An Invitation from the Imperial University Mage Tower (4)

A week had passed since I began preparing my lecture under the elf's direction.

Thanks to her breadth of knowledge, which far exceeded mine, the work was finished without much difficulty. All that remained was to arrive at the Imperial University's Mage Tower on the appointed day.

Unfortunately, that was precisely where the trouble lay. The day I'd been invited to the Mage Tower coincided with House Pelgaroin's spring hunting gathering.

Attend the hunt, and I'd have to decline the lecture. Attend the lecture, and I'd miss the hunt.

After much deliberation, I chose the Mage Tower. Building closer ties with Count Pelgaroin mattered, but I couldn't simply disregard a personal invitation from the president of the Mage Tower.

So before setting out, I stopped at Pelgaroin Castle to explain myself to His Excellency.

I'd hoped to exchange a few words with Ashley first. Instead, while following a maid who was to escort me to her room, I happened upon the Count himself.

“The university's Mage Tower wishes to receive you as a special guest lecturer?”

At his request, we went directly into a nearby drawing room to speak in private.

“Hmm.”

His hair was swept back neatly, and his clothes were as immaculate as ever. But there was a weariness about his eyes that I hadn't noticed before.

Fred's decision to join the rebels must have weighed heavily on him.

It would be discourteous to pry, so I said nothing. The scent of black tea drifted from the cups on the table as the Count considered my explanation.

“This is cause for celebration, isn't it? You have nothing to apologize for.”

I lowered my head, still feeling guilty. A small smile appeared on his stern face.

“The spring hunt will be held next year, and the year after that. But an invitation from the university's Mage Tower? If you pass up this opportunity, you may never receive another. Am I wrong?”

“Not at all, Your Excellency.”

“Then go with a clear conscience. Make the most of it. The imperial family may even take notice of you. There could be treasure, fertile estates, an appointment to govern land…”

“You are too generous. Even if I were offered a new lordship, I—”

I stopped. The Count had given me a particularly stern look.

“Don't talk nonsense. If an opportunity presents itself, seize it. The man who will become my son-in-law ought to have some ambition. With war approaching, you'll need to keep your eyes open if you want what is due to you.”

Something bitter crossed his expression. His hand tightened around the sofa's armrest, and he sighed.

“In any event, do well. You wouldn't want to tarnish the honor of my dearest friend—your father.”

“I will remember that.”

“Good. And another thing…”

He looked around before leaning closer, lowering his voice so that only I could hear.

“When do you intend to marry my daughter?”

“The wedding…?”

“My daughter is of marriageable standing. You ought to marry soon and begin your lives as husband and wife.”

“I understand, Your Excellency. But I'm concerned the timing may not be right.”

“Not right?”

He gave an indignant huff and fixed me with a look that was half reproach, half mischief.

“Flowers bloom even in wartime. All the more reason to cherish them while you can. Or do you mean to give me grandchildren only after I've died of old age?”

I tried smiling my way out of the question. The Count smiled even more broadly, but his eyes remained perfectly serious.

At last I surrendered.

“Very well. When I return from the Mage Tower, I'll formally propose to Ashley.”

Only then did his expression soften.

“A wise decision. If you need anything from me in that regard, tell me. I'll hear whatever you ask.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

With our understanding reached, we lifted our cups together and enjoyed the tea.

After a while, I set mine down. Someone knocked softly at the door.

“Your Excellency, the young lady has arrived.”

“Has she? Let her in.”

The double doors opened, and Ashley stepped inside.

Her blond hair was carefully arranged, and her blue eyes shone beneath long, neat lashes. She approached us, rested one hand over her chest and bowed.

“Sir Theorad. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.”

You could have kept me waiting for hours and I wouldn't have minded.

I greeted her with a smile.

“Ashley. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too. I've been sending messages every night.”

“Messages? To me?”

She could only mean our Witch Notes. Yet as far as I knew, I hadn't received anything from her after the first day.

Perhaps I'd misunderstood.

“Have you really been sending them to me?”

“Of course, Sir Theorad. Who else would I—”

She stopped mid-sentence. The color drained from her face, and she bit her lip as though she'd realized something.

The Count glanced at his daughter. Aware of his attention, Ashley managed an awkward smile.

“There's something urgent I must see to. Please excuse me. I'll return shortly.”

---

The elf sat in the carriage without Theorad, an arm resting against the window ledge. She stared outside with a sour expression.

Beyond the glass, the female knight Marhan was demonstrating swordsmanship to soldiers. Scattered white clouds drifted slowly across a bright sky.

I wish it would rain.

She was beginning to hate such clear days. Fine weather brought a peaceful mind, and a peaceful mind left far too much room for memories she'd rather forget.

“Hmph. You say you don't like it? Aren't you just a whore who enjoys this sort of thing?”

Theorad's words, spoken while immersed in their usual master-and-slave performance, kept returning to her.

“Insolent toy…”

The elf muttered the familiar insult and closed her eyes halfway.

The sting had lessened somewhat, but each recollection of Theorad calling her a whore still hurt.

It was only verbal abuse, just like before. Why did it feel different now?

When Ashley called me a prostitute, I wasn't sad.

She'd been furious then. The thought of that ignorant human woman insulting her still made her teeth clench.

Anger was easy enough to understand. This dull, miserable ache was not.

Why should the same word hurt so terribly when it came from Theorad? Why did she feel wounded rather than enraged?

She'd turned the question over and over without finding an answer. Her feelings seemed as tangled as a ball of thread without a loose end.

He's only a toy…

Since when had she begun to care what her toy thought of her? Had she finally lost her mind after living so long?

Theorad Deharem.

She murmured his name under her breath and tapped the ledge, remembering the week she'd spent helping him prepare his lecture.

At first she hadn't intended to help. She'd thought of letting him struggle until he begged, then magnanimously offering assistance. Since she hadn't managed to gain the upper hand in their sexual contests, the least she could do was make him depend on her in everyday life.

Then Theorad had called her a whore.

Her mind had gone blank. To her own astonishment, she'd started crying—the first such sharp sadness she'd felt in a very long time.

Before she could recover her composure, a question escaped her.

“Master… do you truly think of me that way?”

Theorad hadn't answered.

That silence had hurt even worse. Afraid she'd burst into tears again, she'd fled his room and wandered the mansion.

Later, ashamed of herself, she'd decided to help with the lecture as though nothing had happened. Perhaps working normally beside him would make the shame disappear.

It hadn't.

Idiot.

She berated herself. It was their familiar performance. He couldn't possibly have meant the insult. Surely Theorad had only been playing the role she'd demanded of him.

Then why didn't he answer me?

The doubt returned, stubborn and poisonous. What if he really did see her as a whore?

Her toes curled. Nausea rose in her stomach.

I think I'm going to be sick.

It was unbearable. No—she would not go on tormenting herself. When Theorad returned, she'd ask him again, plainly, whether he meant what he'd said.

He wouldn't say something cruel to me…

She drew several slow breaths, forcing herself to calm down, and looked through the window again.

Then her expression darkened.

“Hey.”

Someone was standing beside the carriage: Ashley, dressed in expensive jewelry and fine clothes, every inch a daughter of a great noble house.

“What is it?” the elf asked coldly.

She wanted to tell the woman to go away. But she was playing the part of a slave, and she couldn't simply ignore a noblewoman's summons.

Ashley raised a book where the elf could see it.

A Witch Note.

“Was it you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sir Theorad says he hasn't received my messages, though I've been contacting him regularly.”

So that was it. The elf leaned back, affecting indifference. If she kept up the pretense, perhaps Ashley would go away.

“Do you think I blocked your Witch Note? I don't have administrator privileges.”

“Blocked?”

Ashley seized on the word at once.

“There's a blocking function? And how do you know about administrator privileges?”

“That's…”

The elf couldn't think of a convincing explanation. She turned her eyes aside as Ashley's sharp blue gaze fixed on her.

I've been caught…

Even her ordinarily impassive face betrayed a trace of despair.