Afterstory: The Warmest Winter in the World (3)

Creak.

The carriage came to a stop before the theater.

The horses snorted and shifted in their harnesses, drawing the attention of people passing along the street.

That, in fact, was precisely what the coachman had intended.

He hoped to make an impressive entrance on his master's behalf. The more conspicuous the arrival, the more clearly everyone would know that an important noble had come.

And it seemed to be working.

People waiting to see the opera began whispering as they recognized the Pelgaroin and Deharem family crests on the carriage. A few even stopped to watch who would emerge.

Encouraged, the coachman sprang down and flung open the door.

“Viscount Theorad! We have arrived at the theater!”

Theorad stepped out.

He offered Linea his hand and helped her down after him.

The coachman's triumphant expression faltered.

Something about the couple was unmistakably unusual.

Theorad's collar was no longer as tidy as it had been when they set out, and his brooch had shifted out of place.

Linea's carefully arranged hair had escaped its braid in several places. Her cheeks, too, were faintly flushed.

Anyone who glanced at them could guess that some affection had passed between husband and wife during the carriage ride.

They certainly hadn't had time for intercourse. A few touches and kisses, however, were plainly written all over their appearance.

And the coachman's grand announcement had made sure everyone looked.

I'm ruined…

His attempt to please his master had become a disaster of his own making.

He hung his head.

“Forgive me, my lord. I've done something terrible…”

Theorad, already straightening his brooch under the curious gazes of the crowd, looked startled.

Then he bent toward the coachman and spoke so quietly that only the man could hear.

“It's all right. You haven't served us long, so you couldn't have known. And there's nothing shameful about exchanging affectionate words with your own wife. It's a lovely thing, not a scandal.”

His ears reddened despite himself.

“Though… I admit it is embarrassing to be noticed.”

Around them, women squealed and whispered. A few noble ladies gave their husbands pointed looks.

Linea lowered her eyes, unsure where to put her hands.

They should have stopped once Theorad admitted defeat in their silly contest. Instead, they'd stolen several more kisses before the carriage reached town.

She caught his hand, intending to hurry into the theater.

Then she paused.

An elderly gentleman was approaching from the entrance, leaning on a cane.

“Oh! Lord Theorad, is it really you?”

He wore a neat coat and a fedora. Deep lines between his eyebrows gave his face a stubborn look, but he smiled warmly at Theorad.

“Forgive me,” Theorad said. “Have we met?”

“No, my lord. But everyone knows of you. And I owe a great debt to your grandfather.”

Theorad listened.

“Once, I was a slave in the Deharem household,” the man explained. “Your grandfather was the one who gave me my freedom.”

“My grandfather?”

“Yes. I wanted to leave the mansion and pursue a dream. I asked permission, though I knew most masters would have had me flogged for even suggesting such a thing.”

His lined face softened as he remembered.

“But your grandfather was different. He asked exactly what I intended to do. Once he heard my plans, he released me from slavery, took care of the necessary papers, and even gave me enough money to travel.”

The old man turned toward the theater.

Its enormous outer walls glowed beneath the daylight, grand enough to dwarf the neighboring buildings.

“Thanks to him, I eventually achieved my dream. There were hard years, of course. But I returned to the county and took ownership of this theater.”

“Was owning a theater your dream?”

“Not exactly.”

He smiled, and something old and sharp showed through the smile.

“My dream was revenge. The man who enslaved my entire family was the former owner of this place.”

Quiet relief showed in the old man’s eyes.

The old gentleman adjusted his hat and seemed to remember his manners.

“Ah, I've kept you talking. My apologies. I noticed your name among the people who'd bought tickets, so I waited by the entrance in case you came. Would you and your wife allow me to move you to the VIP seats?”

Theorad hesitated.

He had purchased ordinary tickets. It was generous of the old man to offer something so much better, but was it proper to accept a reward for a kindness performed by his grandfather?

It wouldn't hurt anyone…

He was about to thank the man when he noticed two children hovering near the edge of the theater.

A boy and a girl.

Their clothes were clean, but made of plain cotton. Among the expensive silk garments of the other opera-goers, they stood out.

When they realized Theorad had seen them, both hurriedly bowed.

“G-greetings!”

“Bow properly!” the older girl whispered, pressing her younger brother's head down when he hesitated.

Their awkwardness was rather endearing.

Theorad turned back to the old man.

“Who are those children?”

The gentleman followed his gaze and frowned.

“Those two? They've been lingering here for days. They don't have enough money for a ticket, but they keep coming back. They listen to people talking about Lion on the Cliff and try to imagine the story from what they hear.”

He sighed.

“I'm afraid they may cause trouble for the guests.”

So the children had come every day because they wanted to see an opera they couldn't afford.

Theorad considered that.

Then he nodded.

“In that case, please give the VIP seats to them.”

“By your order— Wait. Pardon?”

“To those two. Since they're so eager to see it, let them sit there.”

He smiled.

“You said you're worried they'll cause trouble. Who knows? If they grow angry enough, perhaps they'll blow the whole theater up.”

The old man stared at him.

It was plainly a joke, yet the words stirred a memory of his former master.

If revenge is what you still want, then go. If I refused to let you pursue it, perhaps you'd turn that knife on me instead. But pursue it properly. I trust you'll live differently from the old man you hated.

That had been the spirit of Theorad's grandfather's parting words.

The old gentleman looked at his former master's grandson with growing warmth. It seemed the Deharem family had lost none of its peculiar kindness.

He bowed.

“As you wish, Viscount Theorad.”

---

Once the children had been escorted to the VIP seats, Theorad and Linea took their places in the ordinary section on the first floor.

The theater was magnificent.

Small spheres of magical light floated overhead, their costly stones casting a broad glow despite the darkened auditorium. The seats were comfortable, and the stage was equipped with elaborate machinery.

It was easy to understand why tickets commanded such high prices.

“Master.”

Linea's voice drew Theorad away from his inspection of the hall.

She was looking at him with a pleased smile, almost as though praising a child.

“Well done.”

He didn't need to ask what she meant.

So the contest isn't over…

The sudden Master, the sweet expression—she was teasing him with an echo of the games they'd played long ago.

He had no objection to playing along. But if he responded too eagerly, he'd lose before the game had even begun.

He adjusted his brooch and glanced around the crowded theater, affecting a troubled expression.

“Please don't joke like that. We're in public.”

Linea looked immediately flustered.

“Ah. I'm sorry. I thought a quiet conversation between the two of us would be all right…”

There was his chance.

Theorad reached out and caught her chin, his gaze turning cold in a deliberately exaggerated imitation of his old manner.

“Insolent. Who gave you permission to make excuses?”

Linea's lips parted in surprise.

Theorad couldn't hold back his laugh. He released her chin at once.

“Did I win this time?”

“…Mean.”

Linea narrowed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks. She didn't look pleased to have lost, but neither did she seem truly upset.

Before they could continue, an announcement rang out from the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for waiting!”

An elderly gentleman stepped into the center of the light.

It was the man they'd met at the entrance.

“My name is Balfure, and I own this theater. I've made a promise: if the performance you're about to see fails to move you, I'll refund the price of your ticket.”

He paused theatrically.

“Yes, yes. I'm aware that means the old man before you stands on the brink of bankruptcy—if all of you decide to be wicked about it!”

A gentle wave of laughter moved through the audience.

Balfure smiled at the reaction.

“Well, enough of my nonsense. Enjoy a magnificent opera performed by some of the Empire's finest singers!”

He withdrew to the side.

The magical lights dimmed and shifted. The great red curtains drew apart.

Theorad took Linea's hand.

“It's beginning at last. I hope you like it.”

“Yes…”

She held his hand and turned toward the stage.

Lion on the Cliff was a dramatization of Benelia's seizure of the imperial throne, written by a celebrated playwright with permission from the imperial household.

Its principal conflict was between the characters representing Benelia and the former emperor, Calvanes.

The story moved from one confrontation to another, reshaping the revolution into something that could be told in music and drama.

The audience was captivated. Even gentlemen who had come only because their wives insisted found themselves leaning forward.

Linea, however, was bored.

She had lived through events far stranger and more terrible than anything a playwright could put on that stage. However skillfully they dramatized the story, it could hardly astonish her.

And yet she loved going to the opera.

The reason was sitting beside her.

Theorad…

When they came together, she could watch him become completely absorbed in what was happening before him.

There was something wonderful about the profile of her husband when he was concentrating. Even a simple glimpse of it made her heart quicken.

He would probably never understand that.

Smiling to herself, Linea rested her head gently on his shoulder.

The orchestra swelled. Voices rose from the stage, filling the hall.

With her eyes closed and Theorad's warmth beside her, she whispered:

“…Thank you, Theorad.”

Thank you so much for marrying me.