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To Sell.
[25.]
《Sell… the throne?》
《In the south, they say it’s a common enough thing.》
《Heh….》
The castle lord’s reaction to the news was much the same as Volmo’s had been.
For anyone but a southerner, it was the natural reaction. Selling royal authority for money: to his way of thinking, it was well outside common sense.
《….》
Volmo studied the castle lord cautiously. He had assumed, as ever, that the man would say something like “If that is my wife’s will….”
《Erm — how, exactly….》
《…my wife agreed to such a transaction?》
《Ah, yes. Agreed — or rather, she herself proposed it.》
《Hmm.》
Volmo was taken aback at the expression on the man’s face, one he had never seen before. What kind of expression was it? Anger? Hurt? Sorrow? He could not quite say, but it was an emotion he had never seen on Gus’s face before.
《Castle lord —》
《…and the people, then.》
Gus spoke with his eyes fixed on some far-off place.
《Yes?》
《Was she not concerned for the people of her own land?》
《The people, my lord…?》
《My wife’s homeland. Her subjects. The subjects who, for all anyone knows, may now be ruled by some worm who has bought the throne with money.》
《Ah….》
Volmo hesitated, fumbling, and answered as if speaking in her defense. It was information he himself had only just been given by the two from the south.
《Well — in the south, royalty isn’t so much the responsible heads who do the actual work, but a sort of symbolic existence that lives off the taxes, you see….》
《…did my wife say so herself?》
《Yes — no — well, what she said directly….》
《…Ah. I see.》
He spoke as though composing his emotions, his gaze fixed downward. His voice was steeped through and through with an unfamiliar feeling.
《Whatever she chooses to do with what is in her hand… I have no right to meddle.》
He strode firmly off down the opposite end of the corridor.
《Ah, um — about the proceeds from the sale, she said she would deposit them in the northern national treasury….》
《I see.》
The castle lord did not turn back.
Thud, thud — stop. The man’s footsteps, after a few more strides, came to a sudden halt.
《And in that case….》
《Yes, yes!》
《And in that case, what becomes of the… the certificate I received from her before?》
《The certificate? Ah….》
The certificate his wife had given him as a gift on the festival day, the envelope holding the royal succession rights. The gift Aspara had offered to signify that she would remain here for the rest of her life.
But that document had now lost all meaning. She had received new succession rights of higher rank.
《Erm….》
《So that is of no use now.》
《I suppose… one could put it that way….》
Volmo answered cautiously.
《…I see. If she should ever wish it back, do tell her she may take it.》
《Yes, yes.》
The man set off again, his footsteps heavy.
By the time he had dwindled into a tiny speck in the distance, Volmo realized something.
‘Ah — I see now.’
That unfamiliar emotion on the castle lord’s face moments before.
It had not been the face of anger, nor the face of hurt, nor the face of sorrow.
It had been an expression of disappointment: disappointment in his own wife.
Gus walked slowly, but with great strides.
His destination was his own empty room. He left a slammed door behind him and made straight for the wooden cabinet in the corner.
The little cabinet was made of pine and copper joinery, lacquered to a careful sheen, its color fine and handsome. But rust had begun to eat at the joints, and every opening and closing produced an unpleasant noise.
‘I really must wipe down the rust one of these days….’
The castle lord only thought it inwardly; he did not give any precise consideration to when he would tend to the chore. He simply reached into the cabinet and drew out a heavy glass bottle.
A brown bottle filled with amber liquid. He poured it, gurgling, into a wooden cup. The smells of earth, fruit, and a sharp, biting spice prickled his nose.
[Squeak.]
《Tut.》
When had it come there? Atop the cabinet, a plump, well-fed silk-furred rat sat with its head held high. The pet rat that wandered the castle as it pleased and was doted on by all.
《Squeaky.》
[Squeak.]
《This is too strong for the likes of you.》
The castle lord whispered. It was a murmur closer to an exhaled breath.
He stretched out his pinky finger and stroked the silk-furred rat’s soft fur.
[Squeek.]
《I told you no.》
[Skrrk.]
《A stubborn little fellow, aren’t you. All right then —》
The man dabbed a touch of the amber liquid onto his fingertip and brought it to the small furred creature’s mouth.
But Squeaky never did get to taste it.
Knock, knock —
At the sudden rap at the door, the little fellow had darted away.
《Damn it all.》
Gus muttered a small curse, then called out, a little louder.
《Come in.》
《Pardon the intrusion.》
The one who quietly opened the door and poked his head in was his old friend, Ugli.
《Have you been drinking?》
《No.》
《I am not chiding you.》
《…the rat drank it.》
Ugli asked no further question, only nodded.
《I came to speak with you about the tunnel matter. I’ve run the numbers, and it seems we may begin construction at once. The new income that has just come in — ah, has the matter of Lady Aspara’s sale of the throne been conveyed to you?》
《Just now.》
The castle lord said this as he flung the amber liquor still pooled at the bottom of his wooden cup out the window.
His old friend caught a faint sense of something amiss.
《If something… if you object to the sale, I shall convey your wishes even now.》
《It is not that. Only — that on my own account…》
Gus paused as though searching for the right word, then continued.
《— I am a little disappointed, that is all.》
Disappointed. In Aspara. Ugli stopped a moment and turned the meaning over carefully.
When it concerned his wife, the man was the sort to brush things off with “If that is my lady’s will, then….” or “Just as well.”
The reason that the castle lord, of all men, should be disappointed in this affair was easy enough to guess. He likely thought Aspara had cast her own people aside.
To the northerners, among whom money-mindedness had scarcely taken root, this was the natural reaction. To sell the throne for money. To leave the fates of her subjects in the hands of some fellow who played at money like a game.
It was no wonder that Gus, with his powerful sense of responsibility as a leader, should feel disappointed.
After a long silence, Ugli opened his mouth carefully.
《…You are a man of great fortune, my lord.》
《What?》
He stepped to the castle lord’s side and leaned against the wall.
《Where in this world is there a more fervent declaration of love than the one Lady Aspara has just made?》
The castle lord glared at him as though to say let us see what nonsense you talk now.
《From of old, love is a game in which the one who depends wins.》
《A game, you say.》
《Do you know why the people in the novels are forever caught in stories of choosing between friends and lovers, between revolution and love?》
《…go on.》
《Because to forsake another thing for the sake of one’s lover is the truest expression of love.》
His brow furrowed slightly, but with an interested look on his face, Gus inclined his head.
《Romance, by its very nature, is a transaction of dependence — a small power struggle in which whoever leans more on the other forfeits the upper hand. To remain on the same soil as her partner, she has cast aside her homeland, her authority! She has not abandoned her people — she has gifted the upper hand to you.》
《….》
《Jack — if the one I was seeing gave me a thing like that, I would weep my eyes out for joy.》
《…so, am I to weep, then?》
《I am only saying that what Lady Aspara has done is no less than a quite tremendous declaration of love.》
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Ugli pondered whether his words had once again overstepped the mark, then shook his head from side to side. Telling himself that he had said only kind things of the castle lord and his lady alike.
Truth be told, he had wanted to go further still and say the most ultimate expression of love is to make of yourself the only place your partner can lean upon — but he had held his tongue.
《…Ugli.》
After a long silence, Gus at last spoke.
《You have a thoroughly underhanded way of saying you like it when others lean on you.》
The fox-faced man flinched a little.
《…No, it is not that I particularly like it. I was only stating a fact.》
《Is that why you’ve always picked nothing but pretty fools to court?》
《I shall not deny it.》
Gus laughed quietly.
《You are a fine warrior. But there is no need to see all the world as a war.》
《Well — the point of it is to look on the bright side.》
The King of Barbarians, having heard him out, let out a small sigh.
《You are a precious friend to me. But sometimes you are rather hard to follow.》
《The same to you.》
《I know that, in your own way, you are trying to console me. I am grateful for it.》
He let the corner of his mouth lift, just slightly.
《But the thing about this situation that has me…》
He paused, as though the word itself were uncomfortable to speak.
《…disappointed is not that.》
《Then what?》
《That she would give up the throne and turn the proceeds over to our coffers — somehow, that is just a little…》
Gus hesitated, then went on.
《Does it not seem that my wife thinks of me as her first priority.》
《….》
《….》
《Pardon?》
《Hm?》
《What on earth do you mean.》
《Is it not so. Of all things — to choose, over her homeland and her royal house, to be at my side. That is just a little…》
《That is what’s disappointing?》
《I should think so.》
Ugli looked at his old friend with the expression of someone gazing upon an alien.
《…You are disappointed because she puts you first?》
《My wife ought to be a greater person than that.》
He spoke with a humble look on his face.
《Excuse me — we are still speaking of your wife, are we not? You have not, without my noticing, taken to worshipping some cult god somewhere?》
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