Are You a Mage?
“I investigated the matter myself. There wasn’t a single trace of magic. What’s more, the caretaker admitted the building hadn’t been properly maintained in quite some time.”
In short, it really had been nothing more than an unfortunate accident.
“That’s impossible!”
“Even Dilanshe wouldn’t dare pull something inside the Great Temple. You of all people should know that best, Father.”
Nox added the pointed remark with a shamelessly smooth smile.
Faced with a truth he couldn’t refute, the Marquis’s face crumpled in frustration.
Before the two men’s fruitless argument could drag on any longer, Cecilia quietly spoke up.
“About that bird, though. Did they say it flew into the glass from outside?”
“Hard to say. The Second Prayer Room happened to be empty at the time. The bird was found outside the building, at least. Why? Is it important?”
“No. Just curious.”
Outside, huh.
It wasn’t satisfying proof, but it was enough to form a reasonable theory.
The glass would have been excessively thick, and the bird was no larger than a palm. Force scaled with mass — even if the impact had been enough to crack the pane, the bird never could have broken through. And if the damaged section had been tilted ever so slightly outward, it wasn’t impossible that most of the shards would have fallen outside rather than in.
Having roughly pieced together the sequence of the accident, Cecilia gave a small nod. She decided not to entertain any other possibilities.
More than anything, there were no traces of magic.
The Marquis’s claims simply didn’t hold up.
“I’ll have to contact His Holiness myself.”
The man in question, it seemed, still hadn’t let go of his suspicions.
Well, business appears to be finished. Can I go back to my room now?
Even the faint spark of interest she’d felt had fizzled out. Cecilia scratched behind the ear of Charles, who was purring contentedly in her lap. Her gaze, now thoroughly detached from the conversation, happened to land on the newspaper the Marquis had tossed aside.
The front page of the capital’s paper was dominated by glowing praise for a new materials venture jointly funded and spearheaded by the Princess and Dilanshe — a venture that had been a spectacular success.
Ah. So that’s what soured his mood.
Having easily guessed at the Marquis’s true feelings, Cecilia let her eyes drift lower. Another article occupied a proud corner of the front page.
This is…
Beneath the sensational headline, Cecilia carefully read through the scathing article — then picked up the newspaper.
“Father, may I take this paper with me?”
The edge of the article crumpled in her clenched fist.
Back in her room, Cecilia tore off the bottom half of the newspaper. She stuffed the crumpled scrap roughly into her pocket and threw on her coat without delay.
“I’ll be having today’s lesson at Rien’s estate.”
“Pardon?”
Melanie nearly jumped out of her skin at the announcement that her mistress intended to go out again — mere days after the accident.
“My lady! The Marquis ordered that you remain indoors for the time being, as it may still be dangerous…!”
“It’s right next door. I’ll be back soon.”
“My lady!”
Leaving the protesting Melanie behind, Cecilia climbed through the gap in the fence. Then she strode up to the front door of the neighboring estate and knocked firmly.
A tremendous clatter erupted from the other side — and a moment later, the door flew open.
“Lady Cecilia! W-what brings you here at this hour…?”
Somehow knowing exactly who the unexpected visitor was, the master of the house himself came to greet her — not the butler.
Still wearing that robe, of course.
He even keeps it on at home, huh.
Cecilia eyed the gloomy scrap of fabric with mild distaste, then spoke with breezy nonchalance.
“I thought we might hold today’s lesson here. We’re friends, right? This much should be fine.”
It was a full two hours earlier than their scheduled lesson, but he nodded with transparent, unguarded delight.
“Y-yes! Of course.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me.”
Fully aware she was being rude, Cecilia brushed past his side and strode straight into the mansion.
She had come and gone from the garden often enough, but this was her first time inside. The interior lacked the grandeur and lavish ornamentation of the Weberdin estate, yet it possessed a quiet, old-world elegance all its own.
She was admiring the carvings on the pillars and ceiling when her eyes suddenly fell on a broom standing upright against the corridor wall.
A broom?
Looking closer, she spotted a rag draped beneath a window and a basin of clean water sitting in the corner of the hall. But there was no one using any of it.
She finally understood the strange unease that had been nagging at her since she stepped inside.
In this vast mansion, there was an eerie absence of people.
“Come to think of it, I don’t see any servants.”
Her voice echoed hollowly through the wide hall.
Rien flinched as if the words had struck him physically, his shoulders giving a sharp twitch.
“O-oh, today happens to be their day off.”
“All of them?”
“Y-yes. I give them regular leave for the sake of efficiency. I don’t mind living alone, so it’s no trouble.”
“What a generous employer.”
Rien scratched awkwardly at his robed head and led her to a small room at the end of the corridor.
“This is really the only space I use in the whole estate. I-it’s quite messy, I’m afraid.”
Not so much messy as… sparsely furnished.
The room was about half the size of her own bedroom, containing little more than a sofa and a desk. Still, it did seem to be where he spent most of his time: a thick blanket and a small cushion lay sprawled across the leather sofa, and the dark mahogany desk was piled high with thick volumes whose titles she couldn’t even make out.
And… a fireplace?
The strangest feature of this otherwise unremarkable room was the fireplace occupying an entire wall. Logs were burning merrily inside it — completely out of season — yet oddly, she felt no heat at all.
“You’re not feeling well, are you? I hope I wasn’t being thoughtless by dropping in.”
Cecilia tilted her head, and Rien immediately scooped up a handful of ash from beside the hearth and dumped it over the wood.
“N-no! The butler left some firewood out, so I lit it just for fun. That’s all.”
A soft hiss rose as pale smoke curled up from the smothered logs. Cecilia peered under his robe, half-wondering if he really had caught a cold. The half of his face she could see wasn’t flushed, so it seemed her concern had been unnecessary.
Reassured, she plopped down on the sofa.
“You said you’d teach me ballroom dancing today, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Rien nodded, rummaged through the stack of books on the desk, and returned with several volumes in hand.
A Beginner’s Guide to Ballroom Dancing.
Read This and Become a Dance Master.
Dance God, Dance King.
…What on earth is that last one.
The title alone was terrifying enough that she didn’t dare touch it.
She felt a little bad for Rien, who was proudly presenting his teaching materials — but she had no intention of sitting quietly through a lesson today.
“You’re planning to teach dance with theory books?”
“Pardon?”
“You could just show me yourself.”
Cecilia lightly tugged his wrist. Only when their faces were nearly touching could she meet those violet eyes.
“Is that not allowed?”
The little scheme she’d already grown so used to slipped out as easily as breathing. She slid the hand holding his wrist down to cover the back of his hand, and Rien flinched backward.
Or rather — he tried to. He failed.
It wasn’t as though she’d put a leash around his neck, yet Rien stood frozen like a collared animal, unable to move an inch.
He exhaled a short breath and murmured something like a sigh.
“Would it… be all right if I touched you, Lady Cecilia?”
“Of course.”
They were already touching.
Rien’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he suddenly rose to his feet. The books he’d been holding scattered to the floor with a soft flutter, and his freer right hand was thrust out toward her.
Cecilia took it. He led her to the center of the room. They faced each other. The whole sequence flowed as naturally as water.
“Please follow my movements for now.”
“I will.”
She wasn’t particularly confident when it came to physical activity, but Cecilia nodded without hesitation.
In the small room with no audience and no orchestra, a device resembling a phonograph was playing slow, measured music. Matching the intermittently crackling melody, Rien began to move his feet with deliberate care.
He was being so considerate of her inexperience that keeping up with his steps wasn’t especially difficult. The only problem was that every time her own missteps closed the handspan of distance between them, the man’s chest rose and fell roughly against hers.
Cecilia looked up at that raw agitation — at the two cheeks blooming red as flowers — and suddenly parted her lips.
“Rien.”
“Yes?”
“What do you think of the Tower Master?”
In an instant, the man’s smoothly flowing steps locked up like a broken toy.
It was an utterly out-of-place question for a dance lesson. But it was also the entire reason she had barged into this estate unannounced.
His hand, already tinged with panic, began to tremble finely in hers.
“W-why do you ask that…?”
“I happened to read a newspaper from the capital today. There was a special report on the Tower Master. Apparently he’s a thoroughly wicked man.”
The moment those deeply biased words left her mouth, Rien denied them outright.
“It’s probably just a baseless rumor.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!”
He didn’t seem to notice, but the grip of their joined hands had tightened.
That reaction alone was answer enough.
Before the music had even finished, Cecilia cleanly released his hand and took two steps back.
“…Lady Cecilia?”
And then she went straight to the point.
“Rien. You’re a mage, aren’t you?”