The Way Back Home (2)

Unlike Theorad, who still hadn't recovered from her teasing, Benelia was quite pleased with herself.

His startled expression had made the prank worthwhile. She finished her coffee, set down the cup with practiced elegance, and smiled.

“Theorad Deharem. You are always helping me.”

He looked at her in confusion.

“In what way, Your Highness?”

“Must you make me say it myself? How unkind.”

Benelia knew—or believed she knew—what he had done.

Weedra, chairwoman of the Weaving Turbulence, had initially balked at Benelia's proposal to hire every private mercenary band operated by witches.

She had postponed a decision, promising an answer only after thorough consideration.

Then, several days ago, Weedra had contacted her again.

This time she wanted to proceed.

The sudden change puzzled Benelia. She had pressed the witch for an explanation, but Weedra was reluctant to give one. Eventually she let slip a small clue.

Viscount Theorad. Because of him… Do you understand what I mean?

How am I supposed to understand that?

Benelia had no idea what connection Weedra was hinting at.

Still, it seemed that Theorad had somehow influenced the witches and helped steer the chairwoman toward a decision favorable to Benelia.

Why would he do that for me?

She did not know his intentions. But she could no longer persuade herself that he was merely another calculating aristocrat.

She had seen what he was like inside the hallucination they had shared. That memory made him seem far more dependable than the eunuchs who flattered her or the courtiers concealing their schemes.

“Your Highness, I'm afraid I still don't understand.”

Even now?

He did not boast. He would not even admit to helping her.

Benelia was moved.

She had always thought a good deed was simply another way of securing a reward. Yet here was someone who appeared to expect nothing.

Perhaps she was finally beginning to understand how Theorad Deharem saw the world.

She nodded with a small, satisfied smile.

“Very well. If you insist you know nothing, I won't force the matter. But I have benefited, and I intend to repay the favor someday. Remember that much.”

“Your Highness?”

“That's all. We both have places to be. Let's leave the conversation here.”

Benelia rose, and Theorad followed suit. He needed to descend from the plateau before sunset.

He straightened his clothes and accompanied her out of the café.

The low sun lit the courtyard. Around a four-wheeled carriage bearing the cardinal emblem of House Deharem, Benelia's armored guards stood ready.

Roylen approached, leading a white horse.

Benelia glanced back at Theorad.

“I'll assign twenty soldiers to accompany your carriage. It would be troublesome if bandits stopped you on the road down.”

“…Your Highness, that's more than necessary.”

“It's my wish, so don't feel obliged. And I'm not questioning your abilities. Even the most capable man can make use of an escort.”

She gave a small laugh and turned toward the horse.

Using the mounting step, she swung into the saddle and looked down at him, reins in hand.

“Until next time, then. It was pleasant seeing you.”

“The honor was mine, Your Highness.”

Theorad bowed with flawless courtly composure.

The sight only made Benelia like him more. She pressed her lips together and turned her horse before she could say anything else.

Her escort followed as she rode away.

Roylen lingered a moment and leaned close to Theorad.

“Don't be too hurt that she couldn't manage a proper farewell, Viscount. Her Highness is strangely shy about certain things—”

“Roylen!”

“Y-yes, Your Highness! Coming!”

At the princess's sharp call, Roylen hurried after her.

Theorad smiled to himself, then looked toward his carriage.

About twenty soldiers were waiting around it, apparently under orders to set out when he did.

She really didn't need to go this far…

The road down the plateau was steep. He felt sorry for the guards who would have to accompany him, but returning them would mean disregarding the princess's orders.

There was nothing to be done.

He approached the carriage. The coachman opened the door and bowed.

“Welcome back, my lord. We'll see you safely to the warp gate.”

“Thank you. You've worked hard during our stay at the Mage Tower.”

“Not at all! I saw so many strange and wonderful things. And with the generous meals you arranged, I felt as though I'd been on holiday.”

“I'm glad. Thank you again.”

Theorad climbed inside.

As usual, the elf was already waiting. She glanced toward him, then immediately turned back to the window.

She had been like that ever since their last intimate encounter.

When he spoke to her, she seldom answered properly. Sometimes she stumbled over her words. Except when they drank tea together, she rarely met his eyes at all.

I don't think she's angry. She hasn't complained…

He couldn't understand the change.

It wasn't particularly unpleasant, however. She no longer pressed him with unreasonable demands and carried out her duties quietly.

Settling into his seat, he spoke to her.

“Thank you for helping me throughout my stay at the tower. When we return to the mansion, I'll find some way to repay you.”

She said nothing.

But the tips of her pointed ears reddened.

Perhaps she was embarrassed. Theorad found the reaction endearing and looked away with a smile.

He drew a small book of poetry from his coat.

Outside, the coachman called that they were departing. Wheels rattled over the road, and the twenty guards followed at a canter.

The carriage proceeded carefully down the steep slope. The pace was slow enough for comfortable reading.

Rustle, rustle.

Pages turned softly in the enclosed space.

The elf stole a glance at Theorad.

Even in a swaying carriage, he sat with the composure of a nobleman, absorbed in his poems. His neatly arranged hair and half-lowered eyes made him look almost like a figure from a painting.

She kept watching.

Eventually Theorad sensed her gaze and turned.

At the very same moment, she whipped her head back toward the window, as if she had been admiring the scenery all along.

He tilted his head, puzzled, then returned to his book.

The elf breathed out in relief. Flustered by her own behavior, she clutched the hem of her skirt.

What is wrong with me?

Since they had last been together, she could hardly look straight at him. Even ordinary conversation made her feel unbearably unsettled.

Tea together. Pudding. The time he brushed her hair.

The more gently he treated her, the worse it became.

So she had taken to watching him when he wasn't looking, though she had no clear idea why. Perhaps that insolent toy of hers had used some kind of witchcraft.

“Stop! Stop there!”

A cry from outside shattered her thoughts.

Theorad closed his poetry book and looked through the window in confusion.

Around ten imperial soldiers were approaching the carriage.

Their uniforms differed from those worn by Benelia's Dawning Steps, the unit under her direct command.

“By His Majesty's order, we're conducting a brief inspection. Halt the carriage!”

One of the soldiers held out a scroll and unfolded it so that the passengers could see.

A white-lion emblem was stamped beneath the dense writing.

If that document is genuine, the order really is from the Emperor.

But an inspection here? On the road down the plateau?

Theorad found it difficult to understand. Nevertheless, once the soldiers invoked the Emperor's authority, he could see no proper grounds for refusing.

The coachman brought the horses to a complete stop.

The soldiers summoned him down from his seat, but kept their distance—roughly ten paces from the carriage.

The coachman obeyed.

Then the questioning began.

How old was he? How long had he worked at Deharem Mansion? Who was in his family? Did he have any complaints about his employment?

The questions seemed to have nothing to do with inspecting the carriage.

The elf narrowed her eyes.

They said they were checking us, but they've only called out the coachman.

Surely there was some reason to stop a nobleman's carriage. It made little sense to invoke the Emperor merely to ask a servant about his work history.

Stranger still, the soldiers wouldn't approach beyond that invisible boundary of ten paces.

Suspicion sharpened into alarm.

The elf reached for the faintest trace of mana beneath the road.

Something was rising through the earth, thread by thread, assembling itself into a recognizable magical formation.

Her eyes widened.

Position-changing magic…!

A magical catalyst had been concealed underground.

At last she understood what the soldiers intended.

She reached urgently toward Theorad.

“Theo—”

She never managed to touch him.

The expanding mana erupted in an instant, tearing up the surface of the road.

BOOM!

The wooden carriage burst apart. Dust and jagged splinters whirled through the air as white light swallowed the scene.

In that terrible, slowed instant, everything before her eyes disappeared, piece by piece.