To the Place Where Precious People Are Waiting (2)
The carriage continued on its way, indifferent to the elf's embarrassment.
They left the green hills surrounding the villa, crossed a drawbridge, and completed the necessary checks before entering the capital's main plaza.
Ashley seemed to have sent word ahead. The mages tending the warp gate activated it as soon as the carriages arrived.
They passed through the blue barrier and emerged in the town of Pelgaroin County.
Theorad opened the carriage window.
Elegant buildings lined the streets. Merchants called from their stalls, and street performers amused children with their tricks. The familiar bustle seemed almost idyllic.
I'm back.
It had been more than a month and ten days since Theorad had left home. He had not thought himself particularly homesick, yet the sight warmed his chest.
He turned to the elf. She was still fidgeting with her fingers, though her earlier embarrassment appeared to be fading.
“Elf.”
She lifted her head with a start.
“Must I keep calling you 'elf'?”
He wanted to know her name. More than that, he wanted to know her better.
She seemed to understand. Her lips moved several times without producing an answer, and she finally lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry…”
“Can't you tell me?”
“Th-that's not…”
“Then you need time to prepare yourself. Is that right?”
She gave a small nod.
Theorad did not press her.
“I understand. I thought there must be a reason you've kept your name hidden. Tell me when you're ready. I can wait a long time.”
“Yes…”
Her voice trembled. He could see she had much on her mind, so he let the matter rest.
Taking a small book of poetry from his coat, Theorad leaned back and began reading.
A little later the elf edged closer.
He glanced at her. Her pointed ears twitched. After another hesitation, she managed to speak.
“To-together…”
“You'd like to read it together?”
“Y-yes.”
Theorad had not known she enjoyed books. It was a fine habit, and he had no reason to refuse.
“Very well. Since you've asked so nicely, your master will grant you a special reward. Come closer.”
Smiling mischievously, Theorad drew her nearer by the shoulder.
Her heart began to race, but she did not dislike it. She fixed her eyes on the book and tried to calm herself as he read.
“This collection uses rather difficult language, so I'll explain as we go. Here, where the poet compares water in a silver cup to a vast expanse…”
His voice was so warm.
The elf turned to look at his profile, and a shy smile touched her lips.
I love you, Theorad…
Please let days like this continue.
With that silent wish, she nestled a little closer.
After the Pelgaroin carriage turned away at a fork in the road, the Deharem carriage continued to the mansion.
It stopped before the main gate. Theorad closed his book, tucked it inside his coat, and prepared to step down.
Then he saw what awaited him.
“Everyone…”
The mansion's servants and enslaved residents were gathered outside, Havid among them. Their faces lit with welcome. As Theorad and the elf descended, cheers erupted. Someone even set off small firecrackers.
“My lord! You're home! We've been waiting so long!”
“Welcome back! We were worried sick!”
“My lord…! Do you know how worried I was…?”
“Welcome home! We've had to put up with that fussy chief chamberlain all this time—ow!”
Havid had driven an elbow into Maltao's side.
The elderly chief chamberlain, his monocle and mustache as immaculate as ever, stepped forward, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed.
“I am glad to see you return unharmed. We have been waiting eagerly for the head of our family to come home.”
“Havid…”
Theorad came closer, his eyes stinging with tears.
But Havid was already crying harder than he was.
The old man's face twisted as he tried desperately to keep his composure. Theorad, uncertain how to comfort him, cleared his throat.
“I'm sorry I took so long. Please don't cry.”
“Wh-who's crying…? Hngh!”
Havid burst into sobs.
The other members of the household exchanged tender smiles. Even Maltao had the sense not to tease him.
At last Havid seemed to realize his lapse. He straightened his back.
“In any case… I simply wanted to say how glad I am that you've returned.”
“I'm glad to see you all too. But… where is Beynon?”
The name brought a stir to the gathering.
Havid's face fell.
“I'm sorry to say he's resting in his room. He was wounded fighting the assassins who entered the mansion while you were away.”
“What? How badly was he hurt?”
“He was trying to save all of us, and…”
Tears filled Havid's eyes again.
Theorad caught him by the shoulders.
“Tell me. Which room is he in?”
Guided by Havid, Theorad hurried through the mansion to Beynon's room and opened the door.
“Uh…”
Beynon was sitting propped against his pillows. A piece of chocolate slipped from his hand at the sudden entrance.
“You…”
Bandages covered much of him: one eye, his side, his legs. Even sitting upright seemed difficult.
Theorad's jaw tightened.
How could this have happened?
Beynon waved both hands hurriedly.
“Y-young master! I wasn't stealing anything! Grandpa brought me a little treat…”
“Beynon!”
Theorad strode toward the bed.
The knight flinched, expecting a reprimand. Then he saw his master's face crumple with grief.
“Young master…”
Beynon looked up with a gentle smile, plainly trying to reassure him.
“I fought because I wanted to. You didn't order me to do it. Besides, think of the bright side. Now I can wear an eyepatch. Won't I look far more dashing than Grandpa with his monocle?”
“…”
“So don't cry. I didn't risk my life just to make you miserable. If you're really sorry, you can buy me a fine new eyepatch.”
Theorad remained silent.
After a long moment he pulled up a chair and sat, swallowing hard to keep his tears back.
Beynon watched him, unsure what else to say. Then his expression grew solemn.
“Young master. They say a man should cry only four times in his life.”
He raised one finger.
“First, when he's born.”
A second.
“Second, when his parents die.”
A third.
“Third, when his country falls.”
Theorad knew the proverb. It usually ended there.
“What is the fourth?”
“Well…”
Beynon gave a wicked grin and pointed toward his groin.
“When he wakes up one morning and can't get it up!”
Beynon slapped his forehead and roared with laughter.
Theorad only stared. He was not nearly so fond of crude jokes.
But he understood what the knight was doing. Every exaggerated gesture was an effort to ease his master's grief.
Against his will, Theorad felt his tears begin to subside.
“Hah…”
He let out a reluctant little laugh and shook his head.
“Please don't tell that joke anywhere else. You're a knight of House Deharem. What will people think of us?”
“Really? It always gets a laugh at the brothel.”
“So you've been visiting brothels…”
Theorad sighed and gave up.
His gaze wandered again over the bandages. He could imagine the cowardly attackers closing around one man, and guilt seized him anew.
He clenched his fists.
How could he ask Beynon's forgiveness for injuries suffered protecting the household in his absence?
“Young master.”
Beynon's voice was quiet.
Theorad raised his head. The knight gave him a broad, open smile and laid a hand over his chest.
“I am Beynon, a knight sworn to House Deharem. I have fulfilled my duty to defend this mansion.”
Theorad felt tears threatening again.
He wiped his eyes roughly and placed a hand over his own chest, mirroring the knight.
His smile was crooked with emotion.
“Well done.”
My faithful knight. My lifelong friend.
“Sir Beynon Brokena.”