SN Chapter 10

"More spartan than usual. Not a single dress."

"Kallix said all my clothes were out of fashion. Said to buy new ones in the capital. Said to have Raymond come along."

That little—he's offloaded all of this onto me? Raymond inwardly said a few choice words about Kallix. Mildly. Still—it was for the sake of someone rather like his own little sister, so he supposed he could sacrifice a day off and make the rounds of dress shops. Rosaline looked around her room and flopped onto the bed. In the middle of sorting her things, Raymond pulled out a uniform and held it out to her.

"Here, take this. Change into it first, then come out. No—wait until I leave before you undress!"

At the instruction to change clothes, Rosaline had immediately started unbuttoning. Raymond clapped a hand over his eyes in a panic. Once she emerged in the uniform, she was subjected to a sustained lecture. Don't go taking your clothes off in front of other people like that, understand? Understand? Quick, promise your big brother right here. Pinky finger. Stamp.

Rosaline frowned through the continuous lecture but answered understood each time it was required.

The dormitory corridor was wide and well-ordered. Walking the length of it, Raymond briefed her on several things.

"Reporting to the captain's office first to announce your return—that's the priority. We have time before the investiture, so you'll need to go around the Order and get a sense of things. Oh—and tomorrow, after your official appointment as senior knight, a few trainee knights will be assigned to you. Up to five. Those who want to train under you submit their names and you choose from the volunteers. You can give them small tasks and errands, but overseeing them does take time—only take on as many as you can handle. The ceremony sequence and the oath—did you memorize them?"

"Yes."

"Impressive. Well done. And Rosaline... about your memory... how are you handling it? Are people allowed to know?"

"Yes."

Kallix had agonized over this. Say something—and Rosaline might be disadvantaged. Say nothing—and her casual behavior would be inexplicable. Her manners had improved to a degree, but anyone who'd known the old Rosaline well enough would notice the difference. There was nothing to be done about it. Before uncontrolled rumors could spread far and wide, other interpretations had to be preempted.

The diagnosis: memory loss. It would not interfere with her duties; and the oath of the White Night—her loyalty to the Second Prince—had persisted through the loss and brought her back to the Order. That was Rosaline's story.

Rosaline followed Raymond's lead to the captain's office. Two trainee knights standing at the door recognized Raymond's face and opened it. Rosaline met the eyes of a man reviewing documents at the desk. Sharp, glittering eyes. Deep-cut lines. An appearance that spoke of decades of hard-won experience. The red-haired man rose from his seat and moved to stand before the desk. Raymond and Rosaline both made a light fist with their right hand, knuckles outward, and placed it over the heart.

"Glory of Idelabheim, who cleaves the black moon. Rosaline of Redwheel. Reporting my return to the White Night Order."

"Glory of Idelabheim, who cleaves the black moon. Raymond of Grandram. Presenting myself to the Knight Captain."

Knight Captain Stas likewise raised his fist to his heart.

"Idelabheim's glory unto you. How is your body, Dame Rosaline?"

She could feel Raymond's anxious gaze boring into her from the side. Rosaline clasped her hands behind her back.

"Well."

"It shows. Good. I hope you will continue to spend that fortune in His Highness's service."

"Understood."

"Congratulations on your promotion to senior knight. Your own diligent effort has brought you here."

"Thank you."

"Any questions about the ceremony?"

"None."

Raymond, watching their clipped exchange, cleared his throat and interjected. Even accounting for her habitual brevity, the current Rosaline was sounding as though she were picking a quarrel with the captain. The short, cut-off answers read as almost combative.

"If it isn't an imposition, Captain, might I mention something."

"Speak."

"...In fact, Dame Rosaline's body has, fortunately, made a complete recovery... but... her mind is still somewhat... unwell..."

Stas looked at Raymond with an expression full of questions. What on earth is this man going on about.

"What do you mean by that, Sir Raymond? Unwell in mind. Of course I understand the sentiment. I, too, have lost comrades, the same as you. But it's our work—to stand back up and move forward through that grief and fury."

"..."

Too much hedging. Raymond wiped the smile from his face in a single motion. Forget it, whatever happens, happens.

"Dame Rosaline is having some difficulty with her memory. Memory loss, they're calling it."

"...?"

The face that always maintained perfect composure registered stark bewilderment.

A genuinely rare sight.

"The majority of her memories have been lost, yet the oath of the White Night—the vow to protect the Second Prince—remained intact. Additionally, her capacity to absorb new information is considerable. I did not believe her unfit for duty, and proceeded with the order for her return. There is also a physician's report stating her memories are expected to return before long."

Stas received the physician's report from Raymond and read it through carefully. Everything else on the page seemed to blur; only [memory loss], those two words, stood out vivid and distinct. So the unusually short, clipped answers had originated from this.

He worked his chin with his fingers, glancing between the report and Rosaline. Report. Rosaline. Again. He briefly entertained the notion that it might be some scheme of the First Prince's faction—but her straightforward, unwavering bearing was the kind that could convince any observer, beyond doubt, that her loyalty to the Second Prince was genuine. Had her origins not been House Redwheel with its First Prince allegiances, he might have favored her far more.

The black-haired woman was listening openly to her own situation being discussed and still holding her expression. She looked mildly bored, if anything.

The old Rosaline had been magnanimous and bold—but not the type to practice the smooth self-interest of a practiced deceiver. Stas, who knew her character well, found he had no choice but to accept it. However absurd this report was, it sat as close to the truth as anything he could believe.

A complicated expression settled over his face. He held his silence for a long moment before opening his mouth with evident effort.

"...How is... your body, Dame Rosaline?"

The same question as before. But with a slightly different weight behind it. Rosaline straightened her posture and met Stas's eyes directly.

"Well. Thank you."

Stas's lips moved slightly, hesitating, before he gave a dismissal order. Raymond remained in the captain's office to speak with him a while longer.

The two trainee knights posted at the door glanced over at her. She was a known figure within the White Night Order. The eldest daughter of House Redwheel—protectors of the First Prince—alive and returned from what should have been her death. Rosaline Ester of Redwheel.

She wore the various feelings directed at her and smiled. She was not unsettled. Kallix had told her enough in advance that she understood, roughly, the shape of the situation.

The people of the White Night Order did not like her. Different factions, he'd said. Which meant the captain presumably felt the same—yet even through the clipped words and unreadable expression, his concern had been unmistakable. Through the door came the murmuring sound of Raymond and Stas in quiet conversation. Rosaline was outside the door, but she could hear it. A small borrowing of the superior auditory capacity of whatever she had once been.

"...Dame Rosaline..."

"In that case..."

Even after she had left, the captain's concern showed no sign of running out. Raymond, audible even through the door, was apparently beginning to find it excessive. Rosaline waited for Raymond with the back of her head resting lightly against the wall.

'What a pity, Rosaline. Black-haired human. Perhaps you were actually a rather decent sort.'

Rosaline had a crease between her brows and was making no effort to conceal her displeasure. Beside her, Raymond was doing an anxious, helpless shuffle.

She felt gazes boring into her from all directions. People passing by turned to look back—that much could be understood. But there were also cases of people who had apparently come from a considerable distance specifically to confirm she was alive and intact. Rosaline's patience was beginning to approach its limit.

Rosaline—it—did not care for standing out. Living creatures evolved over years, centuries, across generations, in directions advantageous to survival—and sometimes were eliminated by those that weren't. They mimicked nearby creatures, blended into groups, fled threats. Its capacity for mimicry had perhaps developed in exactly such an environment.

So this moment—gazes from all sides converging on Rosaline—was precisely the kind of situation calculated to send her toward the restless, itching discomfort of something that needs very badly to be invisible. Was there any need to stare this much? She wasn't in the shape of a demon beast. She wasn't missing an eye. Nothing wrong with either arm. A perfectly ordinary human form. Had her mimicry slipped without her noticing? She checked her arms and legs, then twisted, straining to see her own back.

"What are you doing, Rosaline?"

"Is something wrong with me?"

Raymond watched her spinning in place and shook his head. Her clothes were impeccable. Not a smudge anywhere.

"You're a good person, Rosaline. But that alone can't be a reason for everyone to like you. That's not how it works."

"I don't understand. Strange."

"It is a little strange and difficult, isn't it? Human relationships are like that."

Count Pertan Ester of Redwheel. A man who had protected the First Prince, earned commendation after commendation at the front, and held numerous titles beyond his countship. A house with considerable standing and influence within Illavénia, to put it plainly. The eldest daughter of that house had, one day, entered the Second Prince's Knight Order—and within short order completed her training period and been promoted to lower knight. The captain watched her quietly rather than discriminating against or fearing her; the vice-captain, despite her coming from a rival faction, had recognized the sincerity of her wish to protect the Second Prince and cherished her greatly for it.

But that sight had not made for pleasant viewing among the other knights. So young, to be acting like that. A woman, to be acting like that. Part of the First Prince’s faction, to be acting like that. With not a lick of skill to her name, to be acting like that! Someone without sense or shame. That was what Rosaline Ester of Redwheel had been to them. Then she'd been reported lost in the battle at the hunting competition—body unrecovered.

Even those who had disliked her had mourned, in those days.