7
Fierceness personified—that was Priscilla’s first impression of High Countess Serena Delacroix. She was an incredibly tall woman, her slim arms and legs obviously toned. And yet it didn’t look unrefined; she still had a feminine shapeliness, which alleviated any impression that she was simply a woman who had given herself to soldiering.
One might even characterize her as a beautiful but wild beast.
Waves of rusty-red hair cascaded down her back, and she wore not a dress, but a cloak like a captain of a merchant vessel might have. Some said she didn’t look much like a noble—but only behind her back, because in the Volakian Empire, the powerful and the capable could comport themselves however they wished.
Who, then, could possibly criticize any action of Serena Delacroix, who was sometimes even known as the Scorching Lady?
“It’s been too long, Count Pendleton. Have you been well?” Serena said as she smiled—but it was impossible not to notice the old scar that ran down the left side of her otherwise impeccable face. It was a sword wound, large and white, given to her by her father when she had taken the reins of the family for herself. Her nickname, the Scorching Lady, had come about because at the conclusion of that family power struggle, she supposedly burned her father alive.
“Serena! I’m grateful to say I have. And you seem in good health. That’s wonderful.” Jorah’s simpering smile contrasted sharply with Serena’s easy, confident greeting. Priscilla was used to her “beloved” husband’s meekness by now; it was just how he always was and not a sign that he was intimidated by Serena’s rank.
A count and a high countess, a man and a woman, one of them forceful and the other weak—the two of them seemed different in every possible way, and more than twenty years of age separated them, yet they seemed to be friends.
Still, confronted with a fifty-something-year-old man and his twelve-year-old spouse, even Serena couldn’t help being a bit surprised. “You must be the new wife I’ve heard so much about,” she said, allowing her gaze to settle on Priscilla. “I’d been told you were quite young, and I wondered if maybe that was why he’d been single for so long…” While her husband doubled over, Priscilla stood beside him looking entirely in her element. “But I’m reminded that rumors can’t always be trusted. I see Miles and Balleroy gave me an accurate report.”
“Hoh, they reported on me, did they? And what fine phrases did they use to flatter me?”
“They said you possess a gravitas beyond your years, as I recall. And if I recall correctly, you were ‘sassy,’ and they wished they could ‘teach you some manners.’”
“Hoh…”
Priscilla had taken the liberty of speaking to Serena without so much as properly introducing herself, but the high countess seemed willing to shrug it off. Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes and looked at the two men standing behind Serena—Balleroy and Miles, the high countess’s sometime messengers. Miles ducked away from her glare, but Balleroy grinned stupidly and waved at her.
“I suppose it goes without saying which of them is the senior,” Priscilla remarked.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Miles may not look like much, but he’s very perceptive. Both of them are important pawns to me. I’m sorry to say you can’t have them, even if you have taken a liking to them.”
“Nor do I need them. The only ones who may stand by myself are those who excel me in beauty, or at least some clown entertaining enough not to bore me. Frankly, even my husband doesn’t meet either of those standards.”
“Wha?! Wh-what do I have to do with any of this?” Jorah exclaimed, his voice even thinner than usual.
“Oh, stop sniveling.” Priscilla sniffed, linking her thin arm with his.
At the moment, Priscilla and Jorah had left the mansion where they had grown accustomed to living as husband and wife in order to accept the invitation of High Countess Serena Delacroix. It brought them far into the western reaches of the empire. Namely, to the sword-slave island of Ginonhive, where there was to be a great celebration marking the accession of the new emperor.
“Strictly speaking, there’s no necessary connection between the Rite of Imperial Selection and the sword-slave island,” Priscilla said. “It’s simply a convenient excuse for them to draw a large crowd.”
“Sharp tongue you have, young mistress. You don’t like these sorts of shows?” Serena asked.
“Hmm? They’re fine. I’m simply saying it has no specific relevance as a demonstration of loyalty to the emperor. But I’m not so narrow-minded that I would censure the common people for losing themselves in such entertainments. Besides…”
“Yes?”
“…watching others fight for their lives, and evaluating their performance, is something I particularly enjoy.” Priscilla produced a folding fan from her dress, using it to cover her mouth as she spoke.
Serena’s eyes widened slightly. “Ha,” she laughed. “I like her! A fine catch you’ve made, Count Pendleton! I think I could really talk with this young lady. It’s only a shame she’s too young to share a drink of wine.”
“Please, you’ll make my head hurt… And, Priscilla, you mustn’t speak so frivolously…”
“Fool. Of course I’m acquainted with the taste of wine. Who do you take me for?”
Jorah almost choked. “Priscilla?!” But Serena only looked more and more amused.
The high countess smiled, distorting the white scar on her face. “Oops. As much fun as this conversation could prove to be, I think we had best get moving while we enjoy it.”
“It will be a pleasure, I’m sure,” Priscilla said. “Now, as I recall, Ginonhive is accessible by a drawbridge, yes? I suppose it will be quite crowded in light of the festivities.”
“Don’t worry. As your host, I’ll certainly see to it that you don’t get bored,” Serena said. Jorah cocked his head in confusion, but Serena snapped her fingers, and at the signal, Miles and Balleroy jumped into action.
“ ” Each of them put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, summoning…
“My goodness!”
“Ah, sky dragons.”
Jorah stared in amazement; Priscilla merely fixed her eyes upon the shapes that came floating down out of the heavens. Two sky dragons, flaring their wings and kicking up a gale as they landed.
If they had merely been a couple of sky dragons, they would have been no different from what Priscilla and Jorah had seen Miles and Balleroy ride off on recently. What warranted surprise was that these pulled a ship behind them.
The so-called sky-dragon ships, secured to the creatures by chains, were an unusual sight even in the Empire of Volakia, where sky-dragon tamers existed.
“I doubt even you have much experience with something like this. I know it’s a little late, but please consider this my wedding present to you,” Serena said, grinning proudly as the ship floated in the air behind her.
Jorah was struck speechless by her boldness, but Priscilla smirked; it was indeed a fitting nuptial gift. “Very good,” she said. “Well chosen. I think I like you, High Countess Delacroix.”
“—” For a second, Serena didn’t say anything to the fearless Priscilla but only scratched her cheek in some embarrassment. Then she could be heard to mutter, “Yes, Count Pendleton… A very fine catch indeed.”
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