Because I'm Not the Heroine
"S-so that's how it was? I'll have to reward the head chef. But was that really all? The Grand Duke didn't say anything unkind, did he?"
"No. He really didn't."
Only then did the Duke relax and return to his seat. I sniffed, wiped my nose, and let out a long sigh. My face burned, though I couldn't have said how long it had been since I'd cried like that.
The tearful meal ended, I returned to my room, and the realization came far too late.
Ah. I forgot to bring up the broken engagement.
The next morning the Duke went out again. This time, I heard, he was entering the Imperial Palace. With the imperial princess returned, the palace was surely busy enough—and no wonder. There was more than a thing or two to prepare, beginning with the succession to the throne and running all the way to invitations for dignitaries from abroad.
Still, he would be staying at the estate for the time being, so I could speak to him whenever I chose. Even if I said nothing, he would learn of it once the certificate of annulment reached Assad.
Climbing into the carriage, I reminded the driver of the destination I had already given.
"Moment Street."
"Yes, my lady."
The coachman took his seat, and the carriage soon rolled into motion. Moment Street lay not far from the ducal residence, so the journey would not take long. Watching the streets go by, I drew on the dark green hood I had prepared. Little by little, the road narrowed.
When we arrived, I told him to wait and stepped down alone. The coachman nodded with the ease of long habit. He was one of Aine's closest people, the same as Rita. Ferrying her about as he did, he knew every route she used, and so he showed no unease even when I went out without a single escort. He never knew precisely where I was bound, though. He always set me down here, at the mouth of Moment Street, and waited.
The instant I left the carriage, I pulled the oversized hood over my face and hair. Loose as it was, it swallowed even my silhouette, leaving me a shapeless bundle. If I didn't, worthless men would swarm—and the street I was walking into now was dangerous for a reason.
Moment Street was one of the capital's great thoroughfares, thick with people coming and going. A brilliant plaza, food of every kind, merchant companies large and small: all of it gathered here, so that stepping onto this street alone was enough to find nearly anything one wanted. Even so, one stretch of it was thinly populated—the quarter that bordered the poor district. Order was uncertain there, the company poor. A slum, as people called it, and dangerous crimes and dealings were common.
I touched the gun hidden against me. Its true name, in fact, was a jong: a pistol-shaped tool one packed with gunpowder, so that pulling the trigger cast the magic bound inside and loosed a burst of fire. It followed the form of a gun, but only the look and the handling were convincing. In truth, it was an offensive magical implement.
This book's genre was romance fantasy, and faithful to the fantasy in that name, magic and mages existed. Not the mages people usually imagine, waving staffs and flying through the sky, but something closer to inventors—people who made tools useful in ordinary life and laid effective magic into them. Not that it was a trade one could practice on knowledge alone.
Come to think of it, Assad can use magic, too.
Not a specialist's magic, only a faint degree of it. He had survived the battlefield on superb force of arms and hard-won practical knowledge, but magic cast at the critical moment had done its share as well: wind wrapped around a sword, a swing that cut even a man standing far off, that sort of thing. His store of mana was not large, so he could not use any great variety of spells.
In any case, the jong was one such offensive magical tool. It was worth as much as a castle, and Aine had treasured it accordingly. Its effect was just as sure. That was exactly why she had been able to walk the slums without a second thought.
Once I had confirmed the jong was in place, I moved on. The lanes twisted like an anthill, a maze of turns, but the novel had described the way in detail more than once, and I found the place without difficulty. I looked up at the tavern, already clamorous from the doorway, and opened the door without a shred of hesitation. Inside, it was louder still.
Men in rough clothes were making merry, lifting their cups or flinging them, and in one corner a dancer sang nearly naked. It was the largest tavern in the slums, and unlike the quiet street outside, the interior was raucous—and dangerous. I looked over the weapons set out on every table: swords, maces, hunting spears, axes, and the rest. They were not there simply because there was nowhere else to put them. They were for intimidation. The place looked festive, but it seethed with criminals, and dozens of times a day a quarrel broke out, or a body did. Laying a weapon on the table was how a man proved he had one, and that he could strike back whenever he pleased.
As I walked farther in, the uproar slowly died, and the ruffians drank and ran their eyes over me. A hood could not hide height or build. They were taking the measure of someone who had come into a place like this alone. Well—Aine was a regular here, and I had the jong for a sturdy safeguard, so there was nothing much to shrink from.
I sat down in front of the bartender. Contrary to the vicious air of the room, the boy behind the bar smiled brightly.
"Welcome. What can I get you?"
"Belrochel 223."
For an instant I wondered whether I had gotten it right. I wasn't certain—but the bartender's next move told me I had.
"My apologies, miss. We've just run out of Belrochel 223."
"Then show me to the storeroom. I'll choose it myself."
"Of course. Follow me."
I rose and followed the boy as he led me inward. Eyes clung to me to the very end, but they vanished as soon as the door closed.
The inner storeroom was pitch-black, piled with casks and crates of liquor. To all appearances it was an ordinary warehouse—until the boy shifted the second cask aside and pushed back the crate in the fourth bay. With a grinding rumble, a large hole opened in the floor.
"This way, honored guest."
Stairs led underground. For a moment I wondered whether it was really all right to reveal the way into the guild so openly, but that openness was confidence: the confidence of someone who did not care whether you knew. I followed the boy down. Beneath the hood, my eyes darted about in wonder. I had read the description several times from Aine's point of view, but seeing it myself, the place felt stranger still.
How far had we descended? Another door appeared. The boy opened it, and a corridor came into view, lined with doors like an inn.
"A. A client's here."
He called toward the counter. The woman addressed as A welcomed me with a kindly smile.
"Welcome. Any request may be placed with me."
The boy left me there and went back up. Alone, I removed the hood. A strange light stirred in A's eyes.
"I came to see the Master."
"The Master is currently out."
She had recognized me, without question. And why wouldn't she? Aine had not come here once or twice. It would have been strange if she hadn't known the face. The guild master, however, was another matter. The Master was not a man one met easily—not even a lover.
I searched my clothes and held out a decorative key.
"Not even with this?"
"Hmm."
A took the key and examined it with care. Finding it had been pure accident. The night before, hoping Aine might have left something like a diary, I had gone through the cabinets and come upon it. To the eye it looked like an ordinary ornament, but it was a master key Jay had given Aine—proof that she was a special client he attended in person.
"Confirmed. The Master truly is out, however. Would you care to wait?"
At her words I nodded, and A led me to an inner room. The chamber was lavish enough not to suffer beside Aine's own. I knew at once that this, too, was a room for honored guests.
I perched on the edge of the bed and thought of Jay. The thought had barely formed before a sigh broke out of me. Jay—truly, I didn't know what to make of him. I had never particularly liked him to begin with, and he had always been wrapped in veils. Had I read through to the ending, I might have known something. Unfortunately, I had died with the finale right in front of me.
But one thing I could say.
An unsettled man.
Assad was difficult to deal with, but at least he felt stable, like a great old tree standing fast and holding its place no matter how you tried to bring it down. Jay was different. He felt like a time bomb with no appointed hour. One touch and he might go off—unsettling, and dangerous.
He has his reasons, of course.
Why did every person in this novel come with a dark past? Assad, and Jay, and the third as well. It nagged at me. But I did not have a heroine's capacity to embrace them. I had neither the confidence nor the wish to soothe their wounds. Selfish, perhaps—but my own safety, my own life, came before everything else.
So, Jay. Please. Just let me go without a fight.
How much time had passed? Being underground, I could not tell from the world outside, but when I checked the clock, two hours had already gone. I stood. He still had not returned; he likely had no thought of coming back today. Now and then he left like this and stayed away for days. Where he went, I didn't know. It had never appeared in the book, though I had a faint guess all the same. In any case, the timing had been poor today. I would have to meet Number Three tomorrow, and come again.
"Oh—are you leaving?"
A spoke when she caught sight of me. I nodded.
"Today doesn't seem to be the day, so I'll be going. Tell Jay—the Master—that I came by."
"Yes. Whom shall I say it was?"
"Aine."
"Yes. I'll see that he knows."
A smiled gently. I could see her according me still more courtesy, as the Master's special client.
Unlike the way in, one left by a back door. Led outside, I looked at the sinking sunset and sighed. In the end, I had not met Jay. Then again, he took contracts himself, and if one considered his original station, it was strange to believe he would always be at the guild. Even so, I had thought I would be able to see him.
Because I'm not the heroine?
Thinking on it, Fairy's Garden unfolded from the heroine's point of view, and by the grace of that buff she could meet Jay whenever she wished. I had remembered only that, and failed to realize the buff did not reach me.