Ares passed by Crimson and approached the Count, who lay on the ground. Then, with unrestrained hands, he examined the man’s face, the nape of his neck, and the inside of his mouth.
“Ha.”
A sigh like the growl of a beast escaped him.
“What has happened?”
Ares straightened from his stooped posture and answered Eliza.
“It must have been the mercenaries. It seems they stuck a poisoned needle into his neck just before he dismounted.”
Secure the Ducal Castle. If you cannot triumph at the Ducal Castle, escort the Count to the Count’s Castle. Up to this point, it was likely the agreement with House Rinko.
But it seemed there had been a subsequent contract that even House Rinko had not known of. If they fell into a crisis where they could not escort the Count’s party to the Count’s Castle, the terms were likely to kill them.
Eliza watched the miserable end of House Rinko with bitter eyes.
The sleet that had fallen like rain had already turned into heavy snowflakes, scattering like cotton. And just as many thoughts wandered through Eliza’s mind. Eventually, she spoke to the dead man in a cracked voice.
“Hear this, Henry Rinko, son of Hum Rinko and Laura Rinko. Now, I shall take back the name of Rinko, the title, and the territory that were bestowed upon you. From this day forward, the name Rinko shall not exist in the land of Richmond.”
The dead man gave no answer. His empty, hollow eyes merely stared at the sky.
“I will not hang his head on a pike. However, neither will I bury him beside his ancestors to let him rest in peace. Bury him in the wilderness as soon as dawn breaks tomorrow, and erect no gravestone.”
With those final words, she turned away. Ares silently gazed at her retreating figure.
Meanwhile, another figure was concealed in the shadow of a dark pillar, watching. Ivanka’s round eyes flashed in the darkness. Grinding her molars, she muttered.
“If only they had survived and returned to the Count’s Castle.”
Had that happened, Richmond would have been engulfed in civil war, its strength scattered.
“Still, we have avoided the worst.”
For if the Count and Edward had survived to be interrogated by the Duke, troublesome matters might have arisen. For instance, a statement that Empress Heteubi had been involved in the death of the previous Duke.
“What do you think of those knights’ skills?”
“Each one appears to be a match for several members of the Imperial Guard combined.”
Ivanka’s gaze darkened deeply. She watched the backs of the Duchess and the Duke walking side by side toward the castle, then vanished into the darkness.
＊ ＊ ＊
News of the deaths of Count Rinko’s party reached Grace not long after as well. The Count, who had been desperate to sever his own tail, had in turn become someone’s tail and been severed.
“It is a pity they could not be captured alive.”
Grace shook her head at Eric’s muttering.
“It cannot be helped. I thought the chances of capturing them alive were slim. The most important thing has been secured.”
Eliza had recovered Richmond intact. This was a good enough outcome.
Eric, who had been staring at Grace’s bandaged right hand, asked.
“Then are we headed to the capital now?”
“We must.”
“If you claim victory there as well, then what comes after…”
Grace smiled at Eric, who trailed off.
“Why do you ask what comes after?”
“…….”
“We must go to Taylor.”
Eric lowered his head and closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The golden waves of beautiful and abundant Taylor. You who gaze upon the wheat fields.
Eric raised his head again, his long eyes curving in a smile, then knelt on his left knee before Grace and kissed the back of her right hand.
“I will go to the capital first.”
“Be careful.”
“Do not worry about me. Please receive proper treatment so your wound does not worsen.”
Eric exchanged brief greetings with Jessie as well, then left the room.
Grace watched the spot where he had stood for a moment, then rose and went to the window. Snow close to rain had been falling, but now large white snowflakes were coming down so heavily that the view was obscured.
*‘I believe a biting wind will blow tomorrow. So let us settle matters today.’*
It was a scene that naturally recalled Eliza’s voice, bleak as a tree enduring winter.
Once, Father had said:
*‘There is no ruler without subjects and vassals.’*
Father had laid out before me the emblems of the vassal houses that held Taylor, then made me run my fingers over them.
*‘Vassals are the bedrock that makes a ruler, at times comrades who overcome hardships together, and friends as well. Be respected, yet also respect; receive loyalty, yet be grateful for it.’*
She slowly rubbed her index finger, which still retained the sensation of brushing over those emblems, with her thumb. Grace, who had stood thus for some time, turned as though reminded of something she had to do, and Jessie quickly asked.
“Where are you going?”
“Yes. I must go see the Duchess.”
＊ ＊ ＊
As the night deepened, the snow fell more fiercely.
Having confirmed the deaths of Count Rinko’s party, Eliza walked toward a destination. Snow driven by the wind had piled up in the windowless stone corridor, leaving black footprints in her wake.
Ares, having removed his armor, followed behind her. Just as he had more than a decade ago.
If there was any difference from then, it was perhaps their changed eye level and Eliza’s altered hair color.
The place Eliza headed was the underground tomb where the bodies of the successive Dukes of Richmond were interred. The tomb keeper respectfully bowed his head and held out a torch. As Eliza reached to take it, Ares took it instead.
“I will carry it.”
Eliza signaled the maids to stay behind, then followed Ares down the stairs.
The wall lamps installed throughout flickered in a wind that seemed to seep in from nowhere. In the underground tomb, where pitch-black shadows in extreme contrast with the reddish light seemed to be all that existed, the footsteps of the two echoed unusually loudly.
Ares, who had visited Richmond’s tomb more than a decade ago, found Eliza’s destination among the numerous stone coffins without losing his way. Beneath an arch carved with a soaring eagle, two massive stone coffins lay side by side.
While Ares hung the torch on a bracket on the arch wall, Eliza arrived before the coffins of the son and his wife, exhaling a long breath. White mist scattered in the cold air.
Whatever she was thinking, she watched their coffins for a long while before moving her steps again, slowly.
Ares turned his gaze to follow her.
Eliza’s steps stopped beneath another arch, a pillar between them. Unlike the rest of the tomb’s coffins, which were paired two by two, there was only one coffin there. Its owner was none other than Eliza’s husband, Raven Richmond. The empty space beside Raven was where Eliza would one day be buried.
Eliza gazed endlessly at her husband’s coffin, then slowly knelt before it.
Ares turned his gaze from her to stare at the coffins of the previous Duke and Duchess of Richmond. Removing his glove, he pressed his bare hand to the stone coffin; a cold chill seeped into his fingertips. Then, when the temperature of his palm and the stone coffin had grown similar enough that he could no longer feel the cold, Ares spoke to the dead.
*You who sacrificed your son to save me—what did you expect of me? If not that, was it extraordinary loyalty?*
*You would not know how heavy the death I bear upon my back is. Because I did not wish to pile more upon that burden, I fought so desperately at the wall of death.*
*Even so, I have yet to overcome your death.*
*When will I be able to overcome your death, and Walter’s?*
Ares brushed away a single fallen leaf resting atop the stone coffin, then turned. As he trudged up the stairs toward the surface, snow carried on the wind touched his face.
This same wind had blown when he first came to Richmond. The chill piercing his collar had raised such gooseflesh that he walked with hunched shoulders and was scolded by Eliza.
*“What am I to do when the cold wind seeps through the collar?”*
*“What nonsense about cold wind in the middle of summer?”*
The memory of realizing that day that the season was summer, and being startled, was vivid. Yes, why was it so cold in summer? And only years later did Ares realize that the cold he felt did not stem from the outside temperature.
Having exited the tomb, Ares leaned his back against a pillar and roughly ran his hand down his face. As he was about to put his glove back on, he suddenly discovered a bloodstain clinging to his palm that had not been wiped clean. A shard of pottery embedded without warning, and a small hand pooling with flowing red blood, naturally came to mind.
Again, the feeling as though his heart and lungs were being crushed surged up. This helpless, filthy emotion was the seal of loss that the previous Duke of Richmond had engraved within him.
A few hours ago, while running madly across the castle, that seal, heated once more, had seemed to scorch his entire body.
Ares clenched his fist tightly and raised his head.