Canary

The nominal reason was a visit to relatives for the summer. But everyone knew Claudine von Brandt had not come all the way to Arvis for anything so trivial.

It was a preliminary negotiation between the two houses before the formal announcement of their engagement—an opportunity for the parties involved to cultivate their acquaintance. The purpose was plain, and neither family made any particular effort to conceal it. Least of all Claudine herself.

“Good day, Duke Herhardt.”

Standing before Matthias, who had come out to receive her, Claudine offered a perfectly courteous greeting. Not a trace of the little sister remained in her bearing.

“Welcome, Lady Brandt.”

Matthias returned the greeting with equal formality, treating her as though she were a lady he was meeting for the first time—flawlessly, without a single crack.

The two of them smiled elegantly at each other.

There was nothing particularly surprising about it. They had never been especially close or intimate, yet they had known each other for a long time, and so they understood. They knew how thoroughly, to the marrow of their bones, Matthias von Herhardt and Claudine von Brandt were aristocrats. That was the greatest and most obvious reason they had chosen each other.

Matthias escorted Claudine with practiced ease. Afternoon tea had been prepared in the glass greenhouse connected to the rear of the manor—Elyse von Herhardt’s thoughtful provision for Claudine, who was fond of the place.

“This greenhouse is beautiful every time I see it. The Duchess has brought a piece of heaven here.”

Claudine set her cup down soundlessly after a single sip and spoke with evident pleasure. Her manner was bright as befit a young lady, yet tempered with quiet dignity.

“It has been tended with great care over many long years. I look forward to the day I can leave it to a mistress who knows its true worth.”

Elyse von Herhardt answered in a gentle voice. Across from her, the Count and Countess Brandt gazed at their daughter with proud, moved eyes. Claudine only offered a modestly shy smile and added nothing further.

“Matthias, show Claudine the paradise of Arvis.”

As tea drew to a close, Elyse von Herhardt remarked casually. It seemed the real negotiations and adjustments were about to begin in earnest.

When Matthias extended his hand, Claudine rested her own lightly upon it—a hand gloved in sheer lace. For a fleeting moment the memory of a small hand stained with dust and blood rose over that elegant one, then vanished.

The two of them walked the garden paths together, conversing on suitably light topics. A slow stream of water flowed from the marble fountain that adorned the center of the greenhouse. The clear songs of birds filtering through it diluted the languid heat of the afternoon.

Claudine stole a sidelong glance at Matthias. Even with a mild smile on his lips, his emotions were nearly impossible to read. His manner toward the world was the same—impeccably courteous, yet beneath it lay the arrogance of a man who had never once bowed his head to anyone in his life. It was a quality that rather pleased Claudine.

“The birds in this greenhouse are truly lovely.”

Claudine marveled as she studied the brilliantly colored birds perched on the branches. Only then did Matthias take notice of the birds kept in the glass greenhouse.

Elyse von Herhardt, mistress of Arvis, loved birds nearly as much as she loved roses. And of course, the manner of that love was the same. Just as gardeners tended the roses, hired keepers cared for the birds. Her role was simply to enjoy them. That was how Elyse von Herhardt loved the world.

“They are so tame with people. It’s quite remarkable. I wonder what the secret is.”

Claudine smiled as she looked at the little bird that had settled on the hand she had offered.

Matthias slowly surveyed his surroundings. Come to think of it, the birds of this greenhouse were astonishingly gentle. Even with the windows thrown wide open, they never flew away. In their peaceful world they always sang beautifully.

Watching a parrot waddle along its perch and a pair of finches chirping on Claudine’s hand, Matthias gave a discreet nod toward the silver-haired keeper waiting at a respectful distance. The man approached quietly and stood beside Claudine.

“We clip their flight feathers, my lady. Then they cannot fly far, so they do not escape, and their temperaments grow gentle as well. A bird that can fly freely is not easily tamed by people.”

“Their wings? Doesn’t that hurt them?”

“We only cut the feathers, so it causes no pain. It also prevents them from flying into dangerous places, getting lost or injured—so it is good for the birds as well. If you are curious, shall I show you?”

“May I, Duke Herhardt?”

Claudine asked, eyes sparkling.

“As the lady wishes.”

When Matthias readily gave his consent, the keeper led them to a large cage at one end of the greenhouse. Inside were small birds whose flight feathers had not yet been clipped. The keeper selected the most beautiful among them—a golden bird—and carried it to the workbench.

“What kind of bird is that?”

Matthias asked, watching the creature steadily.

“A canary, my lord. A bird that sings most beautifully.”

After that brief explanation, the man first covered the bird’s eyes with a small handkerchief, then spread and held its wings. With his free hand he took up a pair of sharp scissors.

The keeper moved the blades without hesitation. Severed feathers scattered across the workbench with soft little sounds. He clipped the feathers of the other wing in the same fashion, then set the bird down.

It flapped its wings desperately, but could fly only a short distance before dropping as if it had been tossed. As though refusing to accept the reality that it could no longer truly fly, the bird tried several more times—always with the same result.

Matthias, who had been watching, bent and picked up the bird sitting at the edge of a flower bed. The tiny creature trapped in his grasp struggled and began to cry out, but the sound was closer to a scream than a song.

“It will not be tamed at once, my lord. Becoming accustomed takes a little time.”

The keeper hastily took the bird from him, as if to restrain him.

“Would you care to try taming it yourself, my lady?”

the keeper asked, stroking the bird to soothe it.

“Watching is enough for me. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity.”

Claudine declined with perfect courtesy and turned to go.

“Shall we return to the table now?”

This time Claudine offered her hand first. Once more, over that beautiful, sculpted smooth hand, the memory of a small one stained with dust and blood rose briefly and faded.

Before leaving with Claudine, Matthias left an impulsive order.

“Have it moved to my bedchamber.”

“……Pardon?”

The keeper’s eyes widened at the unexpected words.

“That bird.”

Matthias pointed to it with narrowed eyes.

“My canary.”

Leila bound her neatly combed golden hair tightly into a single knot. Next she put on her apron and took up a large basket as well.

“I have to finish today.”

Her expression as she muttered to herself was thoroughly serious.

The Duke of Herhardt had returned, and a few days earlier Lady Brandt had also come to visit Arvis. Because of that, Leila felt pressed for time. She needed to gather enough wild strawberries before the Duke claimed the forest as his own, and before Lady Brandt began summoning her at any moment. Fortunately the two of them had remained quiet so far. No doubt it was because they stood on the threshold of so momentous a matter as their engagement.

Pressing a wide-brimmed straw hat firmly onto her head, Leila hurried toward the woods. Wild-strawberry thickets grew everywhere. No matter how diligently the people of Arvis and the forest animals picked and ate them, far more berries fell to the ground and rotted than were ever gathered.

Leila worked her way industriously through the forest and filled her basket before noon had even arrived. Though the weight made her arms feel as if they might come off, her heart was light as could be.

She set the basket down under the shade of a tree as if tossing it there, then walked lightly toward the river. She washed her hands carefully, erasing every trace of the fierce strawberry harvest, and washed her face as well.

The Schulter River wound its way, embracing the forests and valleys of the Herhardt lands. It was beautiful even when seen from the city, but the place where the Schulter looked most beautiful of all was here on the Arvis estate, where the clear water and the woods met in harmony.

Leila took the handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped her face. Thanks to the cool river water even in summer, the heat subsided a good deal. She considered dipping her feet in as well, then shook her head firmly.

At the first relative’s house where she had been taken in, there had been five older cousins. All of them were rough and mischievous; one day they had dragged Leila off by force and thrown her into the river. They said it was a kind of initiation she had to endure if she wanted to live in that house. Had a neighboring uncle not come running at the child’s screams, Leila might well have become a water spirit then and there.

The fault had clearly been those children’s, yet that night it was Leila who received a thrashing from her drunken uncle. And not many weeks later she was packed off to the next relative’s house. A child who did not know her place and caused trouble, they said, could not be kept.

It had been unjust, but the next relative’s house had been better than the last, so Leila decided to regard it as a good thing. Every time she was passed on to the next house, and the next, she thought the same. And so at last she had come here, to Uncle Bill’s cabin—if one believed that things turned out as one believed, it was not far from the truth.

So everything had turned out well after all.

Leila smiled softly and hurried back beneath the tree on quick little steps. She tucked the newspaper she had wedged into a corner of the basket into her apron pocket, then swiftly climbed the tree. She was no longer as quick and agile as in childhood, but skill had taken the place of that. It was something Uncle Bill had taught her.

Leila settled herself expertly onto a branch that fit her like a snug chair. Looking down from here, she firmly believed the Schulter was the most beautiful river in the world. Even Kyle, who had traveled many cities, had agreed—so it might well be close to objective fact.

Leila gazed quietly at the waterfowl searching for food, the scales of light on the water, and the green foliage embracing both banks of the river. She had waited for summer because she loved this view. Even with the variable that was the Duke of Herhardt, summer was still undeniably a beautiful season.

Having reached that clear conclusion, Leila unfolded the newspaper she had taken from her pocket and found the page with the serial novel. The detective who had been piecing together the case with his brilliant mind was just on the verge of unmasking the culprit.

Leila began to read the story with complete absorption.

It was a long while before Matthias broke the surface again.

His prominent Adam’s apple rose and fell swiftly in time with his labored breathing. His powerful, water-slicked body looked as fresh as the green shadows cast upon the river.

Changing his mind about returning just yet, Matthias began to swim again in the direction of the current.

Fond of the Schulter River and the forests of Arvis, Matthias had converted the boathouse beside the pier—from which the whole landscape could be taken in at a glance—into a private annex. His grandmother and mother rarely walked as far as the riverbank, so the place was a world belonging to Matthias alone.

When there were no guests at the manor, Matthias often sought out the annex. He would stare blankly at the view beyond the windows, or read a book, or, if even that grew tedious, take a nap. Whatever he did, it was a place that put his heart at ease. Of course the best of all was moments like this, surrendering himself to the river.

Matthias floated on his back and looked up at the green branches and the sky between them. Between the sound of leaves stirred by the wind and the cries of birds, the soft shattering of the current seeped in. After the bustle of the manor these past few days, the river’s peace felt all the sharper.

Negotiations over the marriage alliance that would bind Herhardt and Brandt had proceeded smoothly. Barring any unforeseen change, his engagement to Claudine would be announced before this summer ended.

The Brandts anticipated an engagement of about a year; Matthias had agreed.

If he had already acquired sufficient honor for a Duke of Herhardt, there was no need to remain long in an officer’s post. Another year or two with the Royal Guard, then discharge and marriage—that would be most fitting. Afterward he intended to devote himself to the family’s enterprises.

A life that would flow on as calmly as the quiet current.

Matthias closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the river. The warm sunlight, the cool water, the sound of little waves breaking against his ears—they felt like the whole of the world. But the moment he opened his eyes again, that perfect peace was shattered.

A woman was sitting on a branch of the great tree that stood by the riverbank. Before he had even blinked once, Matthias knew who she was. At the same moment the woman, who had been folding the newspaper she had been reading, turned her head toward him.

It was that thoroughly aggravating girl—Leila Lewellin.