Purple Heart (12)

Felix Rain listened readily to his retainers’ blunt words, then swept every demand aside with phrases that at first glance made him seem timid.

With lines that sounded like laments—“it’s difficult,” “that puts me in a bind,” “it troubles me,” “it’s hard”—he gently pushed back the nasty requests.

The authority of a great noble’s head.

An arrogant, autocratic bearing.

A smirking exterior with a veiled, blatant slyness beneath.

He had none of these; yet, after talking with Felix, the retainers always found themselves retreating before his soft feints.

The well-mannered, diligent, obedient young lord handled his men with a kindly face.

In a sense, he was the very model of a fine noble.

“We take our leave.”

In a short span, Felix had handed out a great deal of work.

At his words of dismissal, no one added a word; they exchanged looks in small clusters and filed out.

Everyone had much to do.

“My lord.”

“I’m not truly lord yet. Only after swearing fealty to His Majesty and being recognized as marquess will I be the true head.”

At the butler’s call, Felix spoke with a sigh.

Every time he faced his vassals, he pondered people.

Those who were capable and knew how to work were negative toward him or his family; if something seemed even slightly a threat to them, they tried to cut it out.

Those who always agreed with the lord and spoke pleasant words had no interest in real affairs, or dumped tasks on their aides.

With no need to grapple with problems or solutions, they seemed to live without worry.

It was hard to get anything done among such folk.

Day by day, cynicism piled up.

He felt the day would come when he would blurt out something harsh.

-What is your problem? Why are you so mad?

-Stop the clumsy flattery and work. Stop the nonsense. Wipe off that empty grin and work.

Felix barely swallowed the words that had almost risen to his tongue just now.

Tomorrow, and the day after, he would have to stifle the same feelings.

His shoulders were turning to stone.

“The small council?”

Felix splashed water on his face and sighed again.

Shaking off the stifling talk with his vassals, he stood.

“The two of them are already in your study. I’ll bring refreshments.”

Said the butler, opening the door.

“Have they eaten?”

“Likely not. It’s still early.”

“Set lunch in the room next to the study.”

Which meant: he would not dine with those who grated on him, nettled him, or whom he did not wish to see.

Felix sighed once more.

“Yes, my lord.”

Entering the study to the butler’s words, Felix drew an easy breath.

Faces that sought out work on their own, worked well, communicated well—and simply made him feel better when he spoke with them—turned toward him.

“Felix.”

“Let’s eat together.”

Amid the suffocating stretch of days, this was his one time to rest.

“Gladly.”

“Let’s.”

Alicia and Harry nodded in unison.

“What’s the matter?”

Last night, Alicia had asked the butler to call a small council.

“I have a request, Felix.”

“A request?”

“My lord marquess. Grant me full authority to investigate Father’s accident.”

Alicia never took her eyes off Felix as she spoke.

The matter that grinding routine had left him no time to think on had been raised by the one person certain to find both cause and remedy.

“I grant it.”

Felix answered with a face full of trust.

While at House Rain in Rain, Alicia lodged in the South Annex.

Once home, she often spent time in the Maze Garden’s glasshouse in the men’s wing.

The conservatory, walled and roofed entirely in glass, had a black structural frame.

The black ribs were adorned with luxurious vine patterns, and from the ceiling down, everything admitted sunlight, making the glass garden both grand and bright.

Even in winter the warm glasshouse was full of blossoms.

It was beautiful by day with sun pouring in, and at night the lanterns lit within and without lent it an air of mystery.

Toward evening, as the sun began to set, Alicia took tea in the Maze Garden’s conservatory and dismissed her attendants.

Daisy and the others assumed she often visited the glasshouse—a birthday gift from the head of house—because she missed her father.

So they left her alone without comment.

Knock, knock.

A plump, pale hand tapped the glass wall.

“Come in.”

Though early summer had begun, northern evenings were chilly.

But not so chilly as to require a thick cloak.

Alicia stared at Judith as she took off a plush brown mantle.

“It’s cold here at night.”

Judith folded the cloak over her knees and savored the warmth of the glasshouse.

It was not only beautiful but cozy.

“Tea?”

Alicia watched Judith’s neat movements—far from how a woman raised in the far reaches of Tessen might act.

“Thank you.”

Judith moved to the table where Alicia sat and thanked her.

Seeking warmth, her fluttering hands rubbed together.

“Here.”

As Alicia handed over a cup, Judith took a heavy pouch from her cloak.

“Please look.”

She drew out two sets of reins.

One was the very set Alicia had given her.

Alicia had begun investigating the accident even before asking the new marquess for full authority.

In truth, it was not just Alicia.

On the day of the accident, House Rain had taken every measure.

Valdemar Rain, who died from a fall, had been neither a fine rider nor a knight; nor was he particularly athletic.

But as a noble, he had learned to ride from youth and could keep pace with those who went hunting each season.

It was thus unlikely that the accident happened because of his horsemanship.

The day of the accident had been clear, with no rain.

The day before had been fair, so the ground was neither soft nor rutted.

The hunt had not taken place deep in the woods where sight was poor and the ground’s changes hard to read.

The accident occurred near open grassland.

As soon as the Marquess fell, the knights brought him straight back to the manor.

The chief knight in attendance seized everyone with access to the stables and ordered an inquiry.

Every item the Marquess had used was set aside for investigation.

All knights and attendants who had guarded him that day were put under house arrest.

They were confined to private rooms at the family’s country house.

After issuing all these orders and reporting everything to the butler, the chief knight confined himself.

The Marquess’s close guards were men Valdemar had personally chosen.

He knew himself better suited to the desk than the hunt, and harbored a faint inferiority about it.

Since his days as young marquess, he could hardly fail to notice: he could not bring down a deer or even a duck, while his attendants filled the game bags.

Because those men stayed ever at his side, he ruthlessly excluded anyone who might, even subtly, needle him or call out his shortcomings.

Yet he did not choose inferior knights—he never made that poor choice.

Accordingly, Valdemar Rain’s attendants were even-tempered men who did not attack others’ weak points.

Their skill was such as to merit a place among House Rain’s knights.

Even the one most often scolded for being impudent was not a problem case.

On days when the Marquess failed utterly at the hunt, this attendant would press his own game on him and insist, “My lord, this is yours,” and so coax a rare smile from near-expressionless Valdemar Rain.

Alicia knew her father chose his men strictly.

Thus she rated the chance of an internal enemy low.

But “low” was not “none,” so she did not lift the house’s measures.

The knights and attendants present at the time remained confined.

At the moment the accident occurred, the Marquess had been riding.

As the horse climbed a low rise, it suddenly stamped its forelegs and thrashed.

Unable to withstand the violent lurch, the Marquess fell from the bucking horse—onto his left side.

When he fell, the horse twisted and lost its balance, mince-stepping so that it was hard to approach; the rescue was delayed a moment.

But only for a very short moment.

The Marquess’s mount was ordinarily gentle and good with people.

It had been fine until just before the mishap.

His knights did their utmost.

Stablehands who came and went amid constant bustle could not swear to everything, but they were confident the Marquess’s tack could not have been at fault.

Because it was the Marquess’s gear, every item was carefully checked and maintained whenever it entered or left the stables.

Indeed, nothing wrong could be found in the bridle, saddle, stirrups, reins, or breastcollar.

Nor in the clothes he wore or the ornaments on his person.

Everything was in order.

Which was the problem.

If it were a simple accident, there should be a cause.

At Rain, the Marquess’s spring hunt was yearly.

To say there was no reason—that it was mere misfortune—was unbelievable.

The elders’ council proposed destroying the ill-omened horse that had led to his death.

While alive after the fall, the Marquess had already said he had fallen through his own incompetence and forbade taking it out on the horse.

Thus Felix protected his father’s mount according to his wishes.

Without telling the elders or the family, Alicia rode her father’s horse up the same rise.

Nothing happened.

The horse caused no trouble and passed swiftly over the low hill where the accident had happened.

Judith received and reviewed the chronology and all the items House Rain had examined.

She scrutinized the circumstances after Alicia’s ride as well.

She had gathered every document and article she could, checked all she could check, and now her face looked a shade hollow.

What she offered after finishing was a set of reins with not a single stitch out of place.

“There’s nothing wrong.”

If it involved the horse, the house had checked it hundreds of times.

Judith set down her cup and gestured first to the Marquess’s reins, then to the other set.

Even on a second look, the reins were immaculate.

If there was a difference, it was that the Marquess’s reins looked sturdier and made of better leather than the comparison set.

“The scent.”

Judith pointed to the reins the Marquess had used.

“Scent?”

“Yes, a scent. These reins give off a fragrance. It has been ten days since the accident, yet if I leave them in a room and step out, the room holds a fairly strong smell afterward.”

Horses, those great beasts, gave off all kinds of odors.

Where a horse passed, the stench of droppings could be fierce.

Even with well-kept stables, strong smells were inevitable.

But the fragrance from the reins spread gently through the conservatory.

In the stable, or outdoors where stronger smells lay everywhere, this scent would have been hard to notice.

“Scent…”

“When you rode over the site, my lady, you’d fitted fresh tack, you said. So I inspected the items put on the horse at the time of the accident. I left them in a room for a while and stepped out—when I returned, the air was full of fragrance.”