Chapter 32
Duke Daniel Rihardt was a lord who rarely showed himself around the castle, as if he barely existed. As he walked by exuding a chilling aura, the gathered servants whispered among themselves. Daniel halted his steps and called out to one of them.
"You there."
The startled servant bowed deeply enough to touch his head to the ground in response.
"Yes, my lord."
"Where is Captain Molly?"
"Ah, probably in the herb garden with the mercenary corps members. At this time, he's always..."
Passing the servant who kept bowing and mumbling, Daniel turned toward the eastern side of the castle where the fields were. Ricardo lightly flapping his mouth wasn't a one- or two-day affair. It wasn't anger toward him so much as utter disbelief.
"I picked it up. I overheard people passing by..."
His wife's excuse was worthless nonsense not worth pondering. Among those who knew the truth of what Ricardo must have told her, only four were alive, including Daniel. And only Daniel knew that the Dowager Empress knew. Why? Because all the others had died by her hand. Dominic and Ricardo lived because she didn't know they held this secret. It was a story that absolutely could not—and should not—circulate as rumor through people's mouths. And he'd told Frida? Trying to send someone else to the afterlife? Ricardo, that madman was truly, thoroughly insane.
"I don't remember well, but Lotte unnie said I hugely envied my little brother."
Envy? Yes, that's right. He'd harbored the pettiest jealousy imaginable. Toward Leopold Rihardt, the ducal heir with resplendent golden hair, blue eyes that no one could doubt marked him as his father's son, and the sturdy backing of the Baichen family. The boy whom a bastard like himself couldn't even dare call little brother.
"When our parents weren't watching, I'd pinch him and make him cry... One day, I even salted Albert's milk, and the kid wailed..."
If he'd been able to torment him with such childish antics, it might have been better.
"Please spare him, ma'am. He's just a child. The boy didn't know what he was doing. Daniel knew nothing!"
No. His mother was wrong. She'd been deceived by Daniel. He knew. Even at thirteen, he knew what he'd given Leopold and what would happen if Leopold drank it. He'd done it knowingly. Out of jealousy. Thinking that if that child were gone, everything would be his. Despite inheriting his Milabo-born mother's black hair and reddish-brown eyes, he'd lived believing himself different from the likes of Dominic and his ilk. Because she'd said so.
"Daniel, even as a bastard, you're of the Rihardt blood just like Leopold. Training in swordsmanship is important, but you mustn't neglect studies or etiquette. Understood?"
Duchess Margret was always elegant and benevolent. Even when her husband, Duke Rihardt, spent all four seasons secluded in the annex with his mistress, she'd never shown dislike toward Daniel, the mistress's son. Her golden hair flowed softly like a wave of sunlight, and her sky-blue eyes gazed at him with kindly smiles. She was an angel. Until he learned her smiles held no sincerity, Daniel had believed that. Honestly, for several years, he'd liked her more than his own mother. No—he'd wished she were his real mother. So much so that he couldn't hide it when his mother told ten-year-old Daniel to follow his maternal grandfather's mercenary corps.
"Why do I have to join the mercenary corps with Uncle Ricardo? I'm different from Dominic. I'm a noble's son. The Duchess said I mustn't neglect studies like Leopold."
"Listen to your mother, Daniel. It's not to become a mercenary. Just to follow your grandfather and learn swordsmanship."
"No. The Duchess said she'd have me take formal knight training."
"I'm your mother. Not the Duchess."
"I wish the Duchess were my mother! Then I'd be acknowledged as a proper son of the ducal family like Leopold..."
Slap! That day, he was slapped by his mother for the first time, and the next day, he packed and left with Ricardo. Three years until he set foot in the duchy again. Wandering with the mercenary corps, he'd thought the same thing endlessly. I'm different from Dominic and his barbaric, ignorant gang. I'm the son of Duke Rihardt. I'm... a noble. Heat haze shimmered on the sun-baked path. Suddenly, breath caught in his throat. Daniel stopped and reached for a nearby tree.
"Damn it."
Memories he'd buried deep after regaining his senses resurfaced one after another like beggarly rags.
"How dare a lowly bastard like you harm Leopold? You think the blood of filthy Milabo scum can block my son's path to becoming the empire's greatest? You vermin."
"Ma'am. Daniel is only just thirteen. He knew nothing. Truly nothing."
"At thirteen, one might not know. But old enough to bear responsibility. Isn't that right, Laura?"
"Ma'am, please forgive him just once. Show mercy. You've cherished Daniel."
Her chillingly cold blue eyes became formless daggers stabbing Daniel's throat.
"Cherished? Yes, I did. Thinking he'd be somewhat useful as a shield for my son's arrows later. But if he'll become an arrow instead of a shield, that's a different story, isn't it, Laura?"
Choked by the vivid memory, Daniel clutched his tightening throat.
"Better to snap him before he pierces my son's heart."
Only after banishing those eyes from his mind did breath come with difficulty.
"Haa. Cough, cough."
*** Entering the duke's secret vault always brought a pleased smile before even inserting the key, filling her with satisfaction even without a meal.
"Haa..."
But today, sighs wouldn't stop instead of smiles or fullness.
"The Duke is incredibly perceptive."
Just mentioning Albert a little, and he'd immediately known she'd heard something from Ricardo.
"That's why everyone says Rihardt, Rihardt."
Muriel had said that without Rihardt Duke, even with Baichen stepping forward, the current emperor couldn't have succeeded in the rebellion.
"No, calling such a valiant man 'Emperor Bolshtark II's Mad Dog'—mad dog, really."
If she found out who'd given him that nickname, she'd kick their shins. Frida's hands, which held her cherished gold coins, were unusually rough today.
"Even the Dowager Empress. No matter how angry, trying to hang a thirteen-year-old at the execution ground. Ugh, scary. Who could live like that?"
She'd heard Baichen folk were ruthless, but not to that extent. She didn't know Echinacea details, but unless it was lethal poison, no drug causes fatal effects from one dose. Not taking her husband's side—this was simple common sense. Otherwise, pharmacists would all be rich? Sitting on the floor with pouches of gold, Frida propped her chin and muttered.
"By the way, Echinacea has that effect?"
She prided herself on knowing herbs well, but infertility from Echinacea was news to her. The world was full of things she didn't know. Lost in daze, her husband's chilling words resurfaced.
"A warning to you as well. Never divulge to anyone what you heard from Ricardo. Especially Lady Rosivalt."
"No, what do you take me for? My mouth sinks first if I fall in a lake. How heavy my lips are. I haven't even told Muriel we kissed yet..."
Oh no, thinking of it again. Clutching the money pouch to her chest, Frida flopped flat on the floor. Her Harkbon family tutor would faint at such unladylike sprawling.
"Ah, comfortable."
Looking up at the ceiling, sunlight from the small window high in the tower revealed countless dancing dust motes. Dust vanished when white clouds blocked the window, reappearing in the sun. No—they never left their spots. Just whether Frida could see them or not. At night, resenting her poor vision, she'd realized: be glad she could see during the day. When her eyes fully failed one day, unable to capture the world, she'd even miss those floating dust specks. Denying reality and despairing is easy. Frida simply had no time for such luxuries. At twenty, she'd lived long for a Harkbon woman; sudden death wouldn't surprise. With no promise of tomorrow, today was precious beyond measure. So if she wanted something, do it now—today. Mulling her first kiss with fluttering heart, pitying her husband's tragic past while letting the day slip was indulgence. Indulgence.
"Heave-ho."
Springing up, Frida exhaled deeply and stretched arms skyward.
"Hyaah."
Knowledge hoarded in her head was useless. Only action creates value.
"I can do it!"
Yelling to boost spirits, Frida listed tasks ahead.
"This fall, collect taxes by harvest yield. Fell land for roads before winter. Plant bulbs in eastern fields this fall—sell high to Turk merchants next spring. Let's go!"
Dusting her skirt as she exited, mutters continued.
"Prepare black-striped birch house's second son Godric for Chellino University medical department next summer... Ah, next spring, build a sawmill outside the castle too."
Tasks aplenty. Hastily locking the door and turning, Frida pondered. Glancing between sunlit forest path and shaded secret passage hidden by dense firs, she pouted.
"Hmm... Sun will redden my face."
Forgetting her wide-brimmed hat, bare-faced under that sun meant instant detection by Muriel. Her pale skin showed sunburn immediately. Even sneaking in lucky, it'd redden, itch, blister into chaos. Even clothed in midsummer; direct sun worse. Can't reenter dark passage either.
"In the end, only that way."
Murmuring quietly, Frida leaned against tree shade, closing eyes briefly. Clear blue sky, drifting white clouds. Irregular leaf shadows swaying in breeze. Blindingly beautiful day's afterimage filled her darkening sight with white light. Eyes suddenly hot. Her permitted day too pretty. And aching for the misfortune a boy once endured long ago, tears welled. Words she'd wanted to say while held in his arms through dark passage: The Dowager Empress too harsh, unadultlike. You... were too young. You've paid more than enough—stop suffering. Pouting lips spilled unnoble words again today.
"Fool, idiot. I wanted to take your side, and you didn't know."
Languid spring breeze brushed her cheek soothingly.
