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“And just as you were supposed to be entertaining guests, this happens. I see my little sister remains as indefatigable as ever.” The visitor indicated the awful scene in the dining room and flashed a smile that was equal parts amusement and sadism.
The one who was smiling was a young man with black hair. His almond-shaped eyes were both beautiful and seemed to shine with intelligence, as if he could peer into the dark heart of this world. He was only about twenty years old, but his bearing had not the slightest whiff of callow youth about it. In his slim build, he possessed all that was required to make others bow before him as a ruler.
The young man’s name was Vincent Abelks—a member of the royal family of the Holy Volakian Empire, and half brother on his father’s side to Prisca Benedict. He and about ten of his servants had come to call on Prisca at her mansion. They had been greeted by Prisca, who had killed all her own servants except Arakiya less than an hour before. Vincent’s first reaction upon hearing the news was words of exasperation.
It was hardly the sort of thing anyone would ordinarily say to a little sister whose life had been in danger just moments before, but Prisca simply replied, “Indefatigable, indeed. When there are too many flies flitting around, you brush them away, crush them, or burn them. I only did what anyone would do. No one can nor should criticize me for it. And besides…”
“And besides, what makes me so conceited as to think I have the right—is that it?”
“And besides, my elder brother is no exception.” Prisca appeared unruffled that Vincent had guessed what she was going to say. Vincent, meanwhile, winked at his little sister as he recrossed his long legs and looked at the girl beside her.
She was expressionless, emotionless, and—if put quite bluntly—not very well disciplined, considering the way she stood there like a stick. Given how particular Prisca was about her accessories, this one seemed oddly ill-maintained. Nonetheless, Vincent placed great stock in his little sister’s judgment; she did nothing without reason. The green fire that had consumed the assassins proved that the girl beside her had some worth.
“Very well. I don’t intend to pry, but have you any idea where the killers originated from this time?”
“None. Sloppy as their methods were, someone took great care to ensure that the source of this spark would not be found. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t believe I can follow the trail any further. Why, Brother—do you have any ideas?”
As his question turned back on him, Vincent offered a cruel smile in response. “Sadly, I can only say that there’s any number of reasons why either of us might be targeted by assassins.”
Prisca wasn’t disappointed by his answer; she hadn’t held out much hope in the first place. She simply replied, “Of course.”
They were in the parlor of Prisca’s mansion, one room that hadn’t sustained any damage. Prisca had chosen this place to receive her brother and his entourage, leaving the dining room in its disheveled state. Vincent hadn’t so much as flinched upon learning that a substantial number of people had just died in his sister’s home; he, like Prisca, was more than used to this sort of thing. They had each been the target of such attempts on their lives since their youngest days. Among her many stepsiblings, Prisca judged that only Vincent could be as bold as she when it came to these happenings. That said, Vincent wasn’t particularly interested to know that a sister seven years younger than him thought highly of him. In any case…
“As for the mansion, let me handle things. If I lost a little sister who’d survived so much for some silly, asinine reason, it would be…a lonely thing.”
“Lonely! Very admirable, I’m sure. But I admit, I’m willing to be grateful to receive the largesse of a beloved older brother’s fondness.”
“You know how some little girls are lovable? You’re not.”
“And here I felt beloved was the greatest expression of affection that I could muster.” Prisca held up a cup of black tea that she’d steeped herself—her one gesture in the direction of genuine hospitality—and lied as easily as she breathed.
Vincent sneered a bit, knowing perfectly well that the claim of love went no further than Prisca’s lips; he took the proffered cup of tea, sipped, and let out a breath.
Brother and sister were here doing what they always did: baiting each other and probing at the same time. Despite what seemed on the surface like a rather prickly exchange, Prisca and Vincent were actually quite fond of each other. Indeed, the very fact that Vincent took a sip of the tea without hesitation was, in its own way, proof of that.
The quiet moment was interrupted by a shouting voice: “Excellency! Your Excellency! I’ve completed a quick patrol of the area.” The parlor door burst open to reveal a distinctly diminutive but unmistakably self-possessed young man. Slim of build and about the same age as Prisca and Arakiya, his blue hair was tied behind his head. His features were notably androgynous; indeed, he was so pretty that he could almost be mistaken for a young woman, but his behavior and body language was distinctly boyish, making it difficult for anyone to confuse him for a girl.
The boy bounded toward them, finally resting against the backrest of the sofa where Vincent had taken a seat. Then he leaned over Vincent’s shoulder and said, “Goodness gracious, Excellency, you do know how to run people into the ground. And for a job that’s so boring. It’s a boring job! It’s not that I mind being worked like a dog, but don’t you think I could be better used doing other things?”
“If so, jabbering is not one of them. An animal does not lecture his master. You don’t merely work like a dog; you are my dog, and I think you’d best remember it.”
“But every dog is supposed to have his day, right, Excellency? Likewise, everyone has a place to best display their performance—a stage! I must stand upon a stage that suits me, a place packed full of what makes me me! Life is too short.”
Vincent sighed at the young man, who seemed to have a comeback for every remark.
As for the young man, he pursed his lips, but when he noticed Prisca right in front of him, he exclaimed, “Oh! Well, look at this lovely young lady. What beautiful eyes you have. Seeing myself reflected in those rubies, I can’t help thinking I look rather manly—wouldn’t you say?”
“Keeping your jester at your side is your prerogative, Brother, but I can’t abide his yammering. It’s not to my taste.” Prisca leaned her arm on an armrest and rested her chin on her hand.
“Jester? Is there one here…?” Her comments seemed to be lost on the young man, who immediately began scanning the room. “Jester, jester, jester—I don’t see any. Wait—perhaps you meant to say puppy? There’s certainly one of those dozing right by your side.”
“Puppy? Me?” Arakiya tilted her head and pointed at herself, apparently feeling ambushed by the change of topic.
“Of course—do you see any other? Your floppy ears are adorable, little puppy. But don’t you think you’re a mite…exposed? Even for one who likes to draw some attention? You’re going to attract the wrong type of person going around dressed like that.”
“Exposed… Too exposed… Puppy…” Arakiya looked at Prisca for her cue on how to deal with the boy and his oh-so-quick banter.
Prisca, immediately understanding, tugged on her chin. “Brother.”
“Hmm?”
“I suggest you find yourself a new clown.”
No sooner had she spoken than Arakiya disappeared. In less than the space of an eyeblink, she was on the ceiling of the parlor. She kicked off, flinging herself down at the heads of Vincent and the young man.
“Arf, arf,” she said. Her outstretched hand began to glow blue, a flame forming to consume the boy.
“My my, how short-tempered. But I must say I don’t disapprove of your reaction. Indeed, I like it very much.” The boy had his sword in his hand—when had he drawn it?—and with it, he met Arakiya’s palm, completely deflecting the surprise attack.
He wielded a unique weapon called a katana, which was found in Kararagi, the capital city of the great nation to the west. He wielded it nimbly, expertly avoiding Arakiya’s killing blow. What’s more, he’d drawn a second sword that he now held up to Arakiya’s neck.
“ ”
So much as a twitch of the boy’s blade, and Arakiya’s head would be on the floor; the young man’s sword skill was honed and clean. The fact that his spirit as a warrior hadn’t been perceptible before, hidden like a blade in a sheath, was a clear indication of his ability.
“I found him on a battlefield,” Vincent said. “Scavenging abandoned weapons.”
“Just couldn’t seem to find what I wanted. I’d hoped to make my name fighting, then buy a nice sword with the money I earned, but His Excellency took a shine to me.” The young man took his blade away from Arakiya’s neck with a deft move and sheathed both his swords in a pair of scabbards at his hip. “Oh, feel free to come at me again. Shall we see if I can dodge you without physically stopping the attack this time? It might make me look even more amazing than I already do, and— Eeeyowowow!”
“Enough. Don’t let it go to your head. I don’t intend to make an enemy of Prisca. Not yet.” Vincent pulled forcefully on the young man’s ear before he had a chance to get even more carried away. Then he dragged the young man forward by his ear, saying, “Introduce yourself. It couldn’t hurt if she remembers you.”
“Most pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. My name is Cecils Segmund, confidant of Master Vincent Abelks here, destined to one day make my name known as the strongest in the empire—as the shining star of this very world!”
“ ” At this exceedingly assured self-introduction, Prisca’s eyes widened slightly for the first time. Then she parted her pink lips, and said, “Ha! Listen, you smug braggart. The worst thing about you is that there isn’t one solitary lie in all you’ve said!”
“Well, I don’t suppose there’s any special reason for me to lie. Ahem, Mistress…Prisca, was it? Your puppy is no slouch, either. Even if she isn’t a match for me.”
“This man… I hate him,” said Arakiya, drawn in by the guffawing Cecils. She puffed out her cheeks indignantly, but Prisca beckoned her over; Arakiya came and rested against her knees as Prisca patted her head.
Still stroking Arakiya’s head, Prisca said, “So, Brother, you won’t ‘yet’ make an enemy of me?”
“Ah, my sharp-eared sister. Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”
“I know that you, like me, use your words precisely. It’s obvious enough why you would deliberately say something like that. You’re referring to…”
“You always were a quick one, Sister.” Vincent let his face relax into a smile that could almost have passed for pleasant.
Arakiya and Cecils, neither quite sure what the siblings were talking about, could only watch in befuddlement. Unlike the retiring Arakiya, however, Cecils showed no hesitation in asking, “Referring to what? The both of you seem to know what that means—does it have something to do with today’s visit?”
In answer to Cecils’s question, Vincent stood. “So you’ve figured it out…or I suppose, in your case, merely guessed. Yes, of course it bears upon this visit. You know we do not have the liberty to simply drop in on each other for a friendly chat.” Taller than the younger women in the room, Vincent gazed down at his little sister. Her crimson eyes met his black ones.
“It will begin?” she asked.
“Yes, it shall. The Rite of Imperial Selection. Prisca, you must make preparations to go to the capital city.” Vincent stopped for a moment, but then resumed speaking. He said, “Our father… The emperor, honor be upon his name, is going to die.”
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