Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 3 - Chapter Ep

EPILOGUE

Always Put a Ribbon on Your Kitten

…It’s so cold.

Monica awoke shivering. Winter was fast approaching, and the early-morning chill would penetrate even the tiniest gaps in her blanket.

She squirmed back under the covers, then realized something warm was next to her and unconsciously drew up to it. When she pressed herself against it, it warmed her right up.

It seems a little big for Nero… Hmm. Anyway, it’s warm, so I guess it doesn’t matter, she thought, forgetting about it and dozing off again.

Then she felt a gentle hand stroke her hair and something else squish her cheek.

Monica was very familiar with this blissful sensation. “Oh, paws… Good morning, Nero.”

“Who’s Nero?”

The sound of a voice right beside her woke Monica instantly. Her eyes went as wide as saucers as she turned toward the speaker—and saw a pair of gemstone-like irises looking gently back at her.

Monica barely managed to suppress a scream and fell out of bed with a thud. As she got herself up on all fours, she remembered Mary’s prophecy.

“You’re very lucky in love right now! You might even spend a passionate night with a wonderful gentleman!”

Had she inadvertently spent a “passionate night” with a “wonderful gentleman”?

Monica pushed her forehead to the floor and groveled. “E-e-ex—”

“Ex?”

“Am I going to be…executed?” She looked like she was about to die.

Felix, sitting up in bed, chuckled to himself. His upper body was completely naked. And Monica had rubbed her cheek on his chest. That seemed like more than enough reason for her head to roll.

“Would you kill a cute little kitten just for wandering into your bed?”

“…Huh? A kitten?”

Monica looked up and glanced around the room, but she didn’t see any cats. Where’s the cat that squished my cheek with its paw? she wondered, craning her neck.

Felix watched her in amusement. “You drank some wine last night, suddenly took off your clothes, and fell asleep.”

That was when Monica finally realized she was wearing nothing but her underwear. No wonder she’d been so cold.

“Aren’t you cold like that?”

“Huh? Yes, sir. I’m sorry for not being properly dressed. I’ll change right a— Huh?”

Feeling a strange sensation at her neck, Monica reached up with a finger and felt a thin chain. When she looked down, she saw a small yellow-green gemstone sparkling in the morning sunlight. Confused, she looked back up at Felix.

Resting his face in his palm, his elbow propped up on a knee, he offered her a gentle smile. “It really does go with your eyes.”

“What, um, is this…?”

“You told me that if I gave you an accessory, it wouldn’t really make you happy, right?”

Monica didn’t try to hide her guilt. She nodded, troubled.

Felix smiled a little sadly at her honest response. “If you think it’s too soon to be sporting such a fancy necklace, then you can save it until you’ve become an advanced practitioner of fashion.”

Monica’s gaze lowered to the necklace again. The olive-green stone, somewhat larger than her little finger, swayed to and fro on its slender golden chain. She could catch a bit of gold in the bright green color. It was probably a peridot. Its design was modest but pretty. He’d probably chosen it to go along with her personality.

Monica looked up at Felix, flustered. “Um, but you’ve already paid for the room and the book. I couldn’t possibly…”

She would feel far too guilty having him do any more for her at this point. She reached for the clasp at the back of her neck to undo the pendant, but unused to such things, she wasn’t sure how to unhook it.

As her fingers fumbled with the clasp, Felix got down from the bed and put his own hand over hers to guide it. But the moment he touched her, her entire body went stiff.

Monica had grown up seeing the pictures in her father’s personal medical books and his anatomical models. Seeing someone else without clothes on, or being seen without clothes on, didn’t matter at all to her.

But people touching her terrified her. She would always remember the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her uncle after her father had passed, and her body would lock up. She trembled—and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

Felix lowered Monica’s hand before it could unclasp the pendant, then asked, “May I be honest with you for a moment?”

“…?”

Felix peered into her face. His beautiful blue eyes reflected her troubled expression. “When I found you in town,” he explained, “I thought you were an assassin after my life.”

Monica felt the blood drain from her body.

The prince brought her pale, shivering hand up to his neck, then applied a little pressure to it. It looked almost like she was strangling him—like his own hand was trying to make her do so.

That thought absolutely horrified her.

“If I sneak off and fool around without any guards present, that makes me a ripe target for assassination, doesn’t it?”

“I—I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to…,” denied Monica immediately.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Felix, nodding. He let go of her hand. “You’re no assassin. If you were going to kill me, you’d have done so long ago.”

“……”

“You don’t seem like an enemy, but you’re too unreliable to be an ally. In lieu of either, I’ve decided to think of you as an amusing pet.”

“A-a pet?! A pettt…?!” Monica wailed, taken aback.

Felix winked at her. “For now, we’re still fellow delinquents out for a secret night on the town.”

“But a pet… A pettt…”

“I stopped calling you a little squirrel, didn’t I?”

“Y-you just did it again yesterday!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You did!”

Monica’s uncharacteristically firm insistence earned her a teasing laugh from the prince. That’s not fair, she thought, feeling like he was using laughter to dodge the issue.

“By the way, did you not realize,” continued Felix, “that you could have forced me to make a deal with you? You could have told me to do whatever you said in exchange for keeping my outing a secret.”

“But that’s… There’s nothing I need you to do for me.”

She’d wanted him to stop calling her “little squirrel” as a reward for winning their game of chess, sure. But if she gave up on being called by her name and just accepted it, there would be nothing else she wanted from him.

“There’s nothing I want you to give me or do for me. Nothing… I’m serious.” Troubled, she fingered the pendant at her neck.

Felix nodded, his eyebrows drooping slightly. “I know. Spending the last few months with you has taught me that. You don’t expect anything from me…which is easier on me but also a little lonely.”

His finger traced the chain adorning Monica’s neck. His white hand—normally packed away in a glove—was slender, the type suited to playing musical instruments. But his joints were sturdy and strong; it was a man’s hand.

“I didn’t give this pendant to you for your sake. I did it to satisfy myself… This gift is for me.”

Monica was at a loss; she didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

Felix laughed—a little self-deprecating—and plucked up the peridot, giving it a light tug. The thin chain dug slightly into Monica’s skin. “Gifts you can see—especially things a person wears on their body—are particularly good for securing someone’s heart, don’t you think?”

Using material goods to secure someone’s heart—these were truly the words of a haughty noble. But then why was he making such a sad face?

Felix’s pretty fingertips lifted the peridot. Then his well-shaped lips kissed the olive-green gem that so perfectly complemented Monica’s eyes. “Even if everyone else forgets,” he said, “I want you to always remember Ike and the time you spent with him.”

Anyone watching would have thought the two of them had just slept together and, still mostly undressed, that they now stood professing their love in the morning light.

But as Monica looked down at the golden eyelashes before her, she thought, I’ll probably never go out on the town with Ike again. That was why he’d given her so many gifts. He wanted to leave her with something to remind her of Ike.

Felix released the peridot. As it returned to Monica’s pallid skin, it caught the shine of the morning sun and glowed the color of fresh grass. Just like Monica’s eyes, the green deepened wherever the light shone.

“Peridots shine beautifully even in the faint light of the night,” said Felix. “If you keep it close, I’ll always be able to find you.”

Normally, Monica would have gone pale and told him he didn’t need to find her. But she didn’t want to thoughtlessly reject Ike and hurt him. So instead, she chose her next words very carefully, though her delivery was a little stiff.

“Ike?”

“Yes?”

“A lot of…unexpected things happened last night, but…I had fun.”

“…Mm-hmm.”

Monica would probably never have worn this pendant of her own accord. But for now, at least, she stopped fumbling with the clasp. She felt like removing it would make him sad.

Slowly, she stood up and reached for her folded clothes on the sofa. She was oddly happy to find her book had been placed far away from the food and drink, right on top of her clothes.

As she was changing, Felix spoke up, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. Looking at her back, he said, “You know, I’ve been wondering since yesterday how you got those old wounds on your back.”

“Are they still there?”

“Somewhat, yes. Mostly near your shoulders.”

There happened to be a large mirror in the room, so she twisted a little to look at her own back. He was right. She could see areas where her skin was pulled tight and a few places where it was raised. All scars from her uncle’s abuse.

“Are they from House Kerbeck?”

Monica quickly shook her head. She was pretending to be an unwanted member of the Kerbeck family, but if suspicions of abuse were raised, she’d be causing a lot of trouble for Isabelle and her relatives.

“N-no, of course not! Everyone in House Kerbeck has been so, so good to me! These are, um, from before that…”

“Haven’t you ever thought about getting rid of the scars?”

“Not really…,” she said with complete sincerity. They didn’t hurt anymore, and having a few marks on her back wouldn’t get in the way of her daily activities.

She’d never really thought of them as ugly, but apparently, Felix couldn’t overlook such marks being left on a woman’s body.

It was then that she finally noticed Felix’s own scar on his side. His body was perfectly symmetrical, his skin amazingly smooth—and that was why the scar under his arm stood out so much.

“Ike… Then do you want to get rid of that scar under your arm?” asked Monica nervously.

Felix lowered his gaze to the wound, then smoothly shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I need this one.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that, but she got the feeling she shouldn’t pry any further, so she finished dressing in silence.

Though they left Madam Cassandra’s fairly early in the morning, nearly all the women came to see them off.

Doris, who had taken particularly good care of them, gave Felix a passionate kiss on the cheek, then beckoned for Monica to come closer. She whispered in her ear, “If you’re ever having trouble making ends meet, you can come here whenever you like. I’ll look after you.”

“Uh, thanks…”

“Also, just so you know, his weak spots are … Be sure to remember them.”

Monica didn’t feel like she’d benefit at all from remembering that kind of information. She simply nodded and smiled back vaguely.

After the women had seen them off, the pair left Madam Cassandra’s shop behind and headed for where the carriages were parked. Felix asked her to come back with him, but Monica had promised to meet up with Ryn, so she politely refused.

“We do have classes today,” the prince pointed out. “…Will you make it in time?”

“Y-yes!” she replied. After all, she could just have Ryn fly her back to school. She’d get there much faster than she would with a carriage. “Um, thank you for everything!” she said with a bow, clutching to her chest the book he’d bought her.

Felix gave her a friendly, gentle smile—the same sort he always wore at school. He was no longer the mischievous Ike. This was the smile of the kingdom’s beloved royal family.

…My time with Ike is over, she thought. The person with her now was the kingdom’s second prince, Felix Arc Ridill. Someone exalted and distant.

“Then I’ll see you later,” he said.

“Okay.”

The carriage Felix had boarded began to clatter away. Monica stayed there and saw him off until she could no longer hear its wheels.

After that, she slowly began to walk toward the church. Soon, a small yellow bird fluttered down from the sky and landed on her shoulder—Ryn. Apparently, she’d spotted her from midair.

“Excellent work on guarding the second prince,” said the spirit.

“R-right…”

Privately, Monica grimaced. She wasn’t sure if what she’d done could actually be called “guarding.” After all, she’d forgotten all about her mission halfway through and started simply enjoying herself.

Even if the expensive book and the peridot pendant were mere whimsy, she’d never, ever forget about them.

As she thought about this, the little bird whispered into her ear. “I’d prefer to bring you straight back to Serendia Academy, my lady, but I have a piece of bad news to deliver first.”

“…What?” asked Monica, freezing.

Ryn continued quietly. “It is in regards to the one who infiltrated the chess competition under the guise of Eugene Pitman…”

“He’s…committed suicide via poisoning, you say?” Louis asked in a low voice.

The head prison guard sitting across from him nodded once, his face pale.

Upon his return from the Starseer Witch’s mansion, the first thing Louis’s beloved wife had done was hand him a report, just delivered, with this pleasant little piece of news. The false Pitman who had infiltrated Serendia Academy had committed suicide using some poison he’d had hidden on his person.

Thus, Louis hadn’t been home for more than a few minutes before he’d had to use a flight spell to the reach the prison where the man had been held. When he’d arrived, the guard he’d met had the gall to tell him to come back in the morning. He’d only had to be a little rough with the man before he was able to speak to the one in charge.

According to the head guard, by the time the man on patrol that afternoon noticed anything strange, the prisoner was already dead.

There are two possibilities, thought Louis. Either the man they’d put in prison had somehow smuggled in poison in order to kill himself or someone else had killed him to keep his mouth shut.

Believing the latter to be more likely, Louis checked the corpse, which they were preserving in the basement. His body had simply been laid on the floor. It was a man in his mid-twenties or so.

His face was exactly the same as Professor Eugene Pitman of Minerva’s, and he had apparently not been wearing any makeup or other disguises. That had all been checked when he was captured.

The man was now in rough prison clothes, but the state of the garments gave Louis pause.

“Sir,” he said to the head guard, “did you remove his clothes after he died?”

“No, nothing like that,” the man replied. “I believe he was like this when we found him.”

Very strange, thought Louis, frowning. The prisoner’s clothes were a mess. His underpants were turned inside out and pulled all the way up to his waist. It’s almost like someone dressed him after he was dead.

Just then, a thought occurred to Louis. “Have we found the real Eugene Pitman’s body yet?”

The head guard shook his head.

Louis was sure now. “Then this body belongs to the real Eugene Pitman.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whoever it was, they probably stopped the corpse from rotting using ice magecraft.” Louis turned a sharp glare on the head guard, who was clearly slow on the uptake, and asked one more question. “Did anyone not employed here enter or exit the prison? Any contractors, for instance?”

“Uh, now that you mention it, some people came to deliver food for the prisoners…”

“They were in cahoots with our criminal. They threw the real Pitman’s body into the cell, made it look like the fake Pitman had killed himself, and facilitated the fake’s escape.”

Early that morning, the town of Corlapton was still basking in the afterglow of the previous day’s festival, with bottles of alcohol littering the streets and drunkards passed out asleep here and there. Many others were using the morning hours to pack up their stalls, clean their storefronts, or take down lanterns.

Bartholomeus slipped through the unusually populated morning streets, careful not to draw too much attention.

He’d been arrested on suspicion of stealing Starweaving Mira the day before and locked up in a room in the ceremony venue. But he’d used some tools he’d had hidden on his person to make a clean escape.

Ugh, that was awful… They’re not takin’ me in for questioning, that’s for damn sure!

While he would have liked to leave town immediately, there was something keeping him here. The day before, he’d seen something, although his consciousness had been hazy. He’d felt the wind gently catch him as he fell from the night sky and witnessed the beautiful woman in maid clothes who had been manipulating it. She hadn’t chanted a single word, and yet her control over the wind had been shockingly precise. Finally, she’d scooped him up and launched into the air—once again, without a chant.

Although he couldn’t hear what she and the little runt in the squirrel-eared hood had said to each other, he’d been able to make out two words in particular.

Silent Witch.

So that drop-dead-gorgeous maid was the Silent Witch!

As Bartholomeus recalled the beautiful face of the maid as she carried him across her arms, his cheeks flushed, and his hand clutched at his chest. He gazed up into the morning light.

“Wah-ha. Well, this is a problem. My heart won’t stop fluttering… She really got me, eh…”

Now that he was wanted for stealing an ancient magic item, he’d like to get out of the country as soon as possible—but at the same time, he now had a reason to stay. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t try to court the woman he’d fallen head over heels for?

And now, to think of a strategy… As he set about planning how he would get close to the Silent Witch, a pair of young people—a man and a woman—approached him from ahead, coming to a halt right in front of him.

Bartholomeus immediately moved to turn around, thinking they were pursuers come to arrest him, but then the young woman called out to him.

“You’re the jack-of-all-trades Bartholomeus, yes? We have a job request for you.”

“What now?” he asked, stopping and taking another look at the two of them.

The woman appeared to be in her late teens, with black hair cut neatly at chin level, sharp eyes, and dignified eyebrows. As for the man, he was probably in his twenties, with short brown hair. He had an average face, the kind you’d find all over the streets and probably wouldn’t remember.

Both of them wore commonplace traveling clothes. They looked for all the world like just a couple of sightseers come to take part in the previous day’s festivities, but Bartholomeus’s gut told him they were not respectable people.

“Sorry, but I’m all booked up for the time bein’,” he replied, shaking a hand at them. “You’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”

The woman took a few quiet steps toward him, then whispered something—but not in the language of Ridill. No, these were the words of his homeland—of the Empire.

“Bartholomeus Baal, apprentice to a well-known craftsman of magic items. I hear he used violence against his master and was driven from his homeland.”

“…?!” Bartholomeus went pale.

The woman with the dignified eyebrows took another step, further closing the distance. Bartholomeus retreated but soon found himself driven into a narrow alleyway.

Eventually, his back came up against a wall, and the woman finally stopped. She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and thrust it in his face.

“There’s something we’d urgently like you to make.”

A certain school uniform had been drawn on the paper. It included not only the basic outfit but all the details, down to the shoes and accessories. And when Bartholomeus saw the design of the decorative pin, his eyes widened.

It was the crosier and the crown of lilies that symbolized Serendine, the Goddess of Light. Only one school used that as its seal.

“Hey, this is a Serendia Academy uniform!” exclaimed Bartholomeus. “What the hell are you two tryin’ to pull here?”

“We cannot answer that question. You need only make what is requested.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, thought Bartholomeus, privately cursing them. He’d just gotten into trouble over a job involving Serendia Academy. And if they’re coming to me instead of a tailor, they ain’t usin’ this for anything good…

While it was no business of his how the things he created were used, getting mixed up with Serendia Academy could only spell trouble. Big trouble.

After considerable hesitation, he assumed a careless smile and adjusted his voice to sound particularly unreliable. “Come on—this is a huge job. I’d never be able to pull it off. I’m just a wannabe craftsman, you know. I ain’t an expert at makin’ clothes. ’Specially not all these intricate shoes and accessories and whatnot.”

“We heard that in the past, you were highly praised both for your skill in a great number of fields and for how quickly you worked,” said the woman, thrusting a leather pouch at Bartholomeus, who had fallen silent.

The large silver coins peeking out of the heavy bag caused him to swallow despite himself.

“This is your advance payment,” said the woman.

“This is just the advance…?!”

The next thing he knew, the pouch was in his hands.

If he was going to stay here in Ridill and court the Silent Witch, he’d need as much money as he could get. Financing a good woman was expensive.

And with this much, I could buy her all the flowers and dresses and presents she wants! Wait for me, Silent Witch! I’m coming! he thought with a dopey look on his face, recalling the beauty in the maid outfit.

As the two watched Bartholomeus saunter off in good spirits, one of them—the man with the plain face—laughed, his throat vibrating pleasantly as his face distorted in a strange, unnatural way.

“Oh dear, dear me,” he said. “My face still hasn’t stabilized, hmm? I do so hate how the skin tends to collapse after dragonshifting.”

The man massaged his warped face, his voice smooth and sweet as honey. His skin twisted and writhed until it settled down along his cheekbones.

“And I must say,” he continued, “you found such a convenient man for the job, Heidi. And you even helped me break free from that awful prison. I’m so lucky to have such a talented partner.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Ewan.”

The girl with the dignified eyebrows—Heidi—spoke stiffly, but her expression had softened just a bit. She was Ewan’s partner and apprentice. Ewan was teaching her everything she needed to know about how to be a spy, including combat techniques, and Heidi had helped him break out after he was arrested for infiltrating Serendia Academy.

“Now then,” said Ewan, “let’s get back to our preparations. I had some difficulties last time, but I have a good recollection of the academy’s layout. I also know how to get close to the second prince…and that he has a very talented individual guarding him.”

“Are you referring to the mage who defeated your dragonshifted form with a single attack?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ewan narrowed his eyes, thinking back to his defeat.

Bernie Jones, a student from Minerva’s, had noticed his disguise, and as Ewan was trying to silence him, a female student had arrived. Not wanting her to scream, Ewan had encased her in a spherical water barrier, but somehow, the barrier had broken. She’d then attacked his weak spot—between the eyes—and he’d passed out. The next thing he knew, he had been in a prison cell.

As he went over everything again, he came to a single conclusion.

That girl who was ridiculously good at chess…Monica Norton. There’s something about her. If they intended to infiltrate the Serendia Academy school festival, she would likely be their most difficult obstacle. The thought made Ewan shudder—and smile, his lips forming a crescent. Tilting his throat back, he laughed in that sweet voice, his heart filled with joy.

“Heh-heh. Ah-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“You seem to be having fun, Ewan.”

“Oh, I am. My heart’s positively aflutter. After all…I can just taste the juicy secrets we’ll uncover.”

Ewan, grinning, licked his lips like a cat bearing down on its prey. As he did, the skin of his face pulled back and changed again, almost like it was made of clay.

“My job is to reveal secrets—and that goes for both Felix Arc Ridill and Monica Norton. I’ll lay them all bare.”

Thanks to Ryn’s high-speed flight, Monica was now back in her attic room in the Serendia girls’ dormitory. There, she found her familiar, Nero, tucked away in the small gap underneath the bed—with his rear end toward her, no less.

“…U-um, Nero?”

Instead of an answer, his black tail slapped on the floor.

Oh, he’s sulking. “Come on, Nero…,” she said, troubled.

Once again, Nero smacked his tail against the floor. “Not only did you leave me here to go out on a nighttime adventure, but you didn’t come back until morning!”

“Ummm…”

As Monica struggled for an explanation, Ryn—who had just delivered her and was now back in maid form—spoke up.

“Yes,” she said. “After being waited upon by handsome young men and enjoying a feast of debauchery, the Silent Witch spent the night at a brothel with an attractive boy.”

“Miss Ryyynnn?!” wailed Monica, her eyes going wide at the lurid description. He’ll misunderstand!

Nero jumped out from under the bed and whacked her on the shin with his front leg. “I thought better of you! I had no idea you had such loose morals!”

“Loose morals?!”

“And you’re insensitive! You could learn a thing or two from Abram!”

“Who is Abram?!” she cried.

Huffing and puffing, Nero dragged a book out from under the blanket. It was his favorite adventure novel, written by a man named Dustin Gunther. Her familiar was always going on about how amazing the author was.

He deftly used his front leg to turn the pages until he got to the cast of characters, then smacked a name with his paw. “Abram is the friend of the main character, Bartholomew, and he’s got this superstrong sense of obligation. Even when a gorgeous woman tries to seduce him, he pushes her away, saying, ‘To me, friendship is a greater treasure than love,’ and maintains his bond with Bartholomew!”

“Abram… Bartholomew…?”

Monica had never read the novel, but she got the feeling she’d heard those names before. Relatively recently, in fact.

“This is The Adventures of Bartholomew Alexander. Good book, eh? And I love the main character’s name.”

“I’m in the middle of writing a scene in my new novel about a foolish man who falls in love with a theater actress. Abram, the main character’s friend, is head over heels for the actress Catherine, and at every opportunity, he says, ‘I want to see her perform in person just one more time.’ You sound exactly like him right now.”

The play at the festival and the novel the shopkeeper at Porter Used Books had been writing—that had all been part of Nero’s favorite book series.

Wait, could my father’s friend…? Could Mr. Porter really be the novelist Dustin Gunther?

As she stood there in blank amazement, Nero went on about how devoted Abram was to duty and morality. For the sake of her familiar, she decided to keep quiet about this Abram character falling madly in love with a theater actress.

In the meantime, she unlocked her desk drawer. Inside it were her father’s coffeepot—a memento—as well as the letters Lana had given her and the comb she and Lana had bought together. Monica took the book and peridot pendant she’d brought back and placed them inside.

It was a lot of fun going out on the town with you, Ike.

Her mind swimming with memories of her nighttime companion, Monica softly closed the drawer.