I later came to learn that Erhan and I were not so far apart in age. Even so, the two of us could not grow close. In most noble families, it was customary for children to attend the Academy from the age of eight for ten years. So the very next day after meeting me, Erhan left to enter the Academy.
Mother had fiercely opposed it in my case.
From birth my body had been frail, and since Mother worried over me terribly, I did not attend the Academy.
While I studied with tutors called into the mansion, nine years slipped by, during which Erhan never once showed his face.
But still, to think he would not come at all like this…
After parting from Erhan that day, I expected more than once that there would be chances to see him again. The Academy’s culture was freer than one might think, and so there were many opportunities for him to return to the mansion.
The Academy had breaks, and during small events he could have stopped by even briefly, yet Erhan never returned. Though we had built neither close ties nor deep trust, this was still his home, was it not?
I had even prepared myself to greet him warmly whenever he came back from the Academy, but it was useless.
I did hear that at times he met the Marquis at a villa near the capital to receive lessons as heir.
The Marquis would occasionally meet Erhan to teach him something.
It was said he was probably instructing him in the sorcery handed down through the family, and since such things were family secrets, it was only natural the Marquis would not bring me along. That meant I had no chance of seeing Erhan.
The Marquis has aged considerably too.
Strangely enough, my relationship with the Marquis was good. More than good—actually quite close.
So much so that I could not understand why Erhan had feared him so much on my very first day here. Perhaps it was thanks to my mother, but the Marquis treated me with generosity.
The Marquis liked my mother. And though she never offered him her gaze, she quietly responded by letting him stay close.
They were, from the beginning, a match in standing. My mother, born of the royal family; the Marquis of Serpentine, born a marquis. And though my mother would complain endlessly that this household was gloomy, she was in truth satisfied at the vast wealth it had accumulated.
The more the two gradually opened themselves to each other, the more the Marquis began to show interest in me as well.
“Oscar, would you like to try learning too?”
When the heir Erhan was away at the Academy, and Mother was absorbed in her social gatherings, the Marquis, unable to bear his boredom at times, would attempt to teach me.
Of course, I never wished to set down the books I was reading. But I did not want to be cast out of the family for clumsy manners, so I answered yes and sat beside the Marquis. And not long after beginning those lessons, I realized the House of Serpentine was even more terrifying than I had thought.
The Marquis emphasized exactly twenty-eight times that the strength of the Serpentine family came from psychological terror. Like the sinuous serpent that was its emblem, House Serpentine overwhelmed its target with sustained and gradual fear over a very long time, until at last it forced even the soul into submission.
He explained that Serpentine sorcery was put to good use in training informants brought from foreign lands, or in interrogating heinous criminals who carried important information.
“No one dares to touch us.”
It was even said that nobles, in secret, paid vast sums to commission such work—and among those clients was the royal family itself. Since House Serpentine knew all their vile secrets, no one could easily lay a hand on them.
Horrifying.
While the Marquis described the “education” process, the blood drained from my face.
Every time he said “education,” I could not stop wondering how such a thing could be called education at all, when society had already agreed to call that torture.
The Marquis was truly intelligent, clever, and vicious.
He understood exactly where the limits of the human body lay, and was a man specialized in driving others into psychological collapse.
And Mother, you find yourself drawn to such a man?
Of course, the Marquis never told me the details of sorcery—probably the kind only the heir would be taught. But even just hearing the first stages of probing the mind made me feel as though mine was already being destroyed. Still, to show that I was listening, I politely asked a few questions.
“You find this very fascinating, don’t you.”
The Marquis was delighted.
By my sixth year here, he said, “Since you are now also my second son, it will be fine for you to know,” and began to tell me bits about sorcery as well.
The sorcery I formally learned was even more horrific. Once I realized that the ingredients for it were the blood and flesh of all sorts of strange creatures, I wanted nothing more to do with it.
“My health is poor, and my learning still immature… I cannot keep up with Father’s teachings. I am sorry.”
So every time, I coughed theatrically as though to excuse myself, and gently refused. Yet the more I did so, the more oddly the Marquis seemed to open his heart to me. Each time, it drove me closer to madness.
“You are truly humble. But the weaker one is, the more he must learn of the world. Look—this sorcery is one that makes the target suffer nightmares every night. One need only carve this ancient rune into the claw of a monster from the Artia Forest, then sew it with thread into the target’s uvula for two days. That way, you afflict the deepest part of them with repeated torment…”
As if anyone would actually use a claw as an uvula. And why sew such a thing there? Wouldn’t anyone have nightmares if a claw were dangling from their uvula?
And besides, why tell me this? I had neither the hobby nor the interest of gnawing away at human minds.
Of course, I did not show this outwardly. There was no harm in gaining the Marquis’s favor.
Still, even the Marquis sometimes took heed of my mother. Whenever she returned to the mansion from the capital, he refrained from teaching me—for every time she saw him, she would flare up: “What on earth are you teaching the child?!”
“Young master.”
…Ah, good grief.
At the sound of my name, I started in fright, my heart pounding wildly. I swept a trembling hand over my chest. Even after nine years, I was still so easily startled.
That such a thing was the second son of House Serpentine… would this be all right?
“Sorry for dawdling.”
From the servant’s tone of urging, I could tell the two of them were already at the dining room.
I hurried to straighten my clothes. At first, I had no idea how to wear the elaborate garments, but by now I was fairly skilled—and I had to be. For the servants had been “educated” never to lay a hand on our bodies.
“Let’s go.”
When I opened the door, six servants bowed deeply, welcoming me with flawless posture. At the center, the sole one permitted to use his tongue—the servant who had woken me earlier—greeted me and began to lead the way.
I had grown taller, enough that if I stood on tiptoe I could just about see out the windows where before I had to crane my neck. Autumn was fading into winter, and as I took in the bleak weather while walking, we soon arrived at the dining hall.
Creak.
The moment we arrived, the servants, as if waiting, opened the doors. From the entrance to the far end stretched a long table, and seated there were two figures.
“Good morning.”
“Oscar, you’ve come.”
Perhaps because of the dream I’d had the previous night, my mother’s face looked older than before. And yet she still seemed girlish, and she was beautiful. As I approached her, adorned splendidly as though she had risen at dawn to prepare despite the morning hour, the Marquis seated at the central high seat also spoke to me.
“Are you unwell again today?”
“No, I am fine.”
“Then why does your face look so pale?”
With her usual look of pity, she gazed at me as though ready to touch my cheek at once. Since birth I had been frail, and though I ate and slept well here, I was often ill.
If a cold went around the Marquisate, I always caught it. If the weather was slightly hot, my strength would fail and I would languish. In summer my anemia worsened, and I collapsed again and again. At times, when struck with a harsh bronchitis, I could not even speak properly and spat up blood.
“I’m always pale.”
So there was no reason to be surprised if I looked sick.
I said it in a joking tone, but my mother looked at me as though to say, How can you joke about that now? The Marquis, truth be told, found it funny and chuckled softly, but Mother caught him and he had to endure her sharp glare.
“How can you just laugh when the child is this ill?”
“Adele, I—”
The Marquis faltered at her glare. I lowered my head, pretending not to see, and busied myself with my meal.
Seeing the two of them get along was a comfort.
As long as their love doesn’t cool, I suppose I won’t be cast out either.
A sense of relief welled up at the stable, harmonious scene. Unlike the stories I’d read in my past life’s media, where a new addition to the family was bullied until driven out, my case was different.
Though once the heir inherits, who knows what will happen.
I, with no ability worth mentioning, owned only this frail body—perhaps destined to cling precariously to this family for life even after my mother passed. Sometimes I recalled Erhan’s hostile face and was seized by unease.
“Have you finished eating?”
“Yes.”
The Marquis asked if I had finished, then rose from his seat, and Mother rose with him. I guessed they meant to take tea together, and I too stood to return to my room… when the Marquis quietly called to me.
“Oscar, there is somewhere you must go.”