Chapter 17
Edmus was far from politically tranquil. Only a few years had passed since its war with neighboring Askun, and bad weather over the last two years had plunged the populace into sudden destitution, leaving them unable to pay their taxes.
Minor rebellions had even broken out across several noble estates. Though they were suppressed relatively early, there was no telling what might happen if daily life grew any harder.
The Edmus royal court sought to turn the arrows toward Fremont. Had they held Fremont, with its fertile farmland and abundant resources, matters would never have deteriorated to this degree. Moreover, with the situation in Fremont growing volatile, Edmus's nobility was divided between those who urged seizing any opportunity to invade again and those who cautioned that the time was not yet ripe.
Naturally, Count Balshuin opposed war, having long reaped vast fortunes from his trade dealings with the Principality of Fremont. He argued that the commoners would only suffer if a war were waged while the continent was already desolate, but everyone knew what he was truly worried about.
Yet the Count's house was an illustrious lineage that had sustained Edmus for generations. Backed by the people's trust, he could not be easily moved.
Lars's plan was to sever Balshuin's greatest source of wealth. And the pawn he chose for that scheme was Beekman.
About ten years ago, while wandering the continent, Beekman had chanced to save an entire family. Their carriage had been raided by bandits, and the woman and child among them were on the brink of death when he stepped in and arranged for them to receive proper care. It was the single most meaningful thing Christopher Beekman had achieved in his life.
To his astonishment, they were the family behind Fremont's largest merchant guild. Once they recovered their health, they returned home, and around that time each year, precious gifts would arrive on his doorstep.
Had Beekman possessed a scrap more wit, he would have opened a trade route with them just like Balshuin. But nothing occupied his mind except women. Even so, the gifts sent by the guild kept the baronial coffer lined with coin while the rest of the country fell into turmoil.
Maneuvering him had been simple enough. A man overflowing with affection for women provided no shortage of blackmail material. It was mostly sickening gossip, but Lars had promised to burn every shred of evidence if the baron merely bridged the gap to the Fremont merchant guild.
Yet Balshuin had somehow caught wind of the movement and disposed of the baron first. Lars intended to put Kirhin forward as a substitute, but seeing that the baron was killed at this exact juncture, Balshuin had likely deduced that a meeting with the Fremont guild was imminent.
Yanken kept his mouth shut, watching Lars sink into thought. Soon, Lars furrowed his brow and muttered under his breath.
There was no way Balshuin knew of Lars's own existence. Moreover, the personnel deployed for this operation was remarkably small, consisting solely of comrades who had stood by Lars during the war.
If information had leaked, it came from Beekman's side, not his. As if reading his thoughts, Yanken answered.
Yanken nodded, his gaze drifting toward the bed.
Rising from his seat, Lars looked down at the soundly sleeping Lucien. Her small hand was still clutching his cloak. Yanken raised a thick eyebrow, clearly surprised by his dismissive response.
In return for taking part in this, Kirhin had demanded succession to the title. With his older brother unsound in both mind and body, it was perhaps a reasonable demand, but the principle of primogeniture still held. Everything had to be handled cleanly so the royal court could find no fault. Kirhin knew absolutely nothing about such matters.
Yanken scowled at the sleeping Lucien, then caught Lars gesturing toward his own outer coat. Yanken glared in sheer indignance, but after a brief exchange of looks steeped in the realities of rank, he had no choice but to strip off his cloak and hand it over.
The retort of Who was with you then? caught in Yanken's throat as Lars unabashedly threw the cloak over his shoulders. His resentful gaze flew toward the bed of its own accord.
Lars strode off. Shaking his head, Yanken followed behind him like a shadow.
Before stopping by Mrs. Allmon's house, Lars had heard from an informant planted in the prison, confirming that Lucien had not breathed a single word about him. Had she spoken, no one would have been able to save her, even if she had managed to step out of that cell alive.
So long as the baron's murder was pinned on Mrs. Allmon, there was little need to worry about the girl's tongue. Besides, if Kirhin employed her as a maid, they could keep tabs on her from time to time, which was hardly a bad arrangement.
As they stepped out into the dark, a cold wind bit into the back of Yanken's neck, and he shot a sulking glare at Lars's back. Uncaring of his misery, the moonlight shone unusually bright tonight.Perhaps from sheer exhaustion, I had been sleeping like the dead without a single dream when I suddenly jolted awake. Warm, dazzling sunlight was pouring over my face. Sunlight like this never reached the room where I slept, and to begin with, I had never once slept until it was this bright.
No, today is the day I have to wash Mrs. Vino, so I need to boil water…!
As I struggled to sit up, I realized something was wrong. My room, which used to be a storage closet, was always freezing at dawn, forcing me to sleep under two layers of worn blankets. Yet the air in this room was pleasantly warm, and what weighed down upon me was not a thin quilt, but a heavy cloak. Above all else, I was lying on a bed, not the floor.
The faint scent lingering on the cloak was the first thing to awaken my memories. The foul stench of the prison, Peterson's terrifying face, and the sensation of hanging from that sconce rushed back over me like a wave, setting my hands trembling faintly. I pulled the cloak close and gathered it into my arms.
‘If you're going to nod off standing up, go inside and sleep.’
I remembered every word he had spoken with absolute clarity. Among them, the words directed at me made the back of my neck feel a little warm.
…Why had he helped me? I was captured in the crowded marketplace, so word of my imprisonment must have spread in an instant, but still.
And then there was his attitude.
Seeing how he treated an aristocrat, I wondered if he might be a priest of far higher standing than I had imagined. But I had no way of guessing just how high one's station had to be to handle a baron's son like a misbehaving child.
Letting out a sigh, I suddenly scrunched my nose at a foul stench. Realizing it was different from Mrs. Vino's scent, my mind flashed to her face in death, and I froze. What jolted me back to reality was the sound of the door swinging wide open.
Nina, was that her name? Dressed with the same immaculate neatness as before, her expression perfectly composed, the woman stepped inside and arched an eyebrow. It was clear from every angle that she thoroughly disapproved of me.
Hesitantly folding the cloak that had covered me, I suddenly gasped in horror. The source of the stench was none other than myself, and some of that odor had seeped right into the fabric.
It made sense, of course. I had slept under it the whole night.
Looking down at my flushed face with indifferent eyes, she set down a bundle of clothes and turned around. I quickly bowed my head.
Whether she failed to hear my thanks or simply chose to ignore them, Nina vanished with the exact same rigid posture she had entered with. I hurriedly gathered the clothes and the cloak and headed for the washroom. My only thought was that I had to wash this cloak first.
Having eaten almost nothing yesterday, washing a waterlogged cloak proved no easy task, but I did my best. After leaving it to soak in soapy water, I quickly washed my hair and body, then stomped out the moisture from the cloak. To my surprise, the cloak was so clean that it produced far less dirty runoff than my own clothes.
After drying myself with a towel that had wrung out the last drops from the cloak, I unfolded the garments Nina had left behind and blinked. I had naturally assumed they would be a maid's uniform, but they were nothing of the sort.
The dress was not flashy, but neat lace was embroidered along the collar and cuffs. The silk felt soft beneath my fingertips, and the blue hue gave off an air of understated elegance. Judging by the clean tailoring and the fine material, this was certainly not a maid's uniform.
Once I had put the clothes on as best I could and stepped outside, an unfamiliar maid was waiting for me. Dressed in a modest gray uniform, she looked to be a few years older than me.
Her expression made it clear that she, too, was displeased at having to use such polite language with me. I tried to mask my nervous demeanor, but I could not stop myself from swallowing hard. Hurriedly, I held up the neatly folded cloak in my hands.
