too much water.

"I see."

He answered as though unbothered, but that was the surface only. Inwardly, Goiyo's husband had already decided to revisit the Eliom household files he had set aside.

Having changed into comfortable clothes, the two of them finished dinner.

The sky that had been overcast all day finally gave way to rain, which settled the mood somewhat—but it made for better conversation, not worse.

Entzi spoke with his customary, unshakable composure.

"Tomorrow, perhaps—shall we look at a gown for you?"

"A gown? Oh — for the hunting competition..."

"There's an imperial ball being held in its honor. What exactly it's honoring, I couldn't say."

Goiyo nodded at the dry remark. The idea of a ball tied to a hunting competition had never quite made sense to her.

It was equally strange to claim the event for a hunting competition when its attendance had nothing to do with whether one had actually competed.

'Melishi will probably come. And Therio Alte.'

That the engagement announcement hadn't come yet was surprising, but the timing was right—it was gradually becoming the season for such preparations—and there was no reason to avoid the crowded visibility of an imperial ball.

She planned to find suitable excuses for Melishi's engagement and wedding both. She had thought she would see no one from Rubiette again until the day she died.

After the wedding she had reached out exactly once—formally, through correspondence, a perfunctory inquiry into health.

The sight of them no longer drew up anything rawly negative. But the memory of exhaustion remained intact, and Goiyo still felt a roughness she couldn't entirely smooth over.

"Is attendance obligatory?"

"Not for you. Not technically."

"And for you?"

"I, rather unintentionally, took first place in the competition. Which makes absence difficult without adequate cause."

The image of the monstrous mermaid surfaced in Goiyo's mind, and her eyes twitched slightly, unbidden.

"But it is an imperial ball. You'd need a partner to attend. Do you have someone to go with?"

"There is that rule, yes. On the previous occasion I was the guest of honor — afforded certain privileges, including attending alone — but the situation has become less straightforward. As I mentioned earlier, I have no one I associate with purely for the sake of companionship..."

"You really ought to develop a habit of speaking plainly."

Annoyed by the smooth circling, she said it plainly — and Entzi tilted his head as though he hadn't understood a word.

"I'm not sure I follow. Would you be so kind as to speak plainly, my lady?"

"I was suggesting you ask Razine to be your partner. If that's difficult, I'd be happy to help."

"I really do need to develop a habit of speaking plainly."

It wasn't working anymore, the circling. Entzi shook his head.

"If you're willing, my lady—would you accompany me to the ball?"

"...Fine. If I don't go, rumors of marital discord will start. I haven't much choice."

"I'm honored. Would you prefer to go out, or shall I have the designer come to us?"

"Either is fine."

"Any style in mind?"

"Not really..."

"A color preference, at least?"

"As long as it isn't too saturated, too sharp—I don't much care."

Entzi smiled at the vague answer—a faint crinkle at the bridge of his nose, an expression that didn't quite belong to the moment. Goiyo watched her husband with a puzzled look.

"Sadly, I've failed."

"At what?"

"Do you remember a similar conversation we had at the dining table before?"

"I remember. It wasn't long ago."

"I made a private resolution then. That the next time we had this kind of conversation, I would hear a clear preference from you—likes or dislikes, either one."

"What?" She couldn't conceal her bewilderment.

"So that's what you were doing on my birthday... Why would you make a resolution like that?"

"A small hobby of mine. Exploring your preferences—what you like to wear, what you enjoy eating, what interests you."

"You already know. I don't have clear preferences."

"I think of it not as 'having none,' but as 'not yet knowing.'"

He pushed aside the dishes in front of him and propped his chin in the empty space, eyes tilted up toward her. A rather languid look.

"There was an anecdote in a Blekost newspaper. A baron and baroness found their child again after years of the child being lost in the forest—raised by wild animals, apparently, so that when discovered the child was little different from a beast wearing a human face."

"I've heard something of it. And?"

"Fortunately they hadn't been gone so long as to make socialization impossible, so with education the child gradually recovered something like a human shape.

A child who had initially tried to gnaw raw meat, who was afraid of fire, who tore off every garment they were put in.

At first they focused not on what food tasted like but only on the fact that food existed—given this they ate this, given that they ate that. Then, with time, things changed."

That story...

"Human sensation dulls before it sharpens. Like a sculptor at work—rough shapes first, fine detail later. I believe you simply haven't grown accustomed yet, that's all."

"Are you comparing me to a child raised by wild animals?"

"There are other examples. Someone who had never known a meal worth eating, who then tasted a celebrated chef's cooking and became an exquisite gourmand. Or someone who plunged from abundance into privation and only then understood what a meal really meant. Ah—that last one is mine."

His wife, who had been about to object, faltered at the last words, then exhaled a pale-colored sigh.

"You don't need to go that far to persuade me. I can feel it too—my preferences sharpening."

"What gratifying words. Thank you. I intend to keep at it."

"'Keep at it'?"

"Same as before. Each thing you wear, eat, see—arranging the finest possible version of all of it."

"Are you familiar, by any chance, with the concept of wasteful spending?"

"A magnificent driving force that keeps civilization running. I know it well."

"...I've always thought it, but you really are a peculiar person."

"One of a kind, you mean. Thank you."

"How do you manage to be so relentlessly positive?"

"When everything around you is set against you."

His voice was no different from before—still unhurried, still even—but the room had grown heavy.

"When no one else will say kind things, you have to say them yourself."

"Ah..."

"Oh—I didn't mean to bring things down. I apologize."

Four months—already. They had been married for four months. Not a long time, as time went. But measured against what remained to Goiyo, not short either.

For all the time they had spent together, for all the conversation, Goiyo had attended only to the Entzi directly in front of her, in the moment of speaking—she had never once thought about his past, or his future.

The formal fact that he was an imperial illegitimate—she'd kept that in her head and nothing more. The last time she had actually recalled it was the wedding day.

And even then, only to think about what the hidden bloodline might gain him. Not to wonder what it had cost him, growing up with it.

Perhaps that was natural. However warm the present was, however genuine the intimacy they had grown into, the end of things between them was not in doubt.

Wondering about the man who would bring about her death. Pitying a childhood that may have been lonely.

These were ridiculous things. Small things.

And yet — why was it catching now, newly, on something inside her. Goiyo's face was stained with a color she couldn't name.

"Don't apologize. Sometimes the mood needs to settle."

"I suppose it does."

Entzi.

Goiyo said her husband's name quietly.

It might be a sensitive question—but if he didn't want to answer, he had the words for it. He would find his way around it gracefully, as he always did.

She felt irresponsible, asking. But knowing nothing at all, until the day she died—she thought she would like that even less.

"How did you grow up?"

"How I grew up..."

"If it's difficult to speak about, you needn't. I only thought—I know so little about you."

"That you would want to know about me, my lady." A pause. "What an honor."

At the smooth deflection, Goiyo answered without looking away.

"Yes. I want to know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is that not allowed?"

The words arrived slowly and were strangely, unexpectedly forceful. Entzi's breath stopped for a moment.

Her eyes blinked slowly as they always did, lashes following after—and the clear irises, shadowed by that slow movement, dissolved into the damp atmosphere of the room until even his own reflection in them looked like something submerged.

The man had stopped talking. The room was quiet. The sound of rain pouring outside absorbed the silence and grew.

As though the damp air had stolen something from him—against the moisture pressing in from everywhere—his mouth had gone completely dry, and his insides were warm.

Caught by the gaze that would not leave him, unable to look away, he held the silence a moment longer before managing to find his voice.

...No.

Small enough to be swallowed by the rain. But enough to break the silence.

The strange atmosphere dissolved—barely—and as ordinary quiet returned, Entzi continued, a shade awkwardly.

"When I was young, the circumstances weren't poor. Materially comfortable. Emotionally, well..." A slight pause. "Both parents were living. My father was not present, but my mother was rather devoted to me. There were moments it felt like something of a weight, occasionally."

"I see."

"And there was one older brother."

His achromatic eyes sank somewhere beyond memory.

"He was the only person my age worth associating with, so I remember being rather close to him."

"I had only one person to associate with, growing up as well. It wasn't a good connection."

"You mean Therio Alte. Mine was the same. Not a good one."

Entzi made a sound that was half laugh, half sigh.

"He was selfish and hypocritical. One could argue that made him simply, quintessentially human—but I find I have no desire to put kind words to it.

He performed warmth. Performed goodness. But beneath the performance the benevolence was that of a patron dispensing favors. And when he found himself at a disadvantage, he turned entirely—and said as much."

'I should never have wasted my sympathy on something like you.'

"After that, I understood how foolish it is to become too dependent on someone emotionally. If that person happens to be good, you're fortunate. But the world has too many people who are not, to make a wager of it."

"You're right. It is foolish." A pause. "But as long as one is human—it cannot be helped."