Visit.

“Is that really such a universal solution?”

Gus heaved a sigh and simply caught the nape of Volmo’s neck in one hand, plunking him down onto the saddle behind him.

When Volmo reflexively threw his arms around the man’s back, Gus’s face twisted with disgust.

“Well, I hate you too.”

《What?》

《He said “thank you.”》

《I know enough southern tongue to say “thank you” myself.》

《This is what you say when you really mean thank you. Something like an idiom.》

After that brief exchange, silence settled over the horse. Volmo sat there awkwardly, glaring at the pearl-colored cloak in front of his face, and the castle lord, who had been so looking forward to this outing with his wife, rode on in silence, glowering at something far out across the plains.

It was hard to see this as the cherished day-out of a couple who had barely managed to carve the time for it.

《Um, sh— I mean, what if I asked Lady Aspara to switch places with me.》

Volmo said. Not that he was saying it for the castle lord’s sake. The whole situation was unbearably awkward, and besides, the lord’s enormous backside took up the entire saddle by itself; having their backs and chests pressed flush against each other was infuriating.

《No.》

Volmo’s cautious proposal was rejected in an instant.

With irritation and revulsion mingled on his face, Volmo looked up at the great man in front of him. The man’s gaze and thoughts were aimed off somewhere far, far away.

“Ah.”

Volmo followed the castle lord’s gaze, and at last understood the real reason for this awkward seating arrangement.

Gus was watching a horse run across the snowfield. More precisely, Aspara, who was riding it magnificently.

As though she’d momentarily forgotten this was a day out with her sweetheart, she was already off in the distance, galloping freely with a delighted look on her face. Clop-clop, clop-clop. The curls characteristic of southerners whipped about, mingling with the horse’s mane.

《….》

“…No knack for this at all.”

《What?》

《He said you ought to catch up with her quickly. That you should be riding side by side.》

《…The first part was a joke. There’s no need for me to stand up on the saddle.》

“I never had any such plan anyway.”

《It’s not that — you ought to at least be going where you can see each other’s faces, shouldn’t you.》

A man with no knack and a woman with no eye for it. There’s no finer pair to be found anywhere, Volmo thought.

The castle lord, without answering, spurred the horse faster. Each time the pearl cloak slung over one shoulder fluttered against the sunlight, the pink of the fabric struck against the blue of the snowfield and gave off a faint lavender glow. Volmo, watching it in a daze, was reminded —

Purple cloth….

〈

Seven days ago. The incinerator. He had discovered something he could not believe.

Just as Star had said, a pouch with a purple stain lay hidden amongst the heap of ashes. But the scrap of half-burned cloth that came out from inside that pouch was truly astonishing.

A perfect purple.

The soot-covered scrap of rag, charred and left behind in the fire, bore a flawless purple hue. Far finer and more vivid than some floor-stain or shell dye.

Frozen and thawed and frozen again, then scorched by fire — that a weed could produce such a color from that alone!

The moment he found the cloth, Volmo was so stunned that, without saying a word to anyone, he tucked it away into the deepest fold of his breast.

It was beautiful. Deeper and more beautiful even than the true royal banner he had once, just once in his life, laid eyes on. How much would a cloth like this fetch if sold? A single scrap of this ragged thing, tucked away in his breast, looked enough to buy a fine horse.

To think such a thing could be made from a wild weed — if word of this ever got out….

Volmo shoved the clutched scrap of cloth deeper still into his breast.

It would be ruin.

〉

《Interpreter.》

《Uh… yes?》

The castle lord’s low voice, ringing up through the saddle, snapped Volmo back to himself.

《There is one… favor I would like to ask.》

《A favor.》

Evidently unused to asking favors, the man in the pearl cloak kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as he went on.

《When we return to the castle… would you teach me the language?》

《The southern tongue?》

《Yes.》

He braced himself for some difficult request, and this was all it was? thought Volmo.

《Why not learn from Jack inste— ah, yes. I’ll do it.》

Gus neither turned his head nor met his eyes, but in return he muttered, in a small and halting pronunciation, “Well, I hate you too,” in the southern tongue.

The interpreter, who had been frowning, promptly remembered the lie he himself had spouted and smoothed out his expression.

“You’re welcome.”

《What?》

《In the southern tongue, it means “you’re welcome.”》

《…Have you been speaking to me in plain southern tongue all this while?》

《N— no?》

Gus gave him a slightly suspicious look for a moment, then turned his head away and muttered awkwardly, “Yooure welcohm.” Looking at the man’s slightly reddened earlobes, Volmo realized for the first time that the King of Barbarians had a more youthful face than he had imagined. It had been hard to tell, what with the variously weathered skin and the sheer bulk of him. But his features, now that he looked again, still carried the air of a young man.

《Ah, there it is…》

At the end of that trivial exchange, a village came into view beyond the horizon.

《Is that the one?》

《Mm. Tell the madam that that is the site of the inspection.》

The romantic snowfield stroll between husband and wife had never quite come together before they reached their destination.

A small village with perhaps thirty households and some fifty mountain goats. Hide awnings stretched out to keep snow from piling on the roofs shivered in the wind, humming low.

By the time the two men arrived at the village’s entrance, Aspara, who had reached it ahead of them, was already dismounting.

“Oh dear, do tell him I’m sorry for galloping on ahead like that all by myself. It’s just, getting to ride so freely like this was the first time for me, and I got so excited….”

“No need to worry. The King of Barbarians had a fine time of it the whole way, watching Lady Aspara’s back side.”

“…Is that so?”

“…Less perverted and more romantic than what you’re picturing, I promise.”

“Mm-hm.”

Volmo ignored the castle lord’s inquiry of what are you two talking about and busied himself with straightening the horse’s saddle.

The surface-level pretext for today’s outing was an “unannounced inspection.” It was one of the customs peculiar to the sparsely-settled northern kingdom; its stated purpose was to confirm that none of the villages had been invaded without anyone’s knowledge, that no epidemics were spreading, and so on.

But this was an exceedingly small village with nothing much of note, a place where spending the better part of a day sightseeing would be more than enough.

Or so it should have been.

“There are a good many prior guests.”

“Pardon?”

“Footprints.”

Aspara pointed at the ground of the village entrance. Sure enough, not particularly old hoofprints were scattered in various directions across the snowy path. Five horses’ worth — no, a good six or seven, at the least.

“Perhaps they belong to a villager. Around these parts, people ride a horse even for the nearest of errands.”

“Horseshoes.”

“Pardon?”

“Relay that to the castle lord.”

Only as he relayed it to the castle lord did Volmo realize. The prints on the snowy path were the hooves of shod horses. In the north, where horses ran only across wet earth and snow, there were but two kinds that wore shoes.

Warhorses that needed to head south, or —

《Outsiders.》

Come to think of it, it was strange that no one was at the village entrance either.

The castle lord nodded, then gestured for Aspara to fall back two paces and follow behind him.

Seems our eyes are meeting each other even less today than usual.

Resolving that if there were any invaders he would break their limbs, the castle lord walked slowly into the village. After passing two or three households, the sounds of human presence reached them.

《Shh.》

Gus motioned for the others not to follow and went ahead alone to scout. But Aspara, pretending not to have understood his words, took a step forward anyway.

Just now….

It had felt as though she’d heard a familiar voice.

To pin down the source of the sound, the woman rose onto the balls of her feet. Her view couldn’t reach past Gus’s shoulder, but between his side and his arm she caught a glimpse of the village plaza.

The owner of the voice standing there was —

“Flower…?”

Her ex-husband. A man whose face was as familiar to her as his voice.

《The puker…!》

《Why on earth would you call a person that.》

《He’s the husband of the madam’s friend who came by a little while back.》

《That bastard!》

“Why is he here?”

Aspara nudged Volmo as if to ask him to relay the words, whispering.

“What to do. Shall we go elsewhere? The last encounter with that one wasn’t particularly pleasant.”

《For me it was very pleasant indeed.》

The one in the middle relaying both sides’ words asked what had happened, but the castle lord merely shrugged and carried on with what he had to say.

《There’s no reason for me to step aside on my own land.》

Knowing him to be right, Aspara simply nodded.

“Even so, to come all this way — the northern border really is unforgivably lax.”

“Yes, laxer than the inner pocket of a nouveau riche.”

“Yikes!”

Aspara gave a startled flutter and jumped a little in place. Because the voice that, only a moment ago, had been speaking from over there had come from right beside her.

Flower. The smooth-faced southern man had, before she’d noticed, already sidled right up to her and was smiling.

But that was not the only reason Aspara had been so startled.

In fact, Flower’s line cut off into an inarticulate mumble after “a nouveau riche’s inner pock—” because the castle lord, as startled as his wife, had reflexively kicked the man away.

《Yikes.》

Only after the southern man had rolled twice across the ground and come fully to rest did Gus speak. In a very blunt, very measured voice.