Return.

She wasn’t the superstitious type, but the whole thing had left her feeling unsettled, so she tucked the small, folded letter away at the very bottom of her desk drawer.

This man — I have a feeling he’ll reach out again, one of these days.

The premonition settled into Aspara’s lungs along with a sigh.

Having finished his conversation with Jack, Ugli was in the middle of reporting back to the castle lord.

It was new and valuable information about the frostbloom herb.

“They made something like this out of that flower.”

“Yes. After being frozen and thawed over and over again.”

Ugli nodded and held out a small bundle wrapped in rags.

“My lady’s knight was apparently the one who discovered it.”

“Not the madam herself.”

Gus raised one eyebrow high, as though surprised.

“Well, new discoveries are generally made by people who are a little odd.”

“Is that so…”

Gus listened to his attendant’s account with genuine interest.

The kingdom of the north was built on the principle of merit above all else. No matter how much Gus disliked Jack, a faint trace of acknowledgment, even admiration, had crept into his voice.

“I ought to head down to the incinerator and cancel the previous order.”

“Already told Jack to do it.”

“Mm.”

The castle lord rifled through his drawer, pretending to tidy his workspace.

“So…”

Pointlessly lifting and setting back down a stack of papers that had already been sorted, Gus cleared his throat, ahem, ahem, and brought up the subject as if it had only just occurred to him.

“That — the thing the madam is preparing in secret…”

“I never said any such thing.”

“Th— ah, right. Right.”

Even as he affected nonchalance, his fingers kept fussing with the objects on his desk, restless and uneasy.

When the next waning moon rose, it would bring the Festival of the God of Love. A day called the holiday of lovers.

Originally, the castle lord had been planning to let the day pass quietly. His argument: for a princess imprisoned in the borderlands under the pretext of marriage, a celebration honoring the god of love and fate could only be unpleasant, even resentful. How could it be otherwise?

But then, when Ugli had blurted out that flustered excuse, Gus had begun to think. For his wife to be preparing some kind of surprise at a time like this — could it really be…

This unexpected piece of news pleased him enormously.

No, but — why in the world would my wife do something like that for me?

No, but still — even she must have some small thought of trying to make things work.

No, but — is it really all right for me to enjoy this?

No, but still — if she’s going to the trouble of preparing something, then as a man, the proper response would be…

No…

“For the time being, regarding the textile matter, I’ll summon the weavers from near the castle.”

Ugli’s businesslike voice cut in, shattering Gus’s reverie.

“See that you do.”

The attendant Ugli gave a small bow and slipped out of the room.

This unfamiliar version of his master, delighted one moment, dejected the next, then delighted again all within a single morning, left him feeling unsettled himself.

Meanwhile… I hope Jack’s holding up all right.

“He’s not holding up.”

“Why.”

Having left the castle lord’s room, Ugli had made a detour to the incinerator first.

What he found there was not a bundle of tough frostbloom herb but a thoroughly deflated Jack.

“See, I went there… to the incinerator, right?”

“Right.”

“And he was, like, working really hard. You can’t just interrupt someone who’s working hard and pile more tasks on them, right? So I figured I’d help him out for a bit first, then say what I came to say.”

“What did you help him with.”

“Putting grass into the incinerator…”

“And once you finished doing that, what were you going to say.”

“Not to put grass into the incinerator…”

The incinerator was already blazing away like a fire salamander’s tongue. The signature sharp, menthol-like scent of frostbloom herb lingered faintly in the air.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not something you should feel that guilty about.”

“Right!”

“I mean, you should feel a little guilty.”

“Right…”

Ugli sighed to himself.

Well, can’t be helped.

“Luckily, this land only has two seasons, so if we wait a little while we’ll be able to get more. There’s still some left in Lady Aspara’s room, isn’t there?”

“Yeah!”

“For now, we’ll just have to work with what we’ve got and push the research forward.”

Jack nodded, cringing like a dog caught in the rain.

When he’s inconveniencing me, he’s shameless as anything, but the minute he inconveniences My Lady, he looks ready to burst into tears.

“I really am sorry…”

Ugli realized it then.

This fellow isn’t apologizing to me standing right in front of him — he’s apologizing because he feels bad for My Lady.

“It’s fine.”

With a warm smile, he plopped down on the bare ground beside the crouching Jack. He didn’t mind the ash dust coating his trousers.

“It’s not your fault. Since we’re already here, let’s think up an excuse together.”

“Can’t I just be honest and say I burned it all up?”

“No, not that. Earlier, to dodge the castle lord’s temper, I hinted at something.”

“Hinted at what?”

“That My Lady was secretly preparing some kind of surprise event in honor of the Festival of the God of Love, when the next waning moon rises.”

Jack’s ears pricked up. The sound of something interesting brought the color back to his face at once.

“You guys celebrate that kind of thing too, huh — I had no idea.”

“Originally he wasn’t even going to mention it to My Lady — just let it pass quietly.”

“Why? It sounds fun. What do you guys eat that day? We bake fruit pudding.”

Ugli gave a bitter smile.

That Gus, overcome with predawn guilt, had nearly cancelled the holiday across the entire country, and had only just been talked down, was a secret.

“Anyhow, look… tell her something like it’d be a good idea to prepare a gift. A trinket, a piece of embroidery — that kind of thing will do fine. If all else fails, tie a ribbon in her hair and say ‘the gift is me’ — he’d probably be thrilled with that too.”

“Right. What would be good, though…”

“Just not a finger.”

“What?”

Jack asked several times what on earth he meant, but Ugli only answered, “Right? A finger really is a weird one, isn’t it?”

Jack returned to Aspara’s room and delivered the news that the frostbloom herb had been burned.

“I apologize. I don’t feel that guilty about it, but I am feeling an appropriate level of guilt.”

“Hm? Oh, all right.”

Aspara wore a regretful expression for a moment, but then, as always, she took it in stride: “Flowers grow back once the year turns, don’t they.”

“Also — apparently the waning-moon day coming up is a festival in the north.”

“A festival?”

“Yes, it’s the Festival of the God of Fate, they said.”

Jack relayed what he had heard from Ugli as best he could remember.

“So I ought to prepare a gift for my husband too, I suppose.”

“They said that would be a good idea.”

Aspara knit her brows.

If anyone knew her situation best, it was those people, so why the pressure? Perhaps, not unreasonably, she thought, they resented her for beginning to take control of the purse strings.

“I’m not sure I can find anything fit to offer up to a king.”

Aspara folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

She’d come into a small bit of spending money lately, but in a place where trade barely functioned, a gift worthy of presenting to the king was, given her situation, a burden on multiple fronts.

“For starters, they said not a finger.”

“A finger?”

“Yes. They said: no fingers as gifts.”

“I wasn’t going to…”

A gift. Something that barbarian king would like.

“You love romance novels, don’t you. Think — what would be cheap?”

“Tying a ribbon in your hair and saying ‘the gift is me’—”

“Are you out of your mind.”

“Hmm…”

Hmm, hmmm. The sound of two people grinding their gears in thought rose up in duet.

“If you were a king, my lady, what would you want?”

Aspara carefully considered this and that.

After about four blinks’ worth of deliberation, she finally answered.

“The head of the enemy state’s leader?”

“That’s lacking in romance.”

“There’s no romance between me and that man, anyhow.”

“Even so, there are social appearances to keep up.”

Unable to argue back against her knight, who for once was saying something perfectly reasonable, Aspara pulled a slight face.

“Ah, right.”

She reached out and opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pulling out a stack of books.

When she opened the one on the very bottom, a crumpled red sheet of paper rustled out from between the pages.

“What’s that?”

“Distasteful as he is, there’s one man I know who loves romance and all that nonsense above all else, isn’t there.”

What Aspara had pulled out was the red letter from Flower, the one she’d stashed away earlier.

Though it had been torn in two and crumpled, the vivid scarlet paper was unmistakable even on second glance; one look confirmed it was that infamous letter.

“However angry you were, ma’am — you really did do a number on it.”

“Look at this.”

Aspara showed him the message that had been hidden between the two sheets of colored paper.

A pattern of lily blossoms drawn in thin, graceful lines.

Jack peered at it with a frown, then suddenly cried out:

“Gaahh, careful! That’s a charm to bind you together with the person you love!”

“How old are you, believing in something like that.”

“But still…”

“That very intent and will is itself the magic of it,” Jack grumbled under his breath.

“So — are you planning on giving him something like this? A prayer?”

“No, that’s not it — Flower was, in fairness, pretty competent at giving gifts. I watched him do it often enough from the side, so I figure I could just more or less follow his lead.”

“I don’t recall you receiving many gifts from him, though.”

“I saw plenty. Every time Miss Seven got something, she came to show it off.”

Aspara sat thinking for a while, then picked up pen and paper.

“Let’s see — just writing down what I can remember right now…”

Slowly at first, then quickly, she set down the words one after another on the page.

Bouquet, dress, Gangster, necklace, piano, shoes, baby kitten…

“How unremarkable.”