A Debt Owed

In a secret chamber beneath the governor's residence, a narrow, soundproofed room held nothing but a small table and two chairs set facing each other.

Governor Markel sat calmly before the table. He had been seized by soldiers in the middle of the night and dragged here — though in truth, he had not been sleeping at all. He had been waiting for his subordinates. The moment the soldiers entered his bedchamber, he had known something had gone wrong, and he had allowed himself to be taken without a fight.

At the sound of the door opening, he turned his head. The Commander-in-Chief entered, accompanied by his three closest aides.

Markel smirked.

"My, my, Your Excellency. I haven't the faintest idea what this midnight calamity is about. You needn't have gone to all this trouble — a quiet word would have been enough, and I would have taken care of everything myself. What's the problem? What is it you want?"

Carion pulled out a chair and sat. He set the object he had brought down on the table with a sharp clack.

Markel's eyes flickered. What lay before him was a scorched spearhead.

"We have physical evidence and testimony. Let's not waste each other's time."

The amusement slowly drained from Markel's face. The look he gave the spearhead was complicated. He sighed, then spoke again with a lighter expression.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"Governor."

"Ah, I see. I'll admit it. I had expenses, so I skimmed a little off the top. In the process, I did dip my hands into the military supplies. By Your Excellency's standards, I suppose that makes me a criminal."

Markel had a fallback. He had always accounted for the possibility of being found out, and he had prepared his excuses in advance. If anyone were caught in the act, they had agreed to say they had sold the goods to black-market merchants on the governor's orders. And in fact, Markel had dealt with black-market merchants. The rare medicinal herbs he obtained through illicit trade with the Outer Border people, he sold off to them. Even now, his mind was racing, calculating which strings to pull to make this all go away.

To bury something the Fourth Prince has taken on himself, I'd need someone of equal rank. The Second Prince is Commander-in-Chief of the Southwest, so involving himself in the Northeast would be awkward. The Third Prince has connections everywhere and is supposedly easy to talk to. The First Prince gets things done — but he'd demand just as much in return.

"I already told you, Governor. We have testimony. Outer Border smuggling."

The composure vanished from Markel's face in an instant. The corners of his mouth, straining to lift, twitched.

"If I report this to the capital, they'll send investigators to Poema. Once they turn the entire region upside down, it's only a matter of time before everything comes to light."

Markel wheezed as if the air had been knocked from his lungs, then shot to his feet. Luke, standing behind Carion, started forward to restrain him — thinking the governor meant to attack his lord — then hesitated.

Markel crawled on his knees toward Carion and seized his legs.

"Your Highness. I did this alone. My subordinates only followed orders. I lost my mind over wealth — I went mad. Your Highness, please, I beg you, show me mercy. I did this by myself. I swear it. I have a great deal of wealth stashed away. Gold, jewels, the smuggling ledgers — I'll turn over everything."

Even without Rhea's tip about the Outer Border smuggling, Carion would have uncovered it eventually. But thanks to her, an investigation that would have taken months had been compressed into a matter of hours. The men caught at the scene, once pressed about the smuggling, had apparently assumed they were already found out — and confessed one after another.

Looking down at Markel's twisted face, Carion felt a strange sensation. He wondered if this was truly the same Governor of Poema he had known.

"Get up, Governor."

"Your Highness. Let it end with me."

"Luke."

Luke hauled Markel to his feet and sat him back in the chair.

Carion recalled her voice, lingering like an afterimage. Until the moment he stepped into this room, he had not made up his mind.

As Commander-in-Chief of the Empire, covering this up would be treason. But the testimony of those caught at the scene had shaken him. Every last one of them had wept and pleaded that they had done it in secret — that the governor knew nothing. And when he pressed the governor, the man claimed he had done it all himself.

"Governor. Once I finish my business at the Poema garrison, I leave first thing in the morning."

Markel sat limp with despair.

"The aftermath of the forest fire and the remaining investigation — I'll leave those to you."

Markel's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He stared at the Commander-in-Chief, as if trying to grasp his true intent.

"I'm roughly aware of Poema's hardships. But I found it surprising that so few people were starving to death."

Carion rose from his seat.

"I have no wish to see innocent people die for the governor's transgressions."

He pushed the spearhead closer to Markel.

"Be more careful from now on. And do not change. Not in the slightest."

Markel stared up at him, dazed. Just as Carion was about to leave, Markel cried out.

"Your Highness! What — what is it you want?"

Carion glanced back and gave a faint laugh.

Even after the prince and his aides had gone, Markel sat there for a long time, vacant. Slowly, he reached out and took the spearhead in his hand. Red blood welled from his palm where the blade cut him. But Markel felt no pain.

How could one describe the feeling of being hauled back the instant one's foot had touched hell? The rims of his eyes flushed a deep, burning red.

By the time he had roughly finished everything and returned to his bedchamber, it was dawn. Carion lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, turning over the strange feeling inside him.

In the end, he had done exactly as she had said. He ought to have felt filthy, like a puppet dancing at someone else's fingertips — and yet all he could see was the look on Governor Markel's face at the end.

He had no particular intention of demanding anything from the governor over this. He didn't even feel as though he had gained leverage. He had tossed out the word debt, but he doubted he would ever have need of the Governor of Poema's help. And yet the decision to abandon his duty as Commander-in-Chief, having gained nothing in return, left him strangely satisfied.

He placed a hand over his heart. For the first time since becoming Commander-in-Chief, he felt a warmth kindling deep inside his chest.

A ragged gasp tore from his throat.

He had fallen into a pleasant sleep — and woke to a pain as if his chest were burning from the inside. As he always did when the seizures came, he pressed a hand hard against his chest and rolled onto his side. He furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth.

It was not as severe as last night, when he had thought he might die. This time, the symptoms were closer to his usual attacks. If he could just endure the moment when the pain peaked, the seizure would subside.

Endure it. As I always have. I've survived this long.

He had never told a soul, considering it his weakness. And yet, come to think of it, the secret he had guarded so thoroughly had been discovered by her.

I don't even know why I never thought to silence her.

Wouldn't a single sip of water given to a man dying of thirst only make the suffering worse? Carion thought his present state was much the same. He was going mad with the urge to run to the one person who could ease this pain. He didn't need anything more — if she would only touch his forehead with her hand. The cool sensation that would sweep through his entire body in that instant would be the most exquisite release.

He traced the path from his bedchamber to her room in his mind — then squeezed his eyes shut.

"You're insane."

He could not commit another shameless act like last night's. At the very least, he was more in his right mind now than he had been yesterday.

That's right. He had decided to marry her. A sudden sense of relief washed over him. He had spoken as if he were doing her a favor by proposing marriage — but wasn't he the one who ought to be on his knees, begging?

I really am imperial blood, through and through. A clan unmatched in the world for shamelessness and gall.

Hm...?

He realized it belatedly. At some point, his body had recovered. He sat up slowly and felt along his limbs. A faint heat still lingered, but it was cooling rapidly. The seizure had definitely struck — and yet the symptoms had been markedly milder than usual. If it stayed at this level, he felt he could endure it willingly.

She said it wasn't a curse.

He looked down at his own two hands.

What does the princess know?

For well over a decade, he had dismissed it as a curse and lived in resignation. For the first time, he found himself curious about the true nature of the pain that had tormented him all this time.