The Second Tea Party
Ferda surveyed the goings-on at Baldrova Castle.
Having been away for a full month, he had half expected trouble to have cropped up in his absence—yet everything was flowing along without a hitch.
His first stop was Burnel’s laboratory.
Even Burnel’s once-impenetrable theories were being polished into something gradually intelligible, the fruit of fifteen assistants laboring at his side.
The greatest mountain still lies far ahead.
His biggest challenge, of course, remained Malcolm.
“Malcolm, would you put this in the right-hand intake port?”
“The right-hand one, you say!? Understood!”
“No—the right! The hand you eat with! Not there! Aagh!”
To men who had spent their lives competing among geniuses, Malcolm was nothing short of a walking catastrophe.
Say anything even mildly complicated and a question mark practically floated above his head. East, west, north, south—he couldn’t even tell left from right. He was, without exaggeration, the greatest blockhead in living memory.
And yet they had to make a fool understand what even geniuses struggled with.
Burnel had torn at his hair so often that his once-luxuriant locks now showed scalp.
The cause of it all—Malcolm himself—only beamed as brightly as a dog out for a walk.
Magic Engineering is ultimately meant for ordinary people who are not mages.
If someone of Malcolm’s caliber could at least grasp a device’s purpose and operate it, even if he never managed to innovate, then common folk would be able to use it too. That was the ultimate goal Ferda sought.
Anyway, things seem to be going smoothly here.
He was just passing the scene of collective head-clutching when a raucous voice reached him from a corner of the corridor.
“Hyaaaaah!?”
The moment he heard that theatrical wail, he knew.
It was the demon Penelope.
“What is this witch doing here?! Why is a witch strolling around a dragon’s castle like she owns the place?!”
The witch she meant was, without a doubt, Echidna.
“Fufufufufu~ A demon’s wandering around free as you please, so why can’t a witch?”
Why those two were tangled up together was a mystery—until the reason presented itself at once.
“Look, Miss Echidna? Calm down and listen to me for a second—”
Jed.
Drawing closer confirmed it. Penelope clung to Jed’s leg, Jed flailed in helpless panic, and Echidna held a blade leveled at his chest. Her eyes were unfocused, glassy.
“Ahh, Lord Jed. Don’t worry. I won’t harm you. I’m only going to perform a contract-separation technique.”
“A contract-separation technique?”
“Yes. I sever the place where you inscribed the mark, grant it new life, and thereby avoid the curse. Then you’ll have a nice, clean body again, just like before.”
“……That means cutting off my arm, doesn’t it?”
“And you’ll live every day in agony afterward. But pain like that is nothing!”
Jed, beyond exasperation, finally spoke his mind.
“Have you lost it?”
“It’s fine! Even with just one arm I’ll still looove you forever, Lord Jed!”
“I happen to love my arm!”
“We’ll overcome it! With our love!”
Chaos of its own flavor was unfolding here as well. Listening was enough to guess the cause.
It’s because of the pact she made with Penelope.
On the day of the rescue, Ferda had forced Penelope and Jed into a contract—so that Penelope’s body would not return to Hell, and so her movements could be monitored. He had also sealed her lips tight: she could never speak of Sitri’s Life Vessel without his leave.
From Penelope’s perspective it was an excellent arrangement, even if it amounted to a collar around her neck. Better to hide inside a dragon’s nest than roam the land as a fugitive, after all.
And for Jed…… is it a good thing?
The man propositioned any woman on pure reflex. Penelope was a woman, so perhaps it suited him. Ferda had never explained Penelope’s exact usefulness; knowing she was a daughter Sitri doted on had been enough.
While Jed stood trapped between demon and witch, his eyes met Ferda’s.
Jed’s gaze said, plain as day: Save me.
A man, after all, speaks with his back. Ferda turned away with manly resolve.
Handle it yourself.
Anyway, everything’s rolling along without issue.
Whatever mischief they had gotten into while he was gone, the castle continued on, blissfully unaware.
“Lord Ferda.”
A small girl in a maid’s uniform approached as usual—Ruri.
“Everything is ready.”
“Understood.”
Ferda adjusted his necktie for no real reason. Black hands extended from his clothes and smoothed the fabric again.
He had risked dealing with a demon for information. He had killed those who threatened Ruri to keep her from being taken. Twice the nation’s very survival had hung in the balance.
Yet none of those moments compared to the tension he felt now. It was like the childhood dread of stuffing a wet bedsheet into the wardrobe—a secret that might stay hidden for a day, but would one day be found out.
Even that anxiety vanished the instant the parlor doors opened.
What met his eyes was a wide-open balcony, a tea table, and the incongruous bulk of cuirassier plate.
Today as well, then.
He had seen it twice already; it no longer startled him. She sat perfectly still, facing this way. The helm forged in the likeness of Baldrova’s dragon eyes radiated pressure upon anyone who stood before it.
Why is she just staring?
Ferda walked forward. He allowed himself to imagine what expression lay behind that helm—and realized the truth before his mind reached the worst possibility.
“Hoo……”
She was asleep.
Baldrova’s head dipped forward as if about to plant itself on the floor, then bobbed back upright.
“Mmm…… mm…… mm?”
The helm that had waited so patiently lifted and turned toward Ferda.
“Mm…… Ferda……?”
A voice still hazy with sleep. She stared at him blankly for a moment—
“Wha—!? Ferda?!”
—and shot to her feet in flustered welcome.
“Y-y-you’re here?!”
“Yes. I present myself before Her Highness, Grand Duchess Baldrova.”
“W-welcome, Ferda. I was, um……”
No decent excuse came to her. Ferda supplied one.
“You must have had a great deal on your mind. Lost in deep contemplation, no doubt.”
“Huh? Ah—actually I was just dozing off……”
“When a sovereign is found napping, it is proper to phrase it that way.”
“O-oh. I see. Yes. I was th-thinking. Yes!”
Pleased to have been handed a respectable pretext, she nodded vigorously. She was a woman hopelessly bad at lying.
“Are you all right, Ferda?”
“Yes.”
“I heard there was trouble with the carriage, and that you stopped at Count Consiler’s territory……”
Ferda glanced sideways at Ruri. Standing like a folding screen, she gave the slightest nod. So he affirmed it.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You weren’t hurt?”
“Nothing serious. Light maintenance resolved the issue.”
“I’m glad. I was a little worried.”
Her relief was genuine. That very reaction was why secrecy remained necessary.
“What was discussed at the Grand Council?”
Ferda recounted the proceedings—simple territorial disputes, nothing more.
“I see. On the Serdes Continent…… I’ve heard wars still break out from time to time.”
The territorial quarrel between elves and dwarves.
“Are they still fighting? They used to do the same long ago……”
Most of it was that sort of talk. Conflict and anger. Nothing that might coax a smile to bloom. Yet Baldrova listened with deep attention.
And that was what made it frightening—the fear that her pure-hearted innocence might draw a careless slip from him. Stepping muddy boots into that spotless field of snow was no easy thing.
“And……”
He reached the end of the account.
“I spoke of the Eastern Campaign.”
“The Eastern Campaign?”
“I declared that we would conquer the Land of Evil that lies along our border.”
“Ah.”
The Land of Evil. At those words, even Baldrova’s encouraging replies fell silent. She absently rubbed her own forearm, and her gaze drifted past the balcony.
Beyond lay early autumn, the season when colors changed most richly—the same landscape any ordinary person of the Serdes Continent would see.
“Even that place they now call the Land of Evil……”
Her voice was steeped in distant memory.
“……once held scenery just as beautiful as that.”
Complex feeling colored every syllable.
“It’s stained black now, but…… it will be able to reclaim those lovely colors again, won’t it?”
A simple Of course would have ended the matter. Ferda could not give her that.
“It will not be easy.”
He offered no false certainty.
“But to restore the landscape you once knew, I will do whatever it takes.”
Instead he laid bare his resolve.
“Is that so?”
The words seemed to reach her; she brightened.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll help as much as I can.”
She clenched a fist.
“My fiancé is working so hard—I can’t very well sit around doing nothing.”
“If Your Highness would extend your hand to me, it would be the greatest honor I could receive.”
Watching her, Ferda felt his heart ease. Something he could accept exactly as it was, without needing to plumb the depths—that, truly, was pure innocence.
“Um…… is there anything else?”
“Nothing else.”
“Ah…… I see……”
Baldrova’s voice trailed off, lacking confidence. What had she been hoping to hear?
Ferda lifted his cooling tea to his lips.
“It’s just…… Ruri mentioned……”
“Yes?”
“That you held hands with a woman named Olivia.”
“Pff—”
He choked spectacularly and sprayed tea across the table. Baldrova looked more panicked than the man who had just spit out his drink.
“Ferda?! Are you all right?!”
“Yes—I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you…… I only wanted to talk……”
Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, Ferda turned his eyes. They met Ruri’s, still standing like a screen.
So you went and told her everything?
He glared the question at her; Ruri looked away. To claim he felt no resentment would have been a lie. His head began to throb almost at once.
How was he supposed to escape this?
That she had grabbed his hand first? That they had held hands but it meant nothing of consequence? Dozens of excuses rose and were immediately discarded.
“I apologize. To hold another woman’s hand while standing before Your Highness……”
“Betrayal? No—I don’t care about that at all!”
She waved both hands frantically.
“You’re a man, Ferda, and I heard she’s extremely beautiful…… Yes, I think it’s only natural.”
She muttered as though she understood, yet her fidgeting fingers and lowered head told a different story. Guilt pressed down on Ferda’s chest.
“So, um……”
Her eyes peeped cautiously upward.
“Would you…… by any chance……”
She tilted her head slightly toward him.
“……want to hold my hand too……?”
A dull ringing filled Ferda’s skull.
“……Pardon?”
He could only ask, dumbly.
“Your Highness’s…… hand, you mean?”
“Yes. We’ve held hands once before…… and I thought I might at least manage that much……”
My face is still too much. She mumbled the rest under her breath and waited for his answer.
“W-well? How about it?”
However lightly she offered it, Ferda weighed the moment with more care than he had ever applied to anything. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He could not let it slip away on a whim.
He forced the tremor down, swallowed to steady his throat, and produced a calm, rational voice.
“I…… would like to.”
“All right. Just a moment.”
She removed her gauntlet. In contrast to the massive plate, a small, slender hand appeared before him—an arm so delicate it was impossible to believe it belonged to the Aspect of Strength. She shyly curled it into a fist, making it look even smaller.
“H-here!”
She turned her palm up and held it out. Ferda stared down at it as though entranced. The slender fingers, the lines of the palm—each detail was a painting in itself.
Carefully, he reached to place his hand against hers—
“Hic!?”
Baldrova’s hand jerked away before he could feel its softness.
“Is something wrong?”
“N-no, it’s just…… I, um…… I’m afraid I won’t control my strength well enough…… Just a little more mental preparation……”
Her words trailed off; rough breathing sounded from inside the helm. Ferda’s heart had lurched, half-expecting her to say she had changed her mind. She pressed both mismatched hands to her chest and tried to steady her breath. When the tension showed no sign of fading, Ferda offered a suggestion.
“If controlling your strength is difficult, what if I simply rest my hand on top of yours?”
“Ah! There’s that method! Yes…… let’s do it that way.”
Baldrova laid the back of her hand lightly on the table. Ferda once more set his own hand over hers.
Crrrack—
Something fractured. Looking closer, he saw a crack running through the tabletop.
This is the table they said was carved from granite, isn’t it?
A material boasting such hardness that a meteor falling from the heavens would not shatter it. Fashion a table from that and you possessed the sturdiest table on the continent.
They claimed it wouldn’t even take a scratch under ordinary circumstances…… As expected.
She was not called the Aspect of Strength for nothing. Reflecting on that, Ferda suddenly rewound his own past behavior—their first meeting, the impulse that made him want to see Baldrova’s face.
Back then I’m certain I even laced our fingers together.
He offered silent thanks that his right hand had not been pulverized. Even while that chill ran through him, he could not bring himself to release her hand.
Small. Soft. Warmth and a clearly felt pulse. A tiny portion of her he never wanted to let go of for the rest of his life. If he had to release it, he at least wanted to feel it without regret.
Even if my hand ends up a little crushed, it might be all right.
He nearly gave in to the reckless urge—but reason smothered the thought.
“Are you still suffering from that excess vitality these days?”
Baldrova shook her head.
“N-no…… I’m fine.”
“Lady Baldrova was unable to go hunting yesterday.”
“R-Ruri?”
Baldrova startled. Like someone who had suddenly appeared from nowhere, Ruri dropped the information and sealed her lips again.
“Is that true?”
“Well…… yes…… But it should be all right. Just because I didn’t go out yesterday doesn’t guarantee the monsters won’t come today.”
“There is equally no guarantee that they will.”
“Yes…… that’s…… true.”
“If you cannot hunt, you will injure yourself instead.”
“……”
Baldrova fell silent. In an atmosphere like this she had no idea what she was supposed to say. Conversation, however, proved largely unnecessary.
“Ah……”
She felt something flowing into the back of her hand—a sensation she knew well. The same power that had once quieted her surging vitality.
“Ferda……”
“It’s all right.”
She closed her mouth. As it entered her body, it gently calmed her heart. She had felt it once before, yet wonder still rose unbidden. That the restless force which could only be spent by running wild should settle so quietly……
“Um, Ferda……”
“Yes.”
“I think that’s enough now.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Ferda stopped the flow of mana.
Silence settled between them—an awkward, almost unbearable silence. Neither dared break it. The moment either spoke, they both felt certain they would rise from their seats at once. That the hands they had finally, bravely joined would draw apart.
Just a little longer.
They savored the uncomfortable stillness.