Feeling a strange reluctance to step closer, Edric remained standing by the door. Varkas, who had just set a ledger down on the desk, lifted his gaze and looked toward him.
“What is it?”
His expression was calm, contrasting sharply with his haggard face.
For a brief moment, Edric felt an odd sense of dissonance, but he quickly shook it off and strode over to the desk.
Though the man was visibly wasting away, he was holding up remarkably well.
The moment the funeral ended, he had returned to executing his duties as Grand Duke with ruthless precision. Recently, he had even launched an investigation into the forces backing the Zram.
Gathering the scattered Zram tribes across the East and forging them into a massive armed force was a feat far beyond the capabilities of the Heimdal family alone. Convinced that outside actors were involved, Varkas had mobilized the Shearkan family’s entire intelligence network to uncover the truth behind the uprising. Not even his wife’s sudden death had managed to fracture his ironclad composure.
Swallowing a bitter taste, Edric pulled a bundle of parchment from inside his coat and laid it on the desk.
“These are the reports from the agents dispatched to Valbon. It appears the Central Church in Valbon is attempting to cut their losses by pinning all blame for this matter on a high-ranking priest named Alwin.”
Varkas picked up the sheets and scanned them slowly.
The only reason Biyorn had been able to pose as a Cathedral Guardian was that the Central Church had personally vouched for him. Edric had scrutinized every piece of evidence—the identification plaque the man had produced, the dispatch orders bearing the seal of the Central Church, and even the appointment letter stamped with the insignia of the Cathedral Guardians. Not a single document had been forged.
This meant a high-ranking priest within the Central Church had actively colluded with the rebels. Even so, the Grand Priest seemed intent on hushing up the affair by excommunicating a few senior clerics who had signed the official paperwork.
“It seems the Imperial Palace has no intention of launching a full-scale inquiry either. I suspect some manner of… private arrangement was reached between His Majesty and the Grand Priest.”
“What leads you to that conclusion?”
“According to the intelligence gathered, the investigation was closed immediately after the two held a secret audience. Circumstances suggest the Imperial Palace agreed to smooth over the matter at an acceptable level.”
Turning to the final page of the report, Varkas stared pensively at the candle burning on his desk.
As the flame flickered, the shadows cast across his face deepened and receded in turn.
As though his vision had momentarily clouded, he pressed his fingers against his brow. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“I shall soon dispatch a formal protest demanding a satisfactory explanation from the Central Church. Continue keeping a close watch on the capital’s movements.”
“Understood.”
Offering a respectful bow, Edric slowly turned away.
Just as he reached the threshold, an inexplicable urge seized him, and the question slipped out before he could stop it.
“…Are you truly well, Your Grace?”
Varkas, who had already reached for another official document, looked up with a puzzled frown.
“Why do you ask that so suddenly?”
Confronted with an expression that failed even to comprehend the reason for the question, Edric found himself at a loss for words.
He stammered out an excuse.
“It is only that… your complexion looks so poor…”
“Given all that has transpired, I cannot pretend I am not worn thin, both in body and mind.”
Varkas brushed the concern aside. Scribbling his signature onto the parchment, he added in an even, tranquil tone, “Still, now that the recovery effort is proceeding smoothly, I should have a moment to catch my breath before long.”
Edric’s brow furrowed at the hollow, strangely detached reply.
Unfolding another document, Varkas remarked casually, “Keep up your efforts until then as well.”
He waved a hand lightly, dismissing him.
Uneasy at that unnerving indifference, Edric was about to speak again when hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor, followed by a sharp knock. Varkas turned his gaze back to the door.
“Enter.”
“It is Daren, Your Grace. I bring an urgent report.”
His brow furrowing, Varkas laid the document aside and leaned back in his chair.
“Come in.”
The moment permission was granted, the door swung wide, and a burly figure marched into the room. Edric promptly stepped to the side.
Without sparing Edric a glance, Daren went straight to Varkas.
“The Crown Prince has arrived in Kalmor at the head of the Imperial Guard.”
Edric, who had been quietly slipping toward the exit, froze and glanced back.
Daren continued in a heavy, grim voice, “He claims he has come to support the recovery of the East and assist in restoring order… How shall we proceed?”
Varkas rubbed his temples as if exhausted, then rose to his feet with a quiet sigh.
“We cannot very well turn away the Crown Prince of the Empire. We have no choice but to receive him with due ceremony.”
Taking his coat from the peg on the wall, he pulled it on and strode out into the corridor with measured steps.
Edric stood frozen, watching his retreating figure, before heading toward the stairs at the end of the hall.
He had already fallen out of the Crown Prince’s favor for siding with Talia Roem Guirta during his time in the Imperial Guard. Leaving the Guard to enter the service of the Grand Ducal House had only made him a greater thorn in the prince’s side. It was best to remain out of sight if he could.
Pulling his hood low over his brow, Edric slipped quietly out of the main keep. He ascended the watchtower connected to the inner wall and stepped up to the battlements.
Before long, he spotted the Crown Prince passing through the fortress gate.
As ever, Gareth cut an imposing figure mounted upon a golden charger, crossing the training grounds flanked by hundreds of Imperial Guards. He carried himself with such dignity that no one would ever suspect he was the very man whose reckless folly had nearly driven the Empire to ruin.
Edric scoffed in disbelief, but the sound died in his throat as he recognized the woman riding just behind.
Even from this distance, she was unmistakable.
Ayla Roem Guirta.
The woman who was now the Empire’s sole surviving princess.
Helped down from her mount by the knights, she fell into step beside her twin brother, passing through the inner gate with a graceful, stately stride.
Down in the courtyard before the main keep, hundreds of retainers bowed in unison to receive the imperial guests. Watching them, Edric felt something bitter surge within his chest, and he jerked his gaze away.
It had not even been a month since the Grand Duchess drew her last breath. The Crown Prince’s transparent intent in bringing the First Princess along made him feel physically sick.
Swallowing his revulsion, Edric walked briskly along the parapet until he came to a halt by the railing overlooking the chapel grounds.
There, in a quiet corner of the graveyard carpeted in lush green grass, two headstones rested side by side. An ache tightened in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Whenever he thought of the short life of that woman who had lived only in cold neglect and abandonment, a suffocating sense of helplessness pressed down upon him.
Drawing a deep breath to dispel the weight, Edric turned his back on the graveyard and walked away.
“It has been a long time.”
Varkas looked down with an impassive face at the woman smiling gracefully before him.
Though she maintained an air of composure, it was obvious she was strained to the limit. As though masking her unease, she held her chin high, curved the corners of her mouth, and spoke in a sweet, measured tone.
“Seeing you unharmed finally puts my heart at ease. You cannot imagine how frightened I was when word reached us that you had been wounded in the fighting.”
“…What brings you here?”
At the blunt, indifferent inquiry, Ayla’s expression stiffened for a fleeting moment.
Stepping forward as though shielding his sister, Gareth interjected in a sharp, strained voice.
“We come representing the Imperial Family. His Majesty commanded us to convey our deepest sympathies for the tragic calamities that have befallen the East, and to offer our strength to the Shearkan Grand Ducal House.”
· · ·
“If only to repay the arduous service you have rendered the Empire, the Imperial Family intends to spare no resource in aiding the reconstruction of Kalmor.”
From inside his ornately embroidered doublet, the Crown Prince produced a personal missive bearing the Emperor’s seal and offered it forward.
Taking it and breaking the wax seal, Varkas quickly scanned the lines penned on the parchment. Just as Gareth had said, it contained brief condolences for the tragedies in the East alongside promises of massive financial aid.
Rolling the parchment back up, he handed it off to an aide and turned away without emotion.
“I understand His Majesty’s intent. For now, please come inside.”
END