Vain Hope
Leaving Burnel behind with that hollow look still fixed on his face, Ferda spoke with Count Consiler.
“About the Grand Council…”
The subject was the Grand Council, the assembly every high noble was expected to attend.
“I have already received word that they would like me to take part.”
“Ah, that is good news. At last a voice capable of representing the Far East will be heard…”
A tear slipped free from the wrinkled corner of Consiler’s eye.
“Forgive me. Age seems to have made me more sentimental.”
“Think nothing of it. I hear only dukes and above may attend. Are you familiar with the particulars?”
“I would not claim complete knowledge, but I shall turn my thoughts as carefully as I can and answer whatever you ask.”
“What sort of standing do you imagine I will hold there?”
Consiler drew a careful breath and chose his words with care.
It was clearly not going to be pleasant.
“If I speak frankly, it will not be good. You are still a novice regent of less than a year, and young besides. Moreover you are not a co-ruler but a mere proxy. To put it another way…”
Consiler stroked his beard and affected the drawl of an arrogant lord.
“They have handed a real sword, by way of experiment, to a green boy who ought still to be playing with wooden ones… something of that flavor, I suspect.”
“Do you see it that way as well?”
Ferda’s question cut sharp.
Consiler gave a dry chuckle.
“Hardly. Immature though you may be, the fact that you seek my counsel for the prosperity of the grand duchy tells me you genuinely wish for progress.”
“I am grateful to hear it.”
“In any case, only five persons, including attendants, may enter the White House, the neutral zone of Blancaros. Bringing an unnecessary throng is forbidden.”
“Nothing looks more ridiculous than putting on airs before those who already know better. Do most nobles fill every seat?”
“They do. Attendants dress as attendants, heirs as heirs, and they flaunt themselves accordingly. If Your Grace desires it, I shall assign my knights as escort so that your entrance may be as splendid as possible.”
“There is no need.”
A noble’s face mattered, yet Ferda had no wish to compete in false smiles and gaudy ornaments.
“If you have people you wish to bring, of course that is fine. Still—might you take even one of my own? I give you my word they will not disgrace the grand duke’s name.”
Ferda’s brow furrowed.
The noble habit of circling the point and slipping a request in sideways had long since sickened him.
“I dislike speech that goes round and round. If you trust me and I trust you, speak plainly. What is your true aim? Are you asking me to take you?”
“What wealth or glory would this old man seek by showing his face at the Grand Council? Ahem…”
Ferda had thrown a straight pitch; Consiler cleared his throat, looking faintly abashed.
“You know the knight named Arwen, do you not?”
“Your knight, yes.”
They had first met on the hunt for the bear monster; the young man had even escorted him as far as the Empire. Their paths had crossed often enough.
“I would like the boy to witness the Grand Council with his own eyes.”
“You wish to give experience to a mere knight?”
“A mere knight, yes—yet loyal, and possessed of fine chivalry. Because he has spent his whole life serving only the Far East, his horizons remain regrettably narrow. He has never seen anything properly grand. I believe showing him the wider world at the Grand Council would serve as a spur.”
Count Consiler’s request was unusual even among nobles.
To bring a single knight to the Grand Council simply to broaden his view…
The thought crossed Ferda’s mind that the youth might be blood kin.
“What exactly is your relation to Arwen?”
“Ha-ha. We are complete strangers, of course. I once saw him on a battlefield, a sight long forgotten by me yet never forgotten by the boy. That is all.”
Count Consiler had no family left.
More precisely, every one of them was dead.
When his wife died and then his son, he abandoned the idea of remarriage and willingly set foot in the Far East.
To a man without children, Arwen must be as good as a son.
“Very well. I shall take Arwen.”
“Thank you for indulging this old man’s needless stubbornness. Is there anything else you wish to know?”
“What do you think of raising an agenda at the Grand Council?”
“An agenda… Naturally you possess equal authority, so no one will openly protest, yet…”
His tone was worse than when he had assessed Ferda’s standing.
“It may go beyond merely ‘not good’ and produce the opposite effect. The chance of making enemies rather than allies is higher.”
“I do not mind.”
Ferda’s expression was that of a man who had already made up his mind.
“Forgive my boldness, but may this humble one hear what that agenda will be?”
“I mean to ask whether it is right to call Baldrova an evil dragon.”
“Baldrova…”
Consiler’s fingers went instinctively to his temple.
“You know she is no evil dragon, do you not?”
“Of course. I cannot claim to know her well, yet I know her nature is nowhere near as wicked as the rumors claim.”
“She was branded an evil dragon because she could not suppress her own nature. Is that not so?”
“According to what is known… yes.”
“And if that seething nature can be held in check?”
“If the bloodlust can be restrained and there is no intent to harm humans, the false charge of ‘evil dragon’ may be cast off without great difficulty. Still, it would be wiser not to hope for too much. No one at the Grand Council will take Baldrova’s side.”
“Then I shall change that. And if they understand my explanation yet still insist on their obstinacy to the end…”
Murderous intent flickered in Ferda’s eyes.
“They will of course be required to offer a fitting answer—or a fitting price.”
Consiler’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard.
It was the same choking sensation he had felt at their first meeting—the same eyes that had killed Tessalos Wolcher without so much as a blink.
“The conference hall lies within Blancaros territory. I pray no violence will be committed there.”
“Do not worry. I am no fool.”
Ferda stroked his chin.
A month, then.
Those who attended the Grand Council were nobles of ducal rank and higher, and kings.
And Dragon Spawn.
The spokesmen of absolute beings capable of overturning entire nations.
He was about to step into a society that was at once human and draconic.
If Ferda, who would have to bear both burdens, claimed his shoulders were not heavy, it would have been a lie.
Even so, he had to do it.
That was the very reason he existed here.
Ferda decided who would accompany him.
First, as Count Consiler had requested, the knight Arwen.
Next, Jed Swallow, who excelled at playing the handsome face of any party.
With me that makes three. That should be enough.
Bringing three more would match the custom of other nobles attending the Grand Council, yet Ferda felt no need to fill the number for its own sake.
Dragging other lords along did not suit his temperament, and none of them dared ask.
He had settled on going as a party of three when an unexpected figure approached him with a request.
“I shall accompany you to the Grand Council as well.”
It was Ruri.
Ferda answered her.
“There will be nothing delicious to eat there.”
“Do you take me for a pig?”
“A pig-do—”
“Say anything strange and I will scrub you down again.”
Ferda closed his mouth.
She was the sort who meant what she said.
“At the very least I will do nothing that damages Your Grace’s dignity. Will you grant me permission?”
“I say again—there is nothing good for you there. I hear Silverwind attends regularly.”
The Silver Dragon, Silverwind.
Ruri was not Baldrova’s spawn; she carried the blood of Silverwind and was herself a silver dragon.
The silver dragon spawn hated Baldrova.
She had killed Silverwind, after all.
Even the regent would be unwelcome; how much worse, then, for a silver dragon spawn such as Ruri?
To them her existence was nothing short of betrayal.
There was no reason for her to place herself in a gathering where she would hear nothing but venom.
Ferda believed she had understood that well enough. Her reply proved otherwise.
“That is precisely why I am going.”
His expression grew graver still.
“Then state your purpose clearly. Do not try to hide it from me.”
His voice had turned rough.
“…I simply wish to exchange information.”
Ruri muttered something under her breath before answering.
“I have lived far too long cut off from Silverwind’s kin. I need to learn whether they still harbor rancor toward my master.”
“Is that something that even needs to be learned?”
Ruri was a Dragon Spawn.
A spawn of a silver dragon, no less.
Which meant she understood the thinking of silver dragons better than anyone.
“They will never look kindly upon Baldrova.”
“Many long years have passed. The hatred may have cooled.”
“When a dragon takes offense, it never stops. You know that as well as I.”
Dragons never abandon vengeance.
Even if the one who first bore the grudge dies, the duty of revenge passes down the generations.
Silverwind would never forgive Baldrova.
A Dragon Spawn of Ruri’s caliber could not possibly be ignorant of that fact.
“I still wish to speak with them, that is all.”
Ferda looked into her eyes.
She, too, wanted to pin her hopes on the word “if.”
“No.”
His gaze drew a cold line.
That was why it had to be refused.
He already knew that hope had no foundation.
“The three of us will go. You will stay here and keep watch quietly.”
Ruri’s body trembled with a great upheaval of feeling.
She tried to hide it behind an expressionless mask, yet a deep resentment still radiated from her.
“…Understood.”
Without so much as a farewell, she turned and walked away.
From time to time Ferda attempted the training method again.
Entering concentration and reaching the state of awakening went perfectly.
Yet the supporting rotation of the Red Circle never came.
What is missing?
If the lack was vengeance, then he need only fill himself with vengeance.
To that end he had envied those stronger than himself and fought to overturn their status and power.
But how was this particular feeling supposed to be filled?
Every year, every month, every day, every hour, every minute, every second—
Must he look only at her, and only then would it be satisfied?
Satisfied…
The word itself was laughable.
Desire was not thirst.
When one thirst vanished, only a greater thirst took its place.
Fill it and fill it again, and eventually reason itself became nothing more than a tool for feeding that hunger.
Ferda had once pursued vengeance for vengeance’s sake and killed countless people.
Emotion rose wholly from the heart.
The more impatiently one tried to resolve it, the more surely one fell into the wrong path.
What, then, is lacking?
He closed his eyes and quietly entered the world of his mind.
Her face.
The strongest wish was simply to see once more the face he had met only once.
Yet Baldrova would not show her face.
She suffered from a fear of people.
So he erased the thought from his mind.
It would devour him someday if he let it remain.
“…Meditation truly is not my nature.”
He was a man more accustomed to filling the heart than emptying it.
Better to walk and crowd out stray thoughts with other thoughts than sit and feed delusions.
Thus Ferda rose from his seat.
It was late night; the moon had already tipped westward.
The quiet corridor was filled with blue moonlight.
Ferda stood by a window and looked up at the moon.
It was full.
“Anna Rosnova.”
The name slipped out like a breath.
It was his mother’s name.
On nights when the full moon rose, he always thought of her.
As a child Ferda had hated the night.
He had imagined monsters lurking in the dark shadows, ready to leap upon him.
Even now he did not care for night.
Whenever he found himself in danger without realizing it, it was always night.
Yet even though he disliked the night, gazing at the moon brought him one of the few comforts he possessed.
That brightest light shining from the darkest place was the only way he could still summon his mother’s faint smile.
Until the moment vengeance swallowed him whole,
he had found his solace there.
Mother…
The beautiful woman of golden hair and blue eyes.
Ferda filled himself with that memory.
So that he might step a little farther from obsession and look at himself with objective eyes, he filled the space with his mother’s presence.
Just then—
Footsteps began to travel the long corridor toward him.
Clink. Clink.
In any other castle one might have taken them for a patrolling guard or knight.
But the only person who could patrol Baldrova Castle was Ruri.
And Ruri wore a maid’s uniform, not armor.
Which means…
Ferda doubted his own conclusion.
Something so impossible could not be happening at a moment like this.
Yet the steadily approaching sound and the silhouette that emerged left him no room for doubt.
What stepped out of the darkness was the armor of a dragon dragoon.
Only one person in this castle could walk about wearing it.
His fiancée.
Baldrova.
She stood before him now.