Chapter Five: The Girl Holds the Ebony Blade to Her Heart
I
A northwest wind blew down from the Est Mountains, bone-chillingly cold, bringing an unseasonal heavy snowfall to the Royal Capital of Fis.
The Audience Chamber at Leticia Castle
The thick snow cast a ceaseless shadow on the stained glass window as the king of Fernest, Alfonse sem Galmond, lowered himself into his frozen throne as an entourage of guards took their places beside him. It had been a long time since he had sat in it, and he was irritated to find it ever so slightly cramped. As he thought this, he looked down at the kneeling figure before him—his sickly son Selvia.
“It is rare for you to request an audience.”
Selvia did not wear the nightgown that he so frequently wore these days. Instead, he had dressed up properly. Before he was Selvia’s father, Alfonse was king, and this was the audience chamber, where there was an official procedure to be followed—dressing properly was only to be expected. But it was novel all the same.
“Thank you for granting my request for an audience on such short notice, Your Majesty.”
“Not at all. Still, this room is a tad chilly; it will take its toll on your health. Keep this short, eh?”
“Your Majesty,” Selvia acknowledged. What followed was the news that Twin Lions at Dawn had ended in failure. Even as Alfonse reeled, the story continued to unfold like a bad dream come to life. Selvia left the worst of it for last.
“The old man, dead...?” Alfonse stammered. “Is...is this a joke?” Even he could clearly make out the tremor in his voice.
Selvia said nothing, only gazed back at him.
“The old man... No...” His staff fell from the dais and rolled away with a sharp clatter that echoed through the audience chamber. Louder still, Alfonse heard the sound of something shatter. His vision was engulfed by darkness.
“Father...father, steady yourself.”
“The old man...not the old man...”
“Father.”
“The old man...my sword lessons...”
No matter how many times Selvia called his name, his father the king only went on repeating Cornelius’s name. In an instant, Alfonse’s face seemed to have aged twenty years. He rose from the throne then, with unsteady steps, and turned to leave the audience chamber. The guards looked at Selvia in distress. He gave them a slight nod, and they hurried after his father. Selvia got slowly to his feet, the white mist of his breath hanging in the air of the chamber.
From the looks of him, he might just be done. Selvia knew that his father had relied on Cornelius more than anyone else. Despair he had expected, but it had taken a form far, far worse than what Selvia had anticipated.
My father is a scholar. This troubled age was far too cruel for him. The world might not have looked kindly upon him, but I know he tried as hard as he could, in his way. Selvia had just turned twenty and, due to his weak constitution, had spent almost all that time within the confines of the castle. His father had never said as much, but Selvia doubted he had planned on passing his throne to his sickly son. The king had never once spoken to him of anything concerning governance. Selvia sourced his information entirely from the gossip of ladies-in-waiting and what his older sister Sara told him, on the occasions she visited him in his convalescence.
Out of all of the royal family, Sara was the only one who understood the situation most clearly. But I couldn’t bring myself to add any more to her burdens.
It was Sara, assigned to the defense of the royal capital, who had told him what had happened. With the forces of the Holy Land of Mekia added to their own, his father had been optimistic about victory. As such, there had been much agonized discussion over who would go to inform him of the situation. Usually, they would have simply left the job to Cornelius, but never again could they turn to him now. Shuffling off the burden of delivering every piece of bad news onto their hero was undoubtedly what had gotten them into this situation.
“And so,” Sara had said with a helpless smile, “as I am the one most well-informed on the matter, it seems I must be the one to tell the king.” At that, Selvia had insisted firmly that she did not go, then set up a meeting in the audience chamber to break the news himself. That had brought him here.
But it isn’t over yet. On the contrary, we’re buried in problems. Cornelius’s death had left supreme command of the army up in the air. That was a major concern, but what Selvia feared the most was that, upon hearing of the state the king was in, Sara would try to act as monarch. Unfortunately, Sara was the fourth princess—not only that, but as an illegitimate child, if she took that role, he could well imagine the emotional conflict it would bring about, first and foremost from the king’s lawful wife—and Selvia’s mother—Bertille, as well as his younger sisters, the first, second, and third princesses.
I can’t hide behind illness to feign disinterest any longer. The Royal Army has lost both a great hero and a general known throughout the continent in one stroke. They will be in total disarray. If the royal family descends into a senseless power struggle now, it will surely mean the end of Fernest. If I am to head it off, I have only one option.
Having reached a decision, Selvia left the audience chamber, which had grown still colder, behind him. Dark clouds were gathering above the Kingdom of Fernest on a scale greater than anything before, but hope was not yet lost. Selvia’s mind was on the girl who had occasionally appeared in Sara’s stories.
I have to meet her. The Death God who terrifies the imperial army—the girl called Olivia Valedstorm.
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