SN Chapter 24

Dark Moon was an external enemy, yes—but they shared a common target in Second Prince Rikardis, and on that basis had joined hands, at least temporarily. For Balta, as much as for Dark Moon, his existence was a thorn in the side. Rikardis had distinguished himself in significantly weakening Dark Moon's position over the years. Thanks to this, the alliance had come together with striking speed. In many respects it had been considerably easier than checking him with Elpydion's faction alone—and yet Rikardis had proven, predictably, to be no simple opponent. If anything, being driven onto the defensive seemed to bring out the genuine measure of him. The things he'd kept concealed were legion. Since the alliance, the match they'd assumed would conclude swiftly had gone on seesawing—advance, retreat, neither side gaining ground.

They had promised to finish it at the hunting competition. They had failed. After that, Elpydion had done what was necessary to get an assassin inside Moonstone Castle and had managed it—only for that to fail as well. Apparently battered to a bloody ruin by the knight newly assigned to escort duty, on her very first day. It was a disgrace—a complete and utter shit-show of an embarrassment. What Rikardis must be feeling now—insufferably, unbearably pleased with himself. The image alone made his blood run hot.

And in the middle of all this, Rikardis had uncovered the nature of the poison. A mixture of magic and poison. One that holy power could not heal, allegedly. Elpydion found this incomprehensible—and not merely the matter of divine power being rendered useless. The poison's existence itself was the problem. Elpydion had not received any such information from Dark Moon. Haqaev was operating independently under the banner of alliance. This was not a good omen.

If Dark Moon's claws turned toward him—if there was no antidote for this poison—he would be in danger as well. He was already in danger. The convenient justification of a shared purpose could be revoked at any moment. Elpydion dragged a hand through his bright blond hair. Things were unraveling badly. Count Ironshod, who had been frowning in thought at the far end of the room, opened his mouth with some weight.

"What has already happened cannot be undone, Your Highness. We anticipated that Prince Haqaev would not show all his cards—did we not."

"Damn it, but I didn't think it would be this. It's not just Rikardis now—it's the same as saying all our lives, yours included and mine, are dangling from Haqaev's hand. While we've been serving as Rikardis's shield, those bastards have been thinking about swallowing Illavénia whole! This is absolutely maddening!"

Elpydion paced the room with anxious steps. Count Ironshod suppressed an inward sigh. Whatever a leader's conduct ought to look like: nowhere in evidence. This was the time for steadying one's subordinates and working through difficulties patiently—and his lord had summoned his retainers into the dead of night to throw things at walls. No amount of shouting was going to fix any of this.

"Even so, the alliance still stands. They still have something they want. Take hold of that and use it as a bargaining position. There is no poison without an antidote. Make obtaining one your first priority, Your Highness."

Elpydion finally stopped his sputtering and turned to the Count.

"What they ultimately want is plain. Attempts to summon the Night of Blessing have always been made—not only in the Illavénian Empire but in the Kingdom of Balta as well. The secret archives, accessible only upon ascending to Emperor. They're in there, aren't they? The materials describing how to summon the White Night."

"They are."

"If knowing the method were enough to simply attempt it, we would have done so long ago. Even if Prince Haqaev obtained those materials, he would never succeed in summoning the Night of Blessing. It would be useless information in his hands. There is no reason its passing to Dark Moon would be fatal to us."

"Hm..."

Elpydion turned this over. The Count was not wrong. And yet—information that only a handful of people per generation had been permitted to know, across thousands of years. Hidden and hidden and hidden again. Perhaps at one time critically important. There would have been a reason for that.

It might have been the most powerful weapon by which Illavénia had held the continent in its fist.

"If it's useless to me and necessary to someone else—sell it at the highest possible price."

"That... yes. Exactly."

"The nature of the poison, as identified by the Second Prince, will have reached the Emperor's ears by now. You must move quickly, Your Highness."

Elpydion weighed this. How to move in order to produce the best outcome. Rikardis had brought the nature of the Dark Moon's new poison to the Emperor's attention. His father prized the authority of divine power and imperial sovereignty above nearly everything. Knowing his father's temper, the moment that information reached him, there would be considerable upheaval. It was a more explicit declaration of war than Balta slapping a gauntlet across the Emperor's face.

But war was premature. Before the antidote—Balta was still of use to Elpydion. Before anything else, killing Rikardis came first. Illavénia's oldest enemy was Balta. Elpydion's oldest enemy was Rikardis. A method that would keep Balta in check while extracting the antidote as quickly as possible. Elpydion's eyes sharpened.

"Fortunately, there's a card I can use."

One who could die and it wouldn't matter. Elpydion swallowed the rest of the sentence. Dozens of eyes turned toward him.

"Bring Diez."

Rikardis's morning began late. The aftermath of the previous night's abrupt drinking contest had not yet entirely released him. Itserion arrived with honey water, and his expression bore a striking resemblance to a mother surveying a wayward child. The table was littered with an impressive collection of empty bottles. Red wine had made a map of itself across the carpet. The Second Prince himself still carried the scent of alcohol at some remove.

The hand that shook him brought a low sound, and Rikardis opened his eyes. The angle of the light made Itserion's dark brown hair look black.

He startled. Blinked. Rubbed his eyes.

Itserion. His aide.

Rikardis felt somewhat embarrassed at having mistaken him, for one moment, for Rosaline. And—come to think of it—when had she left the room?

The headache was moderate, consequence of excess, but aside from that he'd slept reasonably well. His body felt lighter than usual, for the first time in some time. Itserion had prepared the bath; steam rose gently from the water. He sank himself in up to below his nose. As the warmth loosened everything, fragments of the previous night surfaced—dim, imprecise. She had said something just before sleep took him, arrived without asking—but whatever it was had gone with the dark.

First Prince Elpydion had just emerged from the Emperor's study when his expression went tight. Coming toward him down the corridor was Rikardis, who caught his eyes and broke into a smile. The most brilliant smile imaginable. Brilliant enough to make the afternoon sun itself feel vaguely inadequate.

Elpydion's face did the opposite, twisting into a deeper scowl. What the hell, was he on something?

"My, it's been some time, Brother. I hope you've been well."

"...Yes."

Elpydion's grudging answer didn't discourage him in the slightest. Rikardis continued at his own pace—the weather was pleasant, this was a fine afternoon watched over by Idelabheim's gracious eye, some excellent tea leaves had recently come his way and he'd like to send them as a gift. Elpydion was receiving all of this with a face like a clenched fist, and then the words tea leaves arrived, and he went perfectly still.

He was recalling the most carefully prepared assassination attempt of recent memory—the one that had gone nowhere. The spy Elpydion had planted in Moonstone Castle reported it as the credit of the newly assigned escort knight. Elpydion did not believe this. Dark Moon was not a clumsy organization, not the sort to be exposed by a single guard. It had to have been Rikardis himself—with that inconveniently sharp attention that had foiled every plan Elpydion had ever laid, those arrogant eyes always trained on him with an air of knowing exactly where to look. Impossible to forget them.

Deploying an assassination network cost considerable effort, exertion, and funds. This particular deployment had been an especially significant outlay. He'd expected results commensurate with the investment, and instead this loach of a man had slipped quietly through the net once again. His insides seethed.

That Elpydion's audience with the Emperor had now shifted the board unfavorably for Rikardis—this time decisively, the shadow of death falling over that pretty, delicate face more certainly than before—Elpydion knew this, and still could not raise a premature glass. The opponent was Rikardis. The sort who would survive at any sacrifice even with death's shadow over him. The Second Prince with the tenacity of a weed and the grip of a leech.

Elpydion's face went hard and he moved to brush past. Their shoulders collided—hard. The one who gave ground was Elpydion.

His face crimson, sputtering with rage, he left Diamond Castle at something close to a run.

Rikardis wiped the brilliant smile off his face entirely and gave the shoulder where they'd touched two quiet taps. His behavior and expression were quite composed. His blue eyes were not.

What moved in them looked recognizably like what had just moved in Elpydion's.

It was not the kind of anger that years made lighter.

Itserion, who had been standing at his side throughout, also did not look pleased.

"That he cannot conceal his feelings like that." Rikardis's voice was dry. "Even I feel embarrassed, having taken him seriously all this time."

"...Does it not turn your stomach, Your Highness?"

Rikardis laughed—a real sound, bearing very little resemblance to the smile he'd been wearing moments before. His face had gone cold and sharp beneath it.

"As long as my mood is foul and his is worse, I'm satisfied."

"I always feel this, Your Highness, but your character is...well, it is... quite—"

"Quite good, isn't it? I think so too. Enough chatter—let's go in."