Kitten Blue Eyes (1)

“Gather every piece of evidence!”

“What are you doing—”

“Baron Miller and all members of his house will be sent to a religious tribunal. We are seizing every ‘Maeg’ adherent’s heart we found as evidence. There may be subversives among House Miller’s staff as well—bring them all as witnesses!”

At the words religious tribunal, everyone in House Miller went white. Baron Miller staggered and collapsed to his knees. Moments later, defiant shouts and panicked cries shook the elegant residence.

Within a single hour, the Miller family vanished from Rain. What had been their manor was torn apart as “proof” of heresy. Two days later, fearful of lingering taint, people even removed the rubble. Many whispered that House Miller had worshiped a heresy, but no one dared say so openly. As if nothing had ever been there—as if House Miller had never existed—it disappeared without a trace.

Felix was in the middle of lunch.

“What?”

By sheer luck he had nothing in his mouth as he reached for his tea. He avoided the indignity of choking while gaping.

“It has come to light that the entire Miller line are followers of the ‘Maeg’ heresy. They have been referred to a religious tribunal. The evidence is so clear that the culprits were already transported to the capital. The presiding Inquisitor deemed the case decisive and is dealing harshly with the accused and all connected. The building that used to be Baron Miller’s seat has been torn down by townsfolk—almost no trace remains.”

The knight delivering the report looked grave.

“Baron Miller, a heretic…”

At Felix’s muttered aside, the knight cut him a look that said: don’t.

“It’s bitterly ironic,” the knight said.

House Miller was famed for its piety.

“But how did this—”

Color still had not returned to Felix’s face.

“From what we learned, there appears to have been an internal informant.”

“A—an informant?”

“Yes. The details are uncertain, but more irony: there was a maid who lost her parents early and worked at the manor while placing her two younger siblings in an oratory. When the family met, the siblings sometimes spoke about heresy they’d heard of. The maid recognized a secretly hidden heretical sigil in the manor, alerted the oratory, and the oratory passed the tip along. The capital’s central tribunal then ordered the raid on House Miller. The rapid transport to the capital suggests the center sent people directly.”

The knight added his opinion: perhaps the maid had chosen her siblings’ future over loyalty to an employer.

“Has the capital’s tribunal sent any word to our house?”

Felix asked, finally forcing himself out of shock. He fought the urge to look out the window toward the south wing, where the conservatory stood, held his gaze in place, and faced the reporting knight.

“Nothing touching the Marquessate. However, with major incidents occurring in the north one after another, I fear the retainers may be agitated. Shall I convene the Elder Council?”

“No. Once a case is before a tribunal, we can only watch. Tell everyone to keep their heads.”

Keeping his face blank with effort, Felix waved the knight away. The door shut.

“…”

Sitting at the table, Felix’s head snapped toward the window. His expression looked as if he had seen a ghost. Alicia had said she’d sent a “gift” only the day before yesterday. Word had clearly spread; the manor hummed faintly. The three of them would have heard as well. But the Marquessess, Harry, and Alicia had all shown no reaction.

Of course they hadn’t. On the surface, Rain and House Miller’s tribunal were unrelated. The way Alicia acted—achieving ends without laying a direct hand, using others—was astonishing. To pull off something of this scale in a mere few days was beyond astonishing. The design, and the force to carry it through, left him reeling.

“Then why Miller first, not Brennel… Ah.”

Muttering, Felix reached a conclusion and nodded. He drained his water.

“Who’s behind them?”

He wondered who stood behind Brennel and Miller. Perhaps Alicia had struck Miller first to smoke out the hand in the shadows. Cautious Miller would keep his head down; Brennel, lacking such caution, would rush to his patron for help.

Alicia was, as ever, in the glasshouse.

“The Inquisitors really were quick. Their work was immaculate. Perhaps that’s devotion to duty.”

Expressionless, Alicia offered praise to the diligent Heretic Inquisitors. Judith thought the Inquisitors might cough blood if they heard her say that, but she still nodded. Awkward as it was, nothing Alicia said was wrong.

“What about Brennel?”

“They moved before dawn yesterday.”

As expected, Alicia did not flinch.

“Where did they go?”

She asked, already half certain of the answer.

“To the capital, Baden—Wing Street, Block 9.”

In Baden, even a shack on a patch of land fetched a king’s ransom. Wing Street was the very heart of the old city—the gold among gold. On Block 7 of Wing Street stood the chancellor’s House Manners. What most did not know was that House Manners controlled Blocks 6 through 11 outright.

“I should’ve slapped them so hard their heads cracked,”

Alicia murmured serenely, the words themselves vicious.

“I wasted effort.”

The Imperial Delegation took a full fifteen days to travel from the capital, Baden, to Rain. It was far—but pushed, the distance took three to four days, or six to seven at a leisurely pace. The delay came from court protocol: Imperial attendants did not begin preparations until after sunrise, and they began making camp as soon as the sun dipped. The Marquessate’s retainers fumed at that pace.

“Fifteen days from Baden to Rain? A worm could crawl faster!”

“Even if they are an Imperial Delegation, this is an insult to Rain!”

“Well now, slow or not, it’s not ours to blame. Everyone has a pace that suits them, does he not?”

The Elder Council saw no quiet day.

“The court holds Rain too cheap!”

“Their attitude is plain as day. Are they trying to break us to heel? We should give them a reception to match!”

Much was said about how to receive the delegation.

“If we don’t break their momentum this time, the crown will lead us by the nose forever.”

The pressure from vassals was soft-spoken and direct.

“I see. Here is my order.”

The young lord said with a sunny smile.

“Handle the reception of the Imperial Delegation as you see fit. However, I would like all our retainers to welcome them warmly. There’s no need for pointless trials of strength with the crown. If we mishandle the welcome and it turns into a real trial of strength, we wouldn’t last a day, now would we?”

Everyone stared blankly at the beaming lord. Painfully, not a word he had just said was wrong.

The Marquess’s residence opened its gates wide to receive the Grand Duke of Tessen and the Imperial Delegation. They rode all the way in to the fountain before the manor. At the front, Reichardt dismounted.

“We greet Your Highness the Grand Duke.”

The members of House Rain and their retainers were arrayed before the steps, bowing. Their sidelong looks were full of puzzlement. They had heard the Grand Duke of Tessen was called the Demon with an Axe. The only blot upon the beauty of the royal blood—lacking the angelic looks said to grace the royals.

“My thanks for Rain’s welcome.”

His hair—sunlight-shattered gilt—dazzled the eye. With faintly dark skin and golden eyes not of this world, he radiated an uncanny presence. Rising amid the murmuring crowd, Alicia froze.

“…”

She had not wished to join the welcome. Breaking her bargain with Reichardt would probably be the right thing. The future had changed. She had changed it. She could no longer be certain what lay ahead. Anything might happen. Continuing a political engagement with the Grand Duke on the basis of an uncertain foresight was wrong. And she herself had become wrong.

In Hell, Alicia had wrought unending destruction—slaughter, really. She had driven beings to death and had no room to hesitate; pause even a moment, and a death-like agony fell. Not dying made it worse.

Even as the future twisted into shocks she had not foreseen, Alicia had not hesitated. She had not curled up and done nothing. She had leapt into the changed field with both feet—for what lay ahead. She had laid traps that pushed others toward death.

Until now, she had only avoided danger. When an enemy was fated to fall, she had left it alone or stepped aside. She tried not to throw herself in harm’s way.

But things had changed. The intrigues, ploys, and murk of human power-struggle were not the same as cutting down hellspawn. Killing a monster that charged you was easier by far. When she planned snares that would drive a person to their death, her breath caught, step after step. Even reminding herself that failing to strike might get her killed, she felt like she was becoming the same kind of evil.

It was not the same as dodging, or nudging an event off course. Driving someone down a path to death was different.

She had to.

She decided to do it without regret. She was managing it well—and yet, at times, a hitch still caught in her. Only moments ago, she had not known how to face Reikareuteu. The future she carried had lost all worth. She was becoming a demon that plotted death. That bleak pressure had clenched her chest.

“Alicia,” he said.

The moment he touched the ground, Reichardt came straight to her. From the beat he dismounted, Alicia could tell: pain was crushing him. His face was calm, his motions unremarkable—but he was swallowing pain. The instant she saw his face—his gaze coming to her—her gloomy, tangled thoughts blew clean away. Alicia stepped toward him as if to throw herself into him—and did, into his arms.

“Your Highness.”

Reichardt accepted the sudden embrace without fuss. He read the way she looped her arms about his neck and pressed close for warmth.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

He said—offering apology before gratitude.

“How… did you get here…?”

Alicia asked.