Chapter 3: A Certain Sob (5/7)

A few days later, Diana went out into the city again. When the carriage drew up before that building, she stepped down.

"You've come, my lady."

The doorman greeted her with perfect courtesy. Privately, Diana was startled — though it certainly beat being fawned over as "the young miss," with the watchful eyes of the duchy's knights standing right there.

That was what the letter she had sent read. The doorman gave his russet beard a great sniff, like a man on the verge of a sneeze — in truth, he was sniffling back tears. Diana forced herself to ignore the sound.

Leaving the knights outside, Diana headed into the building. For some reason, it smelled lovely this time; not a trace of the musty, sour air from before remained. Paintings had even been hung on the walls, and those paintings……

No — why is there a Ravinci here of all places...? Is it genuine? And what is a Pachelangelo doing here?

Why would masterworks be hanging there all of a sudden...? Pieces like those couldn't have been easy to come by.

"Heh heh, isn't that painting lovely, my lady? —sniffle—"

Diana smiled. "It is, rather... I'd like one for myself."

"Just say the word to the Guild Master! He'll give you every last one!"

The man seemed firmly convinced that her grandfather would adore her.

Diana reached the top-floor room she had visited once before. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear its beat reverberating in her skull. Should I go in? Is going in the right thing to do? The tips of her fingers had gone white, and still she hesitated — until the door burst open. It flew at such speed that she nearly took it full in the face.

"I'm telling you, something has clearly happened to her!"

"Guild Master!"

"She's tumbled down the stairs for certain. Didn't I tell you to install that railing properly?!"

"That's not—"

"No — no, of course. She could have suddenly found the sight of me unbearable, that's all. This old grandfather of hers...!"

"......"

Ha... she had nearly been clubbed to death by a door. Panting, Diana looked at the old man who had come bursting out. Even as a joke, you couldn't call him large — but the strength behind that door said otherwise; the mere act of opening it had sent a gust howling past, nearly sweeping her off her feet.

"Oh dear, forgive me, little one. Did I startle you? Where's your mama?"

"......"

"Guild Master — this young lady here is Lady Diana."

The old man's eyes flew wide open.

She was probably the only person in history to be nearly done in by a door her own grandfather flung open. And for him to fail to recognize her at the moment of their reunion — to say that, of all things — was beyond anything she had foreseen. Of course he wouldn't recognize me.

In the end, Diana entered the room without a word. Even that doorman had placed her after only a little while, yet her own maternal grandfather had not recognized her at all. And then he had gone and asked where her mother was, on top of everything...

Well — she had imagined this meeting many times. Him shouting that she took after her father and driving her out on sight; him, against all expectation, wailing over how he had missed her; or him playacting kindness to court the favor of Diana, a daughter of one of Farnborough's foremost houses...

She had prided herself on having exhausted every possibility. But that he would fail to recognize her from the very first — that she had never once imagined. So there were people this far outside the script.

Her grandfather cleared his throat.

"Ahem, hem — now, see here. The building next door is a toy shop, so children come traipsing up from time to time. It is not that I failed to know you, you understand."

The toys in question weren't even the kind children Diana's age would play with... Every fresh excuse sank him deeper into the labyrinth.

"It appears I do not match the granddaughter you were hoping for, Mr. Anders. Good day."

"Nooooo!"

Anders let out a scream at full volume and clutched at Diana. Watching this, the doorman standing by remarked:

"Guild Master... what was the point of all that sweeping and scrubbing and decorating on your orders, when you went and swallowed the whole effect yourself?"

"......"

"My lady, I understand what has angered you. Still — give him one chance, only one. You have come all this way; spare him a little of your time."

At the doorman's mediation, Diana looked back over her shoulder. Awkward glances crossed the space between them. Then she gathered her skirt and dipped into a small bow.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Baron Prato. I am Diana Brien, eldest daughter of House Brien."

At that, Anders Prato straightened himself and smiled, bitter around the edges.

"I cast the Prato title away long ago."

"A merchant, you see, has a merchant's own road to walk."

"Child, I did not come to you as one noble meeting another."

"And you did not come to me for that reason either, did you."

At those words, Diana let her skirt slip from her fingers, the gesture left pointless in the air. The rims of the old man's eyes were shining. Those glistening eyes laid his feelings bare without a shred of shame.

"Thank you for coming."

"You've become such a fine young lady. Beautiful, and clever. You look so precious I can hardly dare believe you are my granddaughter."

He reached out and took both her hands in his own trembling ones. Warmth bled through into her skin. Diana looked down at those hands — wrinkled hands that could not quite manage to hold her tight.

How clumsy, how foolish, the beings she had always taken for adults could be. So Diana thought, listening to the story of her grandfather and her mother.

Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, but her grandfather truly did tell her everything. Her mother — raised rich and free as a merchant's daughter — had wanted to become a noble.

Diana had assumed someone had whispered the idea into her ear, but he had bought the title for the sake of the daughter he loved. Yet buying a title alone did not make one a true noble.

To be woven into noble society, one needed to be joined to it by blood. Following the murmurs of a maid who fawned at her side, her daughter Ludina was matched with a duke.

It was a fine match: a venerable ducal house on the brink of ruin, with even a thread of royal blood in it. The marriage was arranged on the condition that his debts be wiped away — and then the duke committed a grave wrong.

Diana already knew the answer. Emil. Over that, her grandfather and her mother had fought terribly.

Her mother had said she knew everything and accepted it; her grandfather refused to believe that a daughter so clever and wise could have made such a foolish choice. Out of worry for her, he hovered close.

And then he learned his daughter was being mocked as a merchant's daughter. What, then, could he do?

His daughter bore a darling granddaughter. What if that granddaughter, too, were sneered at for the merchant blood in her veins?

He dissolved his trading house and founded a new guild. Whether he stood forth as a 'noble' or as a 'merchant,' he was an obstacle to his little girl. Then the answer was simple — that existence simply had to disappear.

He built his guild with its strength abroad, not in Farnborough. It was no vast enterprise. But it was solid as iron.

And he missed his little girl. He missed the granddaughters he had once called too precious to hurt even if he kept them in his eyes. So he opened a branch in Farnborough.

But it was already too late — far, far too late. Before they could ever reconcile, his daughter fell ill, and died. And amid it all, he uncovered the relationship between the duke and Mirva: that Emil was that maid's son. The whole thing had been Mirva's design. He was a merchant, and quick-eyed with it; he pieced together everything.

He burned with anger. He longed to see his granddaughters, but there was no way to reach the little ones. He wanted to say something to them — but would a young lady raised like some treasured jewel of the aristocracy ever welcome a maternal grandfather she had never known?

Could she forgive the maternal grandfather who had not even stood at her mother's deathbed? And would the duke permit it regardless? In truth, when he had learned 'that fact' about the duke, he had hurled the vilest abuse at the man. Even if he begged to meet her, nothing would be shown to him — and before that, he had no faith in himself not to throw a punch the instant they came face to face.

And then word came that his granddaughter had come here herself. And that there, among the crowd of guildsmen, she had cried out like a scream torn from her chest:

Yes — it was exactly as she said. That was why he had rushed to Farnborough the moment the news reached him. Praying for some chance brush of shoulders as she passed, he had come home to meet his granddaughter.

"Diana. Won't you acknowledge that much?"

"......"

"Just as you said — I never once treated you as a granddaughter."

With trembling hands, he took hold of Diana's shoulders. Then he drew the small girl into his chest and whispered:

"But there was never a single moment when I did not love you."

Even as the soothing words poured over her, Diana received that love with a face carved from stone. She must not let her heart soften over this. She was weighing even the possibility of betrayal.

She knew it in her bones, too: how many there were who dressed exploitation in the mask of love. So she had sworn never to be taken in by the love that blood ties paraded.

Don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled, don't be fooled.

Diana remembers the terror of that burning mansion. No one in that house had come to save her. The maternal grandfather who claimed to love her had been no different.

On one level, she understood. He must have loved her mother. But how could he love her — herself, the leftover of the man who stole that daughter away? It made no sense. She could not bring herself to believe it.

To fall into a world of sweet, warm love — she had stood too long in too cold a season for that. And a maternal grandfather was a different creature from Philip, who had once been an unknown to her as well.

Diana laid a hand on the back of the grandfather who held her.

"Will you forgive this old grandfather, then?"

"Forgive... ah. Yes. Forgiveness......"

Diana nodded. The voice that came out sounded stiff and strange. Her grandfather wailed for a long while, until his face had flushed scarlet.

He would give her everything. Whatever she wanted, she would have. Everything he had failed to do until now, he would do. And if she told him to disappear — disappear he would.

Her grandfather said it over and over. Diana lowered her head. Tears spilled from her eyes. I won't believe it. And yet, she wanted to believe. She wanted, just a little longer, to trust in that warmth.

She would keep her blade of doubt sharpened at all times — but she resolved not to refuse his love. Sniffling, Diana spoke.

"Well then, I — I have a favor to ask."

"What is it! Name it!"

"My lady, for one so guarded, you get to asking remarkably fast......"

The doorman, who had watched the whole tempest unfold, murmured it half to himself — and fearing the offer might be snatched back, her grandfather bellowed:

"Hey, you rascal! She came to the guild that time because she needed something, didn't she?! Then obviously the one she should ask is this old grandfather of hers!"

He looked ready to seize the very chair Diana sat in and hurl it at the man.

"Yes, yes — what do you need? The paintings on the wall? They're all yours! How about the Diamond of Lodbrok! No, wait — I have gold from Caliari as well!"

Diana shook her head desperately, side to side.

"G-gra-grandfather. I need — people."

"Hm? People?"

"Yes. A man called Barret......"

"Isn't he right here?"

"...Pardon?"

Diana's eyes went wide. Her grandfather wore a smile full of pride.

"Don't tell me — Grandfather is the Mercenary King...?"

But he's so small and slight? As Diana looked her grandfather up and down, he cried out:

"Oh ho, my precious granddaughter — you think that highly of your grandfather! I mean our guard there, the one standing at the back!"

Diana turned around. The doorman flashed her a wide, easy grin.

"S-sec— security guard?"

The man who will one day become the Mercenary King? This guild grew more incomprehensible by the minute.

"Have I really made a name for myself as the Mercenary King?"

Barret grinned slyly. Diana looked at the man standing there — the doorman, no, the mercenary — and said:

"I would like you to teach the sword. To my slave."

"Of course."

Had he even heard her out? Barret had answered far too quickly. Things were resolving far more easily than she had expected — easily enough to make her wonder whether they should be. In any case, Diana had found a teacher for Giscard.

"Can you keep it a secret from your father that you met me?"

At that, Diana nodded. Over the Emil affair, the relationship between her grandfather and her father was surely strained; if it ever came out that she had met him, there was no telling how her father would react — she could not predict it at all.

And for her own sake — lest her meeting with her grandfather ever leak — Diana made the rounds of the various trading houses' shops once again that day, under the pretext of lifting her spirits.

"Then how is Barret to teach Giscard the sword?"

At her question, Barret only grinned, as if worry were someone else's problem. And just as he'd implied, Barret really did appear in the least expected of guises.

"Good day to you, my lady! Barret's the name — newly taken on to manage the training grounds!"

"......"

The upkeep of weapons and the running of the training yard did require specialists, and positions had indeed been open. But she had never imagined Barret would simply walk straight in.

The Mercenary King.

The legendary Mercenary King, of whom it was said that no war he entered ended in anything but victory... though, of course, not yet. Diana looked at Barret.

"My lady, what a gracious mistress you are! I shall serve you with the whole of my heart and soul!"

Sighing under the weight of his excessive devotion and the suspicious looks it drew from everyone around, Diana let out a breath — and in the same breath, Barret's gaze slid to Giscard standing behind her. His eyes narrowed.

Diana received Barret when he came to her room. His eyes were practically aflame.

"My lady — wherever in the world did you find such a treasure!"

"A treasure? What do you mean?"

"Nothing — I simply meant it as I said."

Diana watched the excited man. He stroked his beard and went on, eyes shining:

"His fundamentals are rock solid, and his strength is flawless. Give him a little more time, and he might well bring down a dragon."

Yes — that much was true. Giscard really does bring down a dragon.

"They say he outclasses most knights. Is that true?"

"It is. He's never fought a real bout, so he doesn't seem to know it himself, but he's superb. To think such a genius stood beside you all along — your eye for talent is truly exceptional, my lady!"

Diana forced a smile.

"As I said, he's a slave... My father brought him here."

"......"

Barret looked at her face and spoke, his expression gone dark.

"It's a waste, letting him rot as a slave."

"I agree. A waste, letting him rot beside me."

"Ah — no! I didn't mean it a waste that he isn't serving as your guard knight!"

Barret shook his head. She understood what he meant. And when Diana showed no particular sign of displeasure, he lowered his voice into something close and quiet:

"Shall we spirit him away?"

"He wears the restraint collar."

"A collar can be dealt with, one way or another. Runaway slaves are our business too, you know."

"......"

"Getting him out from under the Duke — ah, forgive me, from under your lord father — we can manage his escape whenever you say the word."

Diana sank deep into thought. Left to her grandfather, the collar could come off. Giscard could run.

She could give Giscard exactly what she had wanted so desperately. It could really be this easy? There was no doubt her grandfather would see him safely away. Giscard's suffering would end.

And yet......

Diana shook her head.

"He still has his uses."

"My lady, even so, the boy—"

"I can't set him free. Right now, his place is as a slave."

Diana shook her head again. At some point, she had come to see that merely cutting the collar away and turning him loose was no answer at all. But Diana did not know that the 'slave' in question was listening to every word.

The eyes of the boy standing at the door went glacial. He stared into the room for a long moment — then walked away from the room where that deceiver stood.

Knowing nothing of it, Diana went on to Barret:

"With this monster business coming up, I have to shine in Father's eyes. What matters is showing that Giscard has genius-level martial power — enough to officially exterminate monsters."

"Do you have something particular in mind, my lady?"

"Mm. I can't risk burdening my grandfather with it. This is something I have to do alone."

However long it had been tended before, keeping a great house was hard work. Juggling maidservant duties on top of managing the estate, Diana spent her days without a moment to breathe.

The winter festival of Taillach above all, hosted by the Brien Duchy itself, heaped her plate high. Taillach opened with the monster hunt.

Of all the lands the Dukes of Brien held, the western territory — the most useless of the lot — bordered the Abyss Forest.

This vast forest, standing between the Kingdom of Lodbrok and the Kingdom of Farnborough, was so enormous that it stretched from the Brien demesne in the south all the way to the capital, Tallinn — and it kept many secrets besides. And from it, monsters emerged to attack the people.

Did the Venom Dragon, too, count among the monsters?

Diana recalled the name of the dragon that Giscard would one day slay. In any case — whether the monsters here swarmed because of that dragon, or because the forest truly did link to the demon realm as rumor claimed — the noble estates bordering it suffered infestations far worse than anywhere else.

Spring, above all, brought the worst of it. And so the winter festival of Taillach had transformed into an occasion for the nobility to gather en masse and exterminate monsters. Ordinary hunting was a luxurious pastime that tormented the commons — but the monster hunt benefited everyone.

In any case, this year's Taillach was Diana's responsibility. For roughly a month, the heart of high society would migrate to the Brien demesne — and with the Thalli Dance, that contest of dancing among the nobles, thrown into the bargain, there were not enough hours left even for sleep.

Head throbbing, Diana buried herself in the work — and let her own thirteenth-birthday celebration, any celebration at all, simply slip right past her.

Much happened over the three months leading into winter.

First, Emil came home for the holidays. The two of them still regarded each other like cats and dogs. Emil picked quarrels now and then, but Diana parried them with practiced ease.

Alexa, too, ran fevers and coughed as winter deepened — yet for some reason, she never once took her temper out on her elder sister. She was still a child through and through, but her eyes, somehow, had deepened. Now and then, Alexa would watch Emil and Diana with a look neither of them could fathom.

Last of all, her father — come to trust Diana — handed nearly every matter within the household over to her. Which meant that not only the room Giscard would occupy but everything else could be placed under her management. It meant, in effect, that she could shut out even the butler.

"I'm appointing Giscard as my guard."

Thus nothing stood in the way of Diana naming Giscard her guard-slave. Save the knights' objections.

"If the knights cannot be persuaded, then I shall demonstrate skill. Giscard."

It was the moment a full year of Diana's instruction bore its fruit. A knight stepped forward and swung his sword — and Giscard moved at once, slipping out of the blade's path. When the knight turned, Giscard already had his sword raised to run him through. Steel glanced across armor. Had it not been for that armor, his flank would have been laid open.

At the sheer gulf in skill, the knights' faces went stiff. Their house was no famous military line, granted — but they were knights. And they had just been shamefully evaded by a slave.

When Giscard looked at Diana, she beamed at him. But at the sight of it, Giscard's brow knotted and he turned his head away, as though the smile revolted him.

What was that about?

Then one of the knights spoke up.

"This I cannot accept! Is he not an unverified slave!"

Diana was about to retort when—

"Seems the verification just took place."

Emil stepped out. Diana's eyes flew wide. Why Emil of all people? At his appearance, the knight deflated.

"Haven't you just proven yourself a knight who cannot best a single slave?"

"Young master — what I mean is, that slave's origins......"

"Whatever his origins, a slave is a slave. Shall I remind you he wears the collar?"

He said it coldly, looking down at the knight. Then Emil turned to the Knight Commander, who had stood by in silence, and said:

"And what kind of knight berates a lady like some common ruffian?"

"......"

"Hm? You think you may be this insolent to my own sister?"

"F-forgive me!"

What on earth just happened? Was Emil actually taking her side? Diana's eyes went wide. Galling as it was, the moment Emil stepped in, the knights could not say a single word.

Once the knights had withdrawn, Emil muttered:

"It's because you talk so very sweetly and properly that the knights take you lightly."

"......"

Hadn't she and Emil crossed a river that could never be waded back? Diana looked at him awkwardly. And then Emil said, half to himself:

"...We can't go on like this."

So saying, Emil laid a hand on Diana's shoulder. For some reason, she felt dangerously close to choking up.

Their mothers were different — but they unmistakably shared their father's blood. She knew that all too well.

"Mm......"

"Let's do well at this Taillach, the two of us. You'll earn your recognition, and......"

Emil smoothed Diana's hair with his hand.

"And I'll make things right."

For an instant, his voice felt bleak and shadowed.