Chapter 31
The cool, crisp fragrance felt a bit light compared to the gravitas Lars usually carried, yet it did not clash with him. Narrowing his eyes, Kirhin looked him over until his gaze snapped wide. At Lars’s waist hung a perfume bottle that looked like a delicate toy.
Even if he hadn’t recognized the scent, he could never fail to recognize the bottle. It was meticulously crafted, set with a large, vivid emerald. He was certain of it; he had turned that very piece over in his own hands several times.
It was that very Devainko perfume bottle—the one he had bought and given to Lucien.
There was no way that capricious genius of a craftsman had made two of the same piece. The image of Lucien, whose waist had been bare when he departed, flashed through Kirhin’s mind, leaving him blinking in bewilderment.
…When on earth had he taken it?
Lars’s gaze shot to the window. Seeing both him and Yanken snap into sharp vigilance in an instant, Kirhin’s mind went utterly blank.
Swallowing hard, he stepped aside toward the wall. The figures cutting across the dark outside all had their hoods pulled low, making it impossible to see their faces.
Approaching in silence, the figures knocked on the door. A deep voice carried through.
Signaling Yanken with his eyes, Lars opened the door and replied.
The man who entered first drew back his hood and bowed his head. With ash-gray hair neatly tied back, he was Barrett, the son of the master who led the largest merchant coalition in Fremont.
Though his attire was modest, the headband across his brow and the belt around his waist were embroidered with an intricacy rarely seen. Even the way he smoothed his garments held a certain innate grace, giving the impression that he was no ordinary man.
Kirhin, who was already acquainted with Barrett, exchanged an acknowledging look with him before leaning in to whisper behind Lars’s back.
Snorting softly, Lars guided Barrett to the table. The two companions who had come with him, seemingly his guards, stood against the wall and began watching through the window.
At Lars’s words, Barrett smiled faintly. His expression was soft, but his eyes gleamed with sharp intellect.
Merchants possessed information faster than any other organization. Indeed, the merchants scattered everywhere were the very source of most of Lars’s intelligence. He gazed at Barrett, returning the smile.
Seeing the clear intent behind that smile, Barrett held his tongue. As expected, Lars leisurely folded his arms and spoke.
Thinking of his own three-year-old son, Barrett turned pale. Feeling unnerved under Lars’s piercing gaze, he shifted in his seat. The vivid emerald eyes glowing brilliantly even in the shadows sent a chill down his spine.
Crossing his legs, Lars added quietly.
Barrett nodded deeply. Then, brushing the hesitation from his face, he spoke.
Seeing Barrett’s eyes turn toward him, Kirhin cleared his throat and lowered his tone.
Meeting Lars’s glance that told him to keep quiet, Kirhin twitched his nose. Barrett offered a courteous smile and nodded.
“Shall we discuss the transaction, then?” The terms were settled with relative ease. Because their aims were aligned, neither side pushed out of greed. Having spent the entire time watching Lars’s mood while sitting with a grave expression, Kirhin was finally able to say a word as he stamped the contract with his signet ring.
Clasping both hands respectfully, Barrett bowed his head toward Lars. Acknowledging the courtesy, Lars rose from his seat.
No sooner had Barrett spoken than something slammed into the wall with a loud thud. Kirhin jumped clean out of his skin.
Tension gripped the house in a heartbeat. Receiving Lars’s glance, Yanken slipped outside while scanning beyond the window. Barrett’s guards moved in to shield their master.
Returning immediately to the house, Yanken held an arrow in his hand. He spoke urgently.
At Lars’s question, Yanken held up the arrow with a grim expression. Seeing the crimson cord tied to the shaft, Lars’s face went cold.
A system had been arranged with the men guarding the woods. If an attack occurred, they were to shoot an arrow: yellow if they could handle the situation on their own, blue if the skirmish required reinforcement, and…
A crimson cord meant to run.
As Kirhin stepped forward in a panic, Lars gripped his shoulder and turned toward him. A soft smile played upon Lars’s striking lips. It was so gentle that it momentarily drove away the terror of the crisis, leaving Kirhin dazed.
At Lars’s remark, Kirhin nodded vigorously. With a low chuckle, Lars leaned down and whispered.
Though he already knew the answer, he could not help but ask. Seeing the fear pooling in Kirhin’s blue eyes, Lars took him by both shoulders.
He wanted to protest that that was more than one thing, but the solemnity in those green eyes silenced Kirhin’s tongue. Lars spoke with heavy resolve.
The only sliver of hope was that Lars was smiling. Had he shown any trace of panic, Kirhin might have passed out on the spot.
Drawing back his cloak, Barrett revealed the blade at his hip. Lars let out a faint sigh and spoke briskly while observing the situation outside.
There was an irresistible weight behind Lars’s words. Turning away from Barrett, who struggled to find an answer, Lars cast an order toward Yanken.
Yanken grasped his meaning instantly. Lars was placing the safety of Barrett and Kirhin above his own. For Yanken, whose sole priority was protecting Lars, this was an order he could not accept.
Frowning as he gestured toward the door, Lars signaled that there was no time.
He wanted to shout that speaking like that in a moment like this was unfair, but Yanken couldn’t do it. He could only curse his own slow wits for failing to counter his shrewd captain.
Barrett nodded at Lars’s parting instructions.
“You must make it through safely.”
Offering a courtly bow of striking elegance, Lars flashed a calm smile before thrusting open the door and bolting into the night. Gritting his teeth, Yanken signaled to the party.
From within the woods, the sharp clash of steel rang out alongside piercing shouts. Ushering the party forward, Yanken glanced over his shoulder. In the darkness, he could catch only the faint silhouette of Lars racing alone, his cloak billowing like the wings of a black bird.
