Chapter 30
Liandor pulled a slender glass bottle, no longer than two knuckles, from his pants pocket. The transparent liquid inside gleamed bright and clear, sloshing gently at the motion of his hand.
Helen thought she knew what that bottle with its swaying contents was. It was almost certainly the reason Liandor had to go to Hexilov.
If she was right, the brightly gleaming liquid was a medicine that would erase everything—from memories of being abandoned by her family to memories of being loved by Violet.
Liandor shrugged as if he had read her thoughts.
“You’re thinking exactly right.”
“Memory-erasing medicine….”
He had really made it.
Given the bottle containing the memory-erasing medicine, Helen was terrified she might drop it. She laid it in her palm as carefully as if cradling a newborn. The bright medicine sloshed back and forth inside the transparent glass bottle.
“But didn’t you say it would take about a week?”
“I did.”
Helen realized that “those people” were the imperial court mages Lucas had sent. They were imperial mages sent to Hexilov to investigate the relationship between Violet Drifon and Helen Platini.
Lucas had said the mages he dispatched hadn’t caused any harm in Hexilov. Of course, she hadn’t believed him entirely, but even if they had tried to harm Hexilov, they would have failed. Liandor had been in Hexilov at the time, and Lucas hadn’t known that.
Helen wanted to put the glass bottle away somewhere, but her dress had no pockets, and she had no bag. If she took the medicine right now, she wouldn’t have to worry about storing it, yet she couldn’t bring herself to open the bottle.
Though she had wanted so desperately to erase her memories, now that it was possible, she was afraid—afraid of forgetting—for reasons she couldn’t name. Not wanting to reveal her heart, Helen grasped for something else to say.
“You came back in less than a week. Don’t tell me you lied to me?”
When she met his pale gaze, his eyes were strangely unsteady. Like a man hiding something.
And ominous premonitions were never wrong. This creeping unease, too, would prove true. Just as it always had.
Liandor’s lips twitched, as if on the verge of parting. He clearly had something to say, yet he could not easily open his mouth.
Because he had lowered his head, Helen tilted her face to meet his eyes.
“Or is there a problem?”
“That medicine….”
The silence that fell before he could finish swallowed the narrow alley between buildings. Unlike the bright world outside, only a heavy darkness led by shadows hung where the two of them stood.
As if having made a decision, Liandor spread his index finger and pointed to the glass bottle resting on Helen’s palm.
“The medicine that will erase your memories is incomplete.”
“Incomplete?”
How could this medicine be incomplete?
The transparent glass bottle and the liquid inside filled her deep green eyes. As Helen’s hand began to tremble, the medicine rippled in gentle waves. She eventually lost control and nearly dropped the bottle. Startled, she tightened her grip.
“Are you saying even if I drink this, not all of my memories might be erased?”
“Yes.”
“…Was there not enough time? Should I go to Hexilov right now?”
If Lucas hadn’t sent the imperial court mages to Hexilov, Liandor wouldn’t have returned earlier than expected. Fortunately, Liandor was a great mage; he could travel to Hexilov in the blink of an eye. She had no desire to experience instantaneous spatial magic again, but there was no other way.
Helen was fine with it all. Framing it as a simple miscalculation made her feel much lighter. It would take a bit longer, surely only a few days more.
Calmly, Helen waited for Liandor’s verdict.
But the answer she received was devastating.
“Even if we went back, I can’t make the medicine.”
“…No. If this is a joke, stop right now. I’ll forgive you.”
“No. I’m serious.”
Perhaps because Liandor’s voice was so grave, Helen’s face slowly stiffened.
“I’m missing an ingredient needed to prepare the medicine. Specifically, the blood of demonic beasts. And as you know, we chased them all away.”
“So you’re saying we can’t make the medicine until next winter?”
“I’m sorry, but that is the truth.”
At a reality she had never truly foreseen, Helen pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. They said people don’t cry when they’re too bewildered—only a hollow laugh escaped her.
If she had known demonic beast blood was needed to make the memory-erasing medicine, she wouldn’t have driven them all away. She could have kept at least one caged.
Helen abandoned a thought that, while rational, she could never have acted upon. No matter how terribly she wished to erase those memories, she had no intention of trading them for the harm demonic beasts would bring upon people.
“To think I must wait from the end of this winter until next. Is there really no other way?”
“If there were, I wouldn’t be standing here like this.”
“…You’re right. At least if I drink this, some of the bleak memories might be erased.”
“I can’t guarantee that. Perhaps not even a fleeting memory will vanish.”
“Or perhaps all of them could.”
The glass bottle in her hand was the only means of escaping this hellish reality. But that means was uncertain; as Liandor said, there was no telling whether her memories would be erased even if she drank it. There could be other side effects as well.
Helen believed Liandor must have a valid reason for not wholly approving of her drinking it, considering he hadn’t opposed the idea of erasing her memories.
*Memories exchanged for my life, perhaps.*
She had faced death hundreds of times, yet had never chosen it. Because this was a life exchanged for someone who deserved to be loved, she could not throw it away as she pleased. She had lived because dying for her own comfort felt like a betrayal, yet when she sought another path, death stood waiting at its end.
“I understand. I’ll give it some thought.”
“Take your time. There is plenty of time.”
“So there is. Far too much time.”
Far too much time.
The more she agonized over drinking this medicine, which *might* erase even a portion of her memories, the more that time would be accompanied by pain. If her memories vanished after drinking it, she would be fortunate. But if not even a handful of memories disappeared, it would be no different from losing her last glimmer of hope. And if that happened, she would only grow more listless in a life without hope.
There was another choice: to not drink the medicine and wait until next winter. It was less than a year away. Just as she had done until now, she could simply wait for time to pass.
Wishing only to no longer be entangled with the beloved her in this time that could hold no meaning.
Without erasing her memories, she could not run away from Violet, who had disappeared from this world. No matter how far she fled, she would eventually cross paths with those who had loved her.
This winter was nearly over. As the biting cold softened, colors other than white began to stain the world.
Winter’s destination was the same as spring’s point of departure. When spring ended, a sweltering summer would come; when summer passed, autumn would arrive. And by the time those autumn leaves had all withered, winter would come again.
* Sibello
By the time Helen returned to the mansion with Liandor, Count Platini and Rosie had already come back.
The mansion was in an uproar. The moment she opened the door to enter, several servants hurried past. They all looked terribly busy.
“What is it? Are they throwing a party?”
“Who knows. I haven’t heard anything.”
A party? What kind of party? Foolishly, she struggled to infer an answer that was already decided.
Helen surmised that the commotion was indeed party preparations, just as Liandor had asked, and that the purpose was to celebrate the glory of the Platini house producing an empress. From the house’s perspective, it was an occasion more than worthy of a banquet. Though the imperial wedding had not yet been officially announced, since the Emperor himself had proposed, the marriage would proceed barring any great catastrophe.
While Helen surveyed the first floor crowded with servants, Liandor went up the stairs first. She followed after him, but Rosie was nowhere to be seen on the way to the second floor; she was likely occupied with dressing up to her heart’s content. Indeed, the area around Rosie’s bedroom was noisy. Several servants’ giggling voices rang out, and among them was Rosie’s.
Helen asked another servant entering Rosie’s bedroom what was going on. The servant pursed her lips and reluctantly confessed the truth.
“The Count is throwing a party for Miss Rosie. It is tomorrow evening. Miss Rosie is choosing the dress she will wear.”
“…I see.”
While Helen stood frozen, the servant scurried into the bedroom as if fleeing.
A party tomorrow evening. The Count was hasty by nature. He seemed intent on announcing the imperial wedding—which the imperial family had yet to officially declare—at tomorrow evening’s banquet.
Helen was willing to congratulate her half-sister. Though it would be a loveless marriage, Rosie Platini would gain honor that would be recorded in history by wedding the Emperor. She might someday regret a marriage without love, but even that would stem from her own choice.
Since it was Rosie’s choice, Helen had no choice but to bless her sister’s marriage. But she did not intend to attend the party. With rumors already rampant that the Emperor had proposed to Count Platini’s eldest daughter, attending would only stir up more gossip. Of course, not attending would tangle unpleasant rumors of its own.
But the reason she did not wish to attend was not solely the rumors. Knowing who Emperor Lucas had actually proposed to, Helen wanted to be considerate so that Rosie would not feel displeased at a party held solely for her.
“Besides, Father seems to want me not to attend.”
Helen was Count Platini’s child, just like Rosie. No one could deny that fact. But if the Count had wanted her to attend, he would have had her choose a dress for tomorrow’s party as well. He was not a man who would sit idle while sisters were compared and shame brought upon the house over a mere dress.
She didn’t even feel hurt anymore. In this mansion, not Hexilov, Helen’s position was precarious. She knew that better than anyone.
If they had truly accepted her as family, they would have changed the family portrait hanging on the stairway wall first. Helen resisted letting her eyes drift to the portrait of only three people. She turned her back nonchalantly and headed for her bedroom—the only space in the mansion that remained unchanged, belonging to her.
Entering her bedroom, she immediately lay down on the bed with her arms spread wide. Anyone seeing her might have scolded her for lacking the proper posture of a noblewoman, but wasn’t everyone’s attention focused elsewhere?
Recalling the immutable truth that the beloved young lady of the Platini mansion was Rosie, she closed her eyes.
*If I choose to wait until next winter,* she whispered to herself, *I must leave for Hexilov.* It was the only place where Helen received any attention at all. It was cold and far away, and winter lingered unusually long there, but it would not be utterly hopeless.
Today, more than ever, she longed for that place.