For a Precious Person (4)

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, stirring them in a faint breeze.

Princess Benelia sat beside the bed, looking down at Theorad.

Behind her stood Roylen and several knights. None dared speak. They could not guess what was passing through the princess's mind.

Theorad lay in a deep sleep. His breathing was regular, and that alone was a relief.

But the memory of how he had been found made Benelia's chest tighten.

Soldiers had discovered him in the mountains, his face drawn and his body covered in blood. They found no stab wounds, but he had coughed blood, suggesting he had been caught in a fierce fight.

And the maid he cherished had fallen into the condition known as the Quarantined Night.

They had survived the immediate danger, yet neither had escaped unharmed.

“Roylen.”

It was the first word Benelia had spoken in hours. Her voice was hoarse.

Roylen bowed.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The princess continued to gaze at Theorad.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Your Highness?”

“Answer me.”

Roylen lowered his head farther. What answer could she possibly want?

“Forgive me. I don't understand what Your Highness means.”

“I asked what I did wrong.”

After a moment's thought, Roylen decided an honest answer would serve her better than flattery.

“You did nothing wrong. No one could have predicted that assassins would ambush a carriage on the descent from the Mage Tower's plateau. Whoever arranged it was a madman.”

“Then it was my failure to predict what that madman would do.”

“Your Highness isn't a god.”

The reassurance did nothing for Benelia. When she was this angry with herself, even kindness sounded like an accusation.

“…It must have been my second brother.”

Her hands clenched into fists.

Roylen understood how far her hatred of Leonhard had grown.

“If Theorad had never become involved with me, this wouldn't have happened. Again, it's my fault.”

The silence in the room deepened.

Benelia reached for Theorad's hand.

“You've saved me twice. And all I've done is place you in danger.”

If Leonhard had chosen Theorad as a target, the meaning was plain: Theorad now stood with Benelia in the imperial family's struggle for power.

Without an explanation, the court would begin treating him as an enemy. Benelia feared that the conflict would end in his death unless she succeeded in taking the throne.

She could not bear the thought of losing her friend.

“Theorad Deharem.”

She lifted his hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it.

“For your sake, I will become emperor.”

Theorad slept through the vow.

Benelia rose and took up the costly coat hanging over her chair. Gold thread and elaborate ornaments adorned it, and enchantments kept its wearer cool and protected.

As she put it on, Roylen spoke carefully.

“Viscount Theorad may wake soon. Would Your Highness care to say goodbye?”

“And what would that accomplish?”

“Your Highness…”

“Enough. I'm going to see my second brother. Until I return, take good care of Theorad. If he asks for anything, bring it to him, whatever the reason.”

She left without looking back.

Her knights followed one by one, leaving Roylen alone with the patient.

Roylen sighed and sat beside the bed. Nursing was not a task he wanted, but it was an order from his direct superior.

He took out his wand and spent the next hour keeping the room at a comfortable temperature.

At last Theorad stirred and opened his eyes.

Roylen lowered the wand at once.

“Viscount Theorad! Are you awake?”

Theorad nodded faintly.

“The elf…”

“She's in a temporary sickroom. Thankfully, her life isn't in immediate danger.”

“Thank goodness… Where…?”

“This is Her Highness's villa. There's a powerful barrier around it, and only her closest aides know where it is. The assassins shouldn't be able to find you here. You can rest until you've recovered.”

Theorad let out a breath. The elf was alive. For the moment, that mattered most.

Beyond the window lay thick greenery. The villa was hidden somewhere among the mountains.

He struggled to sit up despite Roylen's insistence that he remain in bed.

After waiting for the pain in his body to subside, he spoke.

“…What about the others?”

“Her Highness is investigating the attack. She's also sent a secret letter to House Pelgaroin. Lady Ashley should hear of it soon.”

“And the Witch Note?”

“It's too risky to send a message that might be intercepted. Besides, your own note was damaged when the carriage was destroyed. It no longer works.”

“…I see.”

He had frightened Ashley again. The thought made him sigh, but he could not stay still.

Theorad concealed his pain and rose.

“Viscount, where are you going? You need to rest.”

“The elf. I want to see my maid.”

Roylen stepped in front of the door.

“Please lie down. Her Highness specifically ordered me to see that you rested.”

“Professor Roylen.”

Theorad's light-brown eyes sharpened.

“Move aside.”

It was an order, not a request.

Although he could scarcely stand, his resolve did not waver. Roylen hesitated, then opened the door and let him pass.

Theorad walked out with as much composure as he could manage.

At the first junction in the corridor, however, he stopped. He had no idea where the sickroom was.

Roylen followed him with a defeated sigh.

“This way. I'll take you there.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Now you thank me? A moment ago you glared at me as though you were going to have me executed.”

Theorad gave an apologetic smile.

Roylen found himself disarmed by it, which was irritating in its own way.

He led Theorad to the temporary sickroom.

Inside, the elf lay motionless on a narrow bed.

Theorad pulled up a chair and sat beside her, staring at her face. Her complexion was poor. Her chest rose and fell, but she seemed scarcely present.

He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek.

Her skin was cold. His fingers trembled.

“Professor…”

He kept looking at her.

“Tell me. What's wrong with her?”

Roylen hesitated.

“The physician says this isn't ordinary sleep. It's called the Quarantined Night. The consciousness that forms a person's sense of self becomes shut away. No outside stimulus can wake the patient.”

Theorad knew the term from books.

The body lived and breathed, but the person could no longer answer.

Quarantined Night was widely regarded as incurable. Conventional medicine could not awaken someone trapped in that state.

There was, however, one possible treatment.

“…Professor. Please call a skilled astrologer.”

An astrologer capable of opening the patient's consciousness might allow a third person to enter and retrieve the trapped self.

But the danger was immense. A single mistake could leave the rescuer imprisoned in someone else's consciousness, with their own mind lost as well.

Theorad knew the risk.

Roylen did too, which made the request difficult to accept.

“Viscount, I've heard how kind you are, but risking your own life for a mere maid is reckless.”

“Then is it reasonable for a maid to risk her life for her master?”

Roylen had no reply.

He did not know exactly what had passed between the two when the assassins attacked. But the sincerity in Theorad's face was unmistakable.

The silence stretched.

“There are things I need to tell her,” Theorad said at last. “So many things I need to ask. And…”

He took his hand from the elf's cheek and turned to Roylen.

“Please. Help me save her.”

How was Roylen supposed to refuse a plea like that?

He nodded reluctantly.

“The saintess is coming here.”

Her movements were supposed to remain secret; Roylen was not permitted to disclose them casually.

But for Theorad, he decided to make an exception.

“Let me explain what I mean.”