MB Chapter 9

It was only upon seeing his expression that Goiyo understood, belatedly, that she had never pushed Therio away before. Not once in all their years together.

That was simply how it had always been between them. It was Therio who had extended his hand first and asked to be friends; Therio who had declared his feelings and asked her to become something more; and Therio, too, who had changed his heart and poured his resentments out upon her. Goiyo had always been swept along in his wake, following wherever he wished to lead—her body, her heart, her very soul.

A lonely heart, unacquainted with love, is a fragile thing. It absorbs the emotions of others too easily. Consents to them too readily.

The result was this: Goiyo had gained a friend, then lost one. Gained a lover, then lost one. Gained happiness, then lost it.

Trampled beneath the passing footsteps of a giant moving back and forth, that tender heart had been laid so thoroughly to waste that not a single blade of grass remained—and now there was nothing left to do but pray for the end to come quickly.

Only then had words of refusal finally reached Goiyo's lips. Only after she had already surrendered her own life could she bring herself to refuse the one person in the world who claimed to cherish her. A wretched harvest—and yet, in its way, a willing one.

Goiyo had expected Therio to simply walk out of the drawing room. That was the only thing left for a proud knight to do, upon being told that things were finished between them.

"...Is this because of the Marquess?"

"What?"

But Therio's face had only gone darker; he looked neither wounded nor affronted. Rather than sweeping out, he raised something Goiyo had not thought to anticipate.

"I'm sorry—but earlier, I happened to see the marriage proposal letter from Bethelgius. I didn't mean to; it was purely by accident. But did the Marquess tell you to keep your distance from House Alte? Did he threaten you? What on earth did he say to you last night, that you're suddenly like this—just tell me!"

"What I'm doing has nothing to do with the Marquess. It's my own decision. And what does any of it have to do with Lord Alte?"

"Please, Goiyo. You're not—don't tell me you're actually considering marrying the Marquess in earnest?"

Therio closed his hand hard around the teacup before him. Goiyo watched a hairline fracture form along the handle and frowned. She found she had no desire, anymore, to compose her expression in front of him.

"Come to your senses, Goiyo. I don't know what the Marquess said to you, but he doesn't love you. You'd truly marry someone who doesn't love you?"

"...I think it's time for you to leave. Please go."

"Don't you remember what your mother said? There's no way to find happiness in a political marriage!"

Therio's words snagged at her ankle as she rose from her seat. Her eyes went cool and flat.

"Your dream isn't something like that, Goiyo Rubiette!"

"How would you know?"

The question escaped her before she could think. Her composure had stripped away entirely—she had forgotten, somewhere along the way, even to maintain the distance of formal speech.

Her voice had begun to tremble of its own accord.

"I never said any such thing to you."

"Goiyo, just a moment—"

"How do you know?"

She hadn't meant to shout. Therio's eyes went wide.

Goiyo pressed him for an answer, his mouth working without sound. After a brief hesitation, he spoke.

"Do you remember that winter when we were sixteen? The day I brought you grape wine and told you it was grape juice—to tease you."

"What about that day."

"I told you afterward that you fell asleep right away. But that wasn't quite the truth."

On a winter's day when both of them were sixteen, Therio had looked at Goiyo and seen she was more melancholy than usual. He decided to lighten the mood with a small piece of mischief.

He poured grape wine filched from the cellar into her glass in place of the juice, then settled in to wait and see how long it would take her to notice.

What he hadn't anticipated was that Goiyo, whose heart had been full of things she couldn't say, would simply drain the glass in one go. Wine she'd never tasted before, and strong—the burning heat crept up through her body slowly, and she swayed, no longer able to hold herself upright.

Therio had been on the verge of running to fetch the adults in a panic when Goiyo caught hold of his sleeve.

'Therio, you're not going anywhere, are you?'

Her face had flushed the color of a rose; she seemed entirely unaware of what she'd drunk. She was looking at him with something frightened in her eyes.

He could not bring himself to leave. Therio Alte sat himself back down beside her. And after that—

"You told me everything. That it was around your mother's death anniversary. Everything else, too. What your dream was—all of it."

"You never told me that you knew."

"No, I didn't. When you'd come back to yourself, you didn't remember any of it—and I thought it was better not to mention that I knew. Because while you were speaking, Goiyo—you were in such pain."

A storm broke open somewhere inside her. Anger. Betrayal. Resentment. Shame. Things she had never breathed to a living soul—the wound of being left by her mother, and that wish too small and pathetic to say aloud. That these things had poured from her own mouth, of all possible mouths—she felt betrayed even by herself.

Everything seemed wrong. Not only that she had refused to release Therio, but that she had loved him, that she had become his friend, that she had ever crossed paths with Therio Alte and exchanged so much as a single word. Every part of it felt like a beginning that should never have been made.

'Perhaps the mistake began with being born at all.'

She had believed there was nowhere further down to fall, and yet the floor had opened beneath her. Goiyo asked, with a wretchedness that cost her something real:

"Did you pity me?"

"No! Nothing like that—the reason I didn't say anything was because I thought you'd hate that I knew...

I'm sorry, deciding that unilaterally was wrong of me. But when I heard those things, I didn't pity you. I didn't think you were unfortunate. I wasn't laughing at you.

If anything—it was then that I began to care for you. I wanted to protect you. I would never look at you the way you're thinking, never—"

'What?'

"What are you saying. You developed feelings for me because of something like that?"

"I wanted to be the one who gave you what you wished for. That's why—"

Therio let the sentence fall. She didn't need him to finish it to understand.

He had wanted to give her what she wished for—her longing for a small, quiet family of her own, she supposed; her hope, breathed aloud in a moment she couldn't remember.

And the person who had wanted to give her that had quietly transferred the wish from her to her sister. Had kept his silence, cowardly, until the very night before their wedding. Had turned on her afterward and laid Melishi's death at her feet—

Even before her return to the past, even after, his behavior had never once felt like that of a man who held her secrets. If he had truly known, Therio Alte should have come to her himself when his heart had changed. That much, at the very least.

Whatever had kept him silent until the eve of the wedding—whether it was uncertainty about his own feelings, or reluctance to break a family arrangement, or some guilt he harbored toward Goiyo Rubiette—for any reason, or no reason at all, he should have been the one to speak.

At the very least, before Goiyo Rubiette had swelled with joy at the thought that her wish was finally going to come true.

Therio's claim that he had not pitied her—this Goiyo accepted. If there had been any pity in him at all, he could not have been this cruel.

She could bear it no longer. Goiyo raised her hand to the coward's cheek.

Smack. The sound was far too small for the rage behind it.

"Is that why you fell for Melishi?"

"...Don't twist my words, I was just—"

"No. Don't bother explaining. I'll take back what I said a moment ago."

She set her teeth and made herself plain. Even she had not known she was capable of this kind of fury.

"Not only visiting me privately—for the rest of your life, never appear before my eyes again."

"Goiyo, please—! I know you're angry, I know, but this isn't the time to be swept away by emotion, is it? If you marry the Marquess, you'll be miserable!"

Miserable? No—she was already miserable enough. Miserable enough that being murdered after marrying the Marquess did not register as misery by comparison.

"You sound as though you'd like me to be. Fine—who else should I marry, if not the Marquess? Who in the world is there who is a suitable match in rank and age? Should I grab a stranger off the street and beg them to love me?"

"Goiyo! I want you to be happy. Not a marriage like this—"

"For the sake of your own comfort—so your conscience won't itch—I should love just anyone, and go begging for love in return? I should go that far, for you? Is that what it would take to put your mind at ease, Therio Alte!"

The color drained from Therio's face. Perhaps he hadn't realized his words could be heard that way. Or perhaps he simply hadn't believed she was capable of saying this much.

What in the world did Therio Alte want from her?

He had no shortage of people around him—he was hardly starved for companionship—so why was he making things so impossible for her?

Was it guilt over the broken engagement? Fear that she might say something cutting to Melishi?

No. There was no reason to try to understand him.

Marquess Bethelgius had included a proposed wedding date along with his letter. One blink and December would arrive; and once it passed, there would be no occasion to see Therio Alte again.

Perhaps they would still cross paths occasionally—but even so, just one more year, and Goiyo would—

She tried, slowly, to settle the rage that had turned her thoughts white. She lifted the cup of tea in front of her and took a sip. Set it down.

Therio spoke again.

"You don't have to rush into marriage."

"I'm of marriageable age now. As a Rubiette, I ought to marry someone. Unless—do you want to marry me yourself? You, who so touchingly resolved that you ought to fulfill my dream now that you know it—if I marry you, does that satisfy you?"

"Goiyo..."

The look of helpless distress on his face drew a long breath from her.

"There's nothing to deliberate, Therio. Were I to live a hundred lives, I would never marry you again. Go home."

"Goiyo, the Marquess—!"

"The Marquess, the Marquess—don't you tire of it? Even if the Marquess were the worst scoundrel the world has ever produced, he would still be a thousand times better than you!"

Therio shook his head, wretched with something. The long argument had exhausted her; she let the rigid line of her back settle at last into the sofa and breathed out.

A brief silence fell.

She was about to tell him, finally, to go home—when Therio called her name. What stopped her was the look on his face: he had the expression of someone who had just arrived at a decision.

"Just—be with me instead. I'll do as you say; I'll go and talk to Melishi."

"...Be with you how?"

"Marriage. Let's undo all of this and go back."

Was he making some kind of joke, in the middle of all of this? She stared at his face, expecting mockery—but he was perfectly, terribly serious.

She was past anger now. There were simply no words. Goiyo let out a short, involuntary laugh.

"You're actually out of your min—"

"With whose permission, exactly?"

A familiar voice cut straight through her sentence.

Something about the situation had the quality of a half-remembered dream. Goiyo startled—but before she could react, Therio had already surged to his feet across from her.

"I'm quite certain I received your acceptance," came the voice. "Must I also receive the approval of a former betrothed?"

"Marquess Bethelgius!"

The sofa cushion beside Goiyo sank under a new weight. In contrast to Therio, who had leapt to his feet, the person who had settled onto the sofa was the Marquess himself.

He sat at Goiyo's side—legs crossed, arms folded—with perfect ease. His face tilted at a slight angle, he looked up at Therio with that unhurried smile of his, and behind the smile his eyes held a contempt that made no effort to conceal itself.

He had already sent his letter through a messenger. Why had he come himself? Bewildered, Goiyo looked between Therio and the Marquess in turn.

"Is there such an unreasonable law in the Imperial Code, Goiyo?"

"No—no such law... could there be?"

Goiyo. Was that truly her own name, in his mouth? She blinked.

"She says there isn't. I'm sorry to repeat myself, but you'll need to take your leave, Lord Alte. I have rather a lot to discuss with my fiancée."

"Appearing out of nowhere like this—what sort of rudeness is this! Mar—"

"Goodbye."

Therio had been slamming his hand against the table, trying to object—but at those single parting words, he simply ceased to exist.

A teleportation. He had vanished as if he had never been there at all.

Goiyo looked at the tea spreading across the table from the cup Therio had struck before disappearing. She spent a genuine moment wondering if she was dreaming.