What the Fire Left Behind

"The wildfire could have swept over the garrison. I expect it was a measure for a swift evacuation. Everyone was in a panic—they wouldn't have looked too closely. I won't make an issue of it. Just see that people keep their mouths shut."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Last night… the princess helped save lives."

Cedric, ever the capable adjutant, had already pieced together the general shape of things through his inquiries. He had heard that the two of them had led the forest villagers back to the garrison. He did not know precisely what the princess had done, but she must have been of some help. His lord would never have overlooked her unsanctioned conduct otherwise.

"The princess's health has been confirmed to be unimpaired. She has no external injuries, and I was just informed by her maid that she is still in a deep sleep."

She's still asleep?

The restlessness that had been riding Carion eased, just a little.

"I will meet with the princess myself and hear what happened last night."

"Yes, Your Highness. I shall make the arrangements."

"Not the office. Somewhere else."

"What about a luncheon, Your Highness? I shall have it prepared in the guest suite."

Carion nodded without a word.

Cedric left the office and quickened his pace. Time was already tight if he was to have a luncheon ready in the guest suite. He took personal command of the manor servants, overseeing the cleaning of the room and pressing them on the meal. He arranged the appointed hour through the princess's maid and relayed it to his lord.

Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly.

Until a soldier came running, breathless, just as the scheduled luncheon was nearly upon them.

"Chief Adjutant. The Governor of Poema has arrived."

"…Now?"

"Yes, sir. He is waiting outside the garrison. He says he has come to express his gratitude and pay his respects for His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief's efforts in preventing the wildfire."

Cedric reported it to Carion at once.

He had never in his life seen his lord's face twist into such an ugly scowl.

"Had this wildfire spread as far as the farmland, the damage to Poema would have been catastrophic. That it did not is entirely thanks to Your Excellency's swift response, is it not?"

Watching Governor Markel of Poema slice into a perfectly seared steak, Carion felt a slow, simmering anger. The meal that had been prepared so that he might share it with her was disappearing into the wrong man's mouth.

"I understand you went into the flames yourself, Your Excellency. Truly befitting the Commander-in-Chief. I was equally struck by the swiftness of your judgment in sending urgent word to Poema. You cannot imagine how we all watched through the night, our hearts in our throats. When we saw the flames at last begin to die, a great cheer went up from everyone."

Carion had always found Markel grating.

He talks too much.

The man was the sort who, given time, could endlessly flatter his counterpart with an inexhaustible supply of ornate phrases. Even as Carion offered no response and ate in silence, Markel's chatty mouth showed no sign of stopping.

"Your Excellency, you ought to receive proper recognition for this achievement. I shall report it to the Imperial Palace myself."

"There's no need to make extra trouble of it."

"But—"

"Assessing the damage and determining the cause of the fire takes priority."

"Of course. Naturally. I have not the slightest doubt that Your Excellency will conduct a thorough investigation."

By the time the drawn-out meal was finished, night had already grown deep. Carion gave orders that a guest chamber in the manor be made ready for Markel. He did not like it, but there was no helping it. Cedric would assign the rooms so that the princess would not cross paths with the man, and would caution her people accordingly.

The moment Markel was shown into the guest chamber, his expression went utterly cold.

Ha. What am I going to do.

He knew the cause of last night's fire. A blaze had started by accident at the smuggling site he had been running in secret. The subordinates he had sent to the scene had told him as much: a small spark had swollen in an instant, and they had been unable to contain it, so they had fled.

Pathetic fools. Of all the lives they could have salvaged, they brought back only the most useless ones.

Since it had come to that, it would have been better if the fire had spread into a massive wildfire and burned everything to ash. Because the blaze had been extinguished so quickly, the traces of the smuggling operation would still be sitting there, intact. The Commander-in-Chief would surely investigate the cause with painstaking care. Discovery was only a matter of time.

And the greatest problem of all was the Fourth Prince's character. Bribes did not work on him.

What do I do. What do I do…

He had come to sound out the situation, but as expected, the Fourth Prince had not shown so much as a needle's gap. Carion's mood had soured because Markel had wrecked the schedule he had planned, and so his manner had been somewhat cold. Markel, however, had already taken that chill for something else entirely—he was convinced the Fourth Prince had caught a suspicious scent from the fire.

The door opened quietly, and a subordinate slipped inside. Markel whipped his head around.

"Well?"

"Infiltrating the investigation team to destroy the evidence at the site is out of the question."

"Ugh."

Markel clutched at his hair as if he meant to tear it out. If word of this smuggling operation reached the Emperor's ears, it would not be Markel alone who died. The people of Poema would be slaughtered with him.

He groaned—and then his eyes flashed.

If evidence remains, I simply need to destroy the evidence.

"Later, once things have quieted down around here, go to the smuggling site."

When he had come here, Markel had brought a guide with him—a capable one, who could find his way even through a forest in the dark.

"It's not uncommon for a newly suppressed wildfire to flare up again. Burn it all. Leave no trace."

The subordinate swallowed dryly and nodded.

Rhea's eyes flew open.

She stared at the dark ceiling, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. With the back of her hand, she wiped away the tears that had spilled from her eyes.

She had dreamed of the day Penny died—in her previous life.

After losing Penny, Rhea had drifted through the days that followed like a ghost. Penny's death had shattered her. And then it had put her back together. The life she still possessed was one Penny had bought for her. She had to survive. Stubbornly. Relentlessly.

Enoch.

Whenever she recalled the tragedy of her previous life, hatred for Enoch followed as naturally as breath. The Enoch of that life and the Enoch of this one were no different. He had already stretched his claws toward the kingdom. He had merely failed this time. The day he became emperor, the kingdom would be in danger—that much was certain.

Preventing Enoch from taking the throne was the first purpose of this life. And she wanted, just as badly, to learn why he had destroyed the kingdom at all.

If he had wanted her stepmother as his backer, to close his fist around the kingdom—then why had he killed her and razed it to the ground?

Did he have some grudge against Zephyros?

And even after the kingdom had fallen, the Empire's pursuers had hunted Rhea with a relentless, single-minded tenacity. As if she herself had been the objective all along.

Why?

Sleep had fled her completely. Rhea sat up, slipped down from the bed, and pulled out the bottom drawer of the dresser, reaching her arm in deep. Just in case, she had taken one item from her luggage and hidden it here.

What she drew out was a long leather bundle, tightly rolled. She unwrapped the hide, took out what lay inside, and held it up. The crystal dagger caught the moonlight that slipped through the window and shone with a strange, unearthly hue.

It was the weapon Neria had tried to use that night, to destroy Zephyros's Eye.

No one in the royal palace had known the origin of this extraordinary thing. She had not asked Neria. That child had merely accepted what someone had given her; she would not have known what it was. While the breathless work of putting the kingdom in order went on—the former queen and her fellow conspirators purged, and more besides—the crystal dagger had been left to gather dust.

When at last she had the leisure to examine it, a question had risen in her. Without this dagger, could Neria have destroyed Zephyros's Eye in the previous life? Did the blade contain some power antithetical to spirits?

Having no other means of finding out, Rhea had considered testing it on herself. She had meant to nick no more than a fingertip—but her spirit had warned her with such force that she abandoned the idea at once. And in that moment, she had known with certainty. This dagger was a dangerous thing, prepared for the express purpose of destroying Zephyros's Eye.

She had no idea how to dispose of it, and the thought of leaving it behind in the kingdom sat ill with her. So when she departed for the Empire, she had brought it with her.

Perhaps this is a clue to the real reason the kingdom fell in my previous life.

A gust of wind tapped her across the face and swept past, and she started. She wrapped the dagger in the leather at once, tucked it back into the space beneath the drawer, and pushed the drawer shut. Then she turned her head in the direction the wind had moved—and found the door.

Has someone come?

Penny had brought a water pitcher earlier, tidied the bedding, and gone to her own room, saying she would sleep early. They would have to be on the move from dawn.

Cedric, the Commander-in-Chief's chief adjutant, had come in the late afternoon to inform them of the schedule for the capital.

Curious who it might be, Rhea opened the door.

The figure who had been lingering before it went still. The hallway was dark, but she knew him at once.

"Your Highness?"