Outside the window it was all night. Clytia sat quietly at the bedside, the embers in the hearth flickering in her eyes.
“Time to sleep.”
Diya spoke. She climbed onto the bed and motioned for Clytia to take the inside. I saw the girl’s black silhouette in her homespun dress slowly draw near.
They pulled the quilt over themselves and lay side by side. The heavy covers were cold as ice; under that chill I felt the fine hairs on the body stand one by one.
Clytia hunched her neck, rolled over to face the wall, and closed her eyes.
I was a little concerned about Diya. How to put it? She had come home in the afternoon and, as usual, naturally tidied, naturally cooked and ate, naturally chatted and laughed with Nolan and Clytia, naturally washed up and turned in—as if nothing at all had happened.
And yet I had clearly seen, back in the chapel, that look of mortification on her face—
If the plot in the original novel continued along its track, what came next was Diya going off to study at the Preparatory Knights Academy; the two siblings, though bound by blood and living by each other, would drift apart through a misunderstanding—ending with Diya’s meaningless death.
Heat slowly pooled beneath the quilt, the body warming. In the dark I thought in silence, as if a heavy stone lay on my chest.
“Hey? I can’t sleep. Are you asleep?”
Around midnight, I suddenly heard the girl’s voice behind me.
“I’m already asleep.” I turned over and saw Diya’s blue eyes glimmer in the dark.
“Little Tia can joke too…”
Her head was half-buried in the bedclothes, speaking like a sleeper’s murmur.
It did sound like a joke—so I thought. But Clytia really was asleep, and deeply asleep at that. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to speak here.
“Little Tia—did Brother say anything to you during the day?”
Diya suddenly asked.
“Some idle talk. I don’t much remember…”
I hesitated over whether to tell Diya what Nolan had said. From an outsider’s view, perhaps laying things bare would be better.
But—Nolan had asked Clytia not to tell anyone, especially Diya. And even if we said it, then what? Could we stop Diya from enrolling in the Preparatory Knights Academy?
Tell her—do not try to become a knight, or you’ll die—such words would sound like a curse to a descendant of knights determined to restore the family’s name, wouldn’t they?
My hesitation must have shown to Diya. She blinked and then said softly:
“We’ve only known each other a few days, but my brother really cares about Little Tia—mm, because Little Tia is so cute. The way you move and speak is just like a real noble young lady.”
“And—you saved my brother. The adults think it’s impossible, but I believe Little Tia saved him.”
Not quite—so I thought. Rather than Nolan caring for Clytia, it was more that he’d been frightened. That scene of me hacking the jackal, blood everywhere—there was nothing “cute” about it however you looked at it.
“Noble young ladies aren’t necessarily cute. Or even if they look cute on the outside, there are those with filthy hearts,” I said.
“That’s true—but I think, even though I don’t really know you, Little Tia definitely isn’t like that.”
Diya gave a light laugh, blinked, and said:
“When Mr. Berli came back today, he told me he’d heard that over in the neighboring fief—at Baron Norlon’s manor—a young lady has gone missing.”
“And they say she ran away from home—”
“Mr. Berli said he sent a letter to the Baron. In about two days, Baron Norlon will send people to look into it. Because it’s a runaway, he told me not to tell you yet.”
“But I think this isn’t something that should be kept from you, so listen carefully, all right?”
I see—what a coincidence. They must be taking Clytia for the missing young lady from Baron Norlon’s household? So I thought, and only shook my head:
“You’re mistaken. I’m not—”
“But… running away from home… is wrong, you know? Because the family who care about you… they’ll be very sad.” Diya’s eyes were half-lidded; she seemed already fallen into drowsiness, yet still murmured:
“Because family… is very important. So no matter what happens, you have to make things clear properly. Running away… isn’t allowed…”
“I didn’t run away from home…” Hearing Diya, I wanted to explain for Clytia, but fell silent.
Unnoticed, the fair-haired girl had drifted off. I watched her in silence, hearing her even breathing.
Yes—Clytia had left the Erandel Duchy only because of the irresistible force of the black sorcerer’s attack. But since she’d regained awareness, she had never revealed her identity, nor asked after matters of Erandel.
Does she really want to go back?
I reviewed Clytia’s mood these days. A lightness echoed in my heart. Though the food was coarse here and life simple, compared to the suffocating workload at the ducal manor, it was clearly more relaxed.
Honestly, because Clytia’s mood sways mine, these past few days have been the easiest for me in years. Yet I also knew this sort of life could not continue.
As a supporting villain in the original novel, I’d stepped into the protagonist’s life ahead of time. I couldn’t be sure what effect that would have—Nolan, after all, would inevitably be caught in the whirlpool of events to come.
No matter what happens… you have to make things clear properly.—I recalled what Diya had just said.
Should I find some way to nudge Clytia? To be honest, I didn’t want to. I didn’t even want her to know I existed.
Another consciousness in your own body, sharing every moment of your life and feelings from birth—how could that be anything but repulsive to Clytia?
It’s like some clammy voyeur. If they took me for some possessing wraith and dragged me to the chapel for exorcism, that would be a real disaster.
I didn’t know whether the Church’s holy arts could expel me. I didn’t even know if I counted as alive. But I didn’t want to disappear—and I didn’t want to be hated.
“So… wait a bit longer… it’s not time yet.”
I knew full well I shouldn’t waste time—that I should use the chance to control the body to do something meaningful. But a languor wrapped mind and flesh alike.
Warm under the quilt, I hunched my neck like Clytia and drifted off.
Bang bang bang!
Bang bang bang!
At dawn I was jolted awake by fierce knocking.
Clytia rubbed her eyes and pushed herself half up. I saw Diya raise a finger to her lips in a hush.
“Strange—Brother always rushes to the door. Did he go out early?”
She sat at the head of the bed for a moment. The knocking didn’t stop, so Diya climbed down, went to the door, and heard a shout outside:
“Cyril girl—are you home? It’s urgent!”
Diya vaguely recognized the voice—it seemed to be the Headman’s grandson, the one who sometimes ran with Nolan—so she relaxed, opened the wooden door, and saw a pockmarked boy of about fourteen or fifteen standing outside.
“So early… what is it…”
“Big trouble! It’s Nolan!” the Headman’s grandson blurted. “I’m here to bring the news!”
“What do you mean, trouble…” Diya froze.
“Last night—last night, Nolan seems to have snuck into Hunter Emmo’s house to steal something, and got caught, and then, then—”
“Then what!”
“Ah!” the Headman’s grandson cried. “He set a fire! He burned Emmo’s house down!”
“Impossible!” Diya stared a moment, then protested hotly. “My brother would never do that!”
“Anyway—I can’t explain it right. Someone seems to have burned to death in Emmo’s house—my grandpa is questioning Nolan now. You’ll know when you see!”
As if he had other urgent errands, the Headman’s grandson, having delivered the message, hurried off again.
I noticed Diya’s face turn pale. She didn’t even bother with an overcoat. She stood there stunned for a heartbeat, then stumbled out the door.
And so the room held only Clytia.
What—on earth—happened? My heart sank like a falling boulder—an uneasy foreboding rising.
Nolan went mad and burned Emmo’s house? But he’d been fine in the day—how could he go mad for no reason?
If I had to think of a cause—the only reason I could come up with was the words I had told him that night with my own mouth:
“These bodies all have to be burned, or they could draw more—”
Could it be because of that? Nolan slipped into Hunter Emmo’s place in the night to destroy the jackals’ corpses? And then, by accident, set the blaze?
“It sounds like someone died… will they sentence him to death?” I thought, an absurd feeling rising—yet my gut told me it wouldn’t be so simple.
My head was crammed with all sorts of wild guesses, but I knew they were only hearsay’s phantoms. To learn the reason, we had to go and see with our own eyes.
I wanted Clytia to satisfy my need for answers. But she didn’t seem inclined to move. She only climbed out of bed in silence and, as if she couldn’t make sense of anything, drifted aimlessly about the room.
No—was she looking for something? I thought. At some point Clytia had already stepped into Nolan’s room.
The boy’s bedding was a mess, the quilt dragged to one side. He must have slipped out at midnight and had no time to straighten it. My gaze slid to the head of the bed. By the pillow lay Epic of the Ancient Dragon.
Clytia picked it up and flipped it idly. From between the rapidly fanning pages, a dried poplar leaf fell out.
Mm—its flat veins meant it must have been pressed fresh. I’d heard of such a thing as a bookmark.
Clytia paused, pressing a fingertip to the page where the leaf had slipped out. She slowly read the words there, and I too looked at those lines written in flowing script:
The true compass is set in the stone heart’s depth.
Incline your ear; that is no illusory echo;
it is the iron awl that hammers will in the soul—
I recalled the passage. Epic of the Ancient Dragon tells of an ancient dragonslayer setting out, slaying the evil dragon. Here, after he defeats what was named the fount of all evil, the prophet’s promised peace still does not come. Lost, he meets a stonecutter of uncommon speech; guided by him, he sets out to seek the answer.
“Mm… is it related?” I wondered. During Clytia’s lessons I often spared the attention to listen, so this much at least I still remembered.
As for Nolan—hesitant by day, so decisive by night—did the will an ancient sage had entrusted to a poem give him the drive to pay Hunter Emmo back in kind?
I was musing when Clytia, after a moment’s thought, bent to pick up the withered poplar leaf and carefully pressed it back into the book.
Then she gathered the book into her arms and slowly walked out of the cottage.