The news that today’s grand council had been postponed left the elders struggling to conceal their bewilderment.
Had they heard wrong?
“What did you just say?”
“What do you mean, leave?”
“Good heavens. I’ve lived long enough to hear that the Young Lord has… taken paternity leave.”
The general reaction among the elders was one of disbelief.
“As if the rest of us don’t have children,” Marquess Crender muttered sourly.
Then, raising his voice so everyone could hear, he added pointedly:
“I’ve been told he collapsed during an ability training session. Doesn’t that suggest there may be a problem with his heir’s aptitude?”
The elders exchanged careful glances and said nothing.
The reason for their silence was clear — the issue Marquess Crender had raised was directly tied to Ian Charlotte, and none of them wished to step into that particular minefield.
“Might it be that the Young Lord’s reason for taking leave has something to do with Lady Riersha?” Marquess Crender pressed, his tone dripping with insinuation.
Surely not.
Every eye in the room turned to Rosinante.
Rosinante’s gaze sharpened to something cold.
The most dangerous spy — the Empress’s mole — had been successfully rooted out, yet lesser pests continued to scurry about in the shadows.
“You would do well to mind your words, Marquess Crender,” Rosinante said, his voice crisp and precise.
Marquess Crender gave an indifferent shrug.
“Perhaps it is Marquess Crender who should be taking leave.”
“…What on earth are you implying?”
“I heard your second son failed the main estate examination.”
Rosinante smiled pleasantly. Marquess Crender’s face flushed crimson.
It was hardly a secret that Ivel Crender — once considered the most promising heir of the Crender marquessate — was now living like a broken man, a shadow of what he had been. In desperation, the Marquess had attempted to groom his second son as a replacement, but to no avail.
“Ahem.”
“…Hem.”
The other elders suddenly found their gazes wandering elsewhere, feigning deafness with practiced ease.
Marquess Crender buried his face in his hands, burning with shame.
Those useless fools are now making me look like a fool as well!
He ground his teeth.
“Then I shall see you all at the next grand council.”
Rosinante left the chamber. One by one, the elders followed until the room was empty.
“The Young Lord would never take leave over something as trivial as one sick child…”
Marquess Crender was the last to remain, eyes gleaming as he muttered to himself.
Come to think of it, Ivel had mentioned something once — that Riersha seemed unable to properly control her magical ability.
And hadn’t her ability training instructor been assigned far later than would ordinarily be expected?
“There’s no doubt about it. Something has gone wrong with that child.”
His voice was filled with absolute certainty.
⁂
Riersha chewed diligently, her cheeks puffed out as she worked through another mouthful.
Her round little jaw moved with steady determination.
Munch, munch.
…There’s so much of it.
The food on her plate showed no sign of diminishing no matter how hard she tried.
Riersha swallowed, then reached for her water glass, her red eyes drifting restlessly about the table.
In truth, her gaze had been unable to settle in one place for quite some time now.
Because…
Quietly.
She had just set her fork down when —
“Surely you haven’t finished already.”
She startled.
Her small hand tightened around the child-sized fork.
“So this is why your growth has been so slow.”
Riersha felt a little aggrieved. She had already finished an entire steak, after all.
But the people of the Arachrene ducal house were the sort who casually worked through two or three servings as a matter of course, which meant that without intending to, she had branded herself a light eater.
“Claiming to be full after barely one piece the size of a fist.”
“It was not a fist.”
Riersha extended her small, rounded fist in quiet protest, holding it out for inspection.
Pernoa stared at the little knuckles presented before him, one eyebrow twitching as if asking what exactly she thought she was doing.
“It’s not the same size as my fist!”
She was vigorously making the case that the steak she had eaten was considerably larger than her own fist when the door opened.
Rosinante, who had gone to the grand council chamber to deliver word of Pernoa’s leave, had returned.
“Was it handled without issue?”
Pernoa asked the question while still holding Riersha’s fist aloft.
“Yes, though some among them seemed displeased.”
“Displeased?”
Rosinante glanced at Riersha’s small fist and blinked.
The tiny clenched hand had begun to twitch, little by little, as though trying to communicate that it would very much like to be released now — and yet Pernoa continued to hold it in place without any indication of letting go.
The corner of Rosinante’s mouth twitched upward, then settled back down.
“Yes. Marquess Crender raised the question of whether something might be wrong with Lady Riersha. A fair number of the elders seemed inclined to entertain the idea as well.”
Riersha’s eyes went wide at the mention of her own name.
She pricked up her ears and waited for what Rosinante would say next.
“Of the ten elders, at least four appeared to be wavering.”
Four. A full four.
Riersha’s expression turned grave.
Pernoa, by contrast, responded with breezy composure.
“Good. That’s exactly what I was counting on.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Rosinante’s expression was openly puzzled.
So was Riersha’s.
He looked, she thought, very much like a man who had been waiting for precisely this kind of controversy to arise.
“Time to clean house, once and for all.”
Clean house of what?
While Riersha still hadn’t the faintest idea what he meant, Rosinante nodded in immediate understanding.
“Ah. I see what you mean. Indeed. We have been far too lenient for far too long.”
“To make that work, we’ll need our daughter’s active cooperation.”
Both men turned to look at Riersha at the exact same moment.
Caught in the crossfire of two simultaneous stares and entirely in the dark, Riersha tilted her head and cautiously pointed at herself.
“…Me?”
“Given how well you deceived Ian Charlotte, I’m not terribly worried.”
“True. Compared to Ian Charlotte, the elders will bite at even the flimsiest of bait.”
Wait.
If she had understood correctly — and she believed she had — it meant that her role was absolutely critical in delivering a decisive blow to the elders who had long been thorns in the family’s side.
They’re saying I have to be the one to do something that important?
Riersha opened her mouth, struck dumb as if by a bolt from a clear sky. Meanwhile, Pernoa said, with the thoroughly satisfied air of a man whose plans were coming together nicely:
“All the better. It seems I’ll need to extend my leave a little longer.”
⁂
“…So you’re saying you have to act as though there’s something wrong with your ability?”
“Mm-hm. Zat’s wight.”
Riersha nodded, and Isierd murmured, “Hmm. I see.”
“Is it alright to be telling me this?”
“Not really.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
Isierd asked, bewildered. Riersha smiled brightly.
“Cuz I was s’posed to come to your place but I couldn’t keep my pwomise. I wanted to let you know there was a weason.”
At Riersha’s explanation, Isierd, who had been resting his chin in his hand, raised his eyes.
“…You could have just ignored it.”
“Cuz Isierd won’t tell anyone.”
“You trust me?”
“Mm-hm.”
Riersha answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then she popped into her mouth one of the snacks she had brought to share, and chewed contentedly.
Isierd studied her — this girl who hadn’t a single drop of doubt in her — and his expression became strangely unreadable.
“Why do you trust so easily?”
“Cuz Isierd has holy power too. Gwandpa got all better cuz of dat.”
“…”
“Thank you, Isierd.”
She meant every word. Riersha had felt the guilt of not having expressed her gratitude properly the last time, and so now she lowered her head with her whole heart in it.
Isierd watched her for a long moment, then wrinkled his nose.
“You know you’re really weird, right?”
“Huh? What’s weird about me?”
“Everything. Just… everything. …So what are you going to do now?”
“Hmm, you wanna know?”
Riersha beckoned him closer with a little wave of her hand.
Isierd hesitated, then leaned in.
Ordinarily he would not have played along with theatrics like this, but it seemed his curiosity had gotten the better of him.
“So what’s gonna happen is…”
Pernoa was waiting — waiting for the elders to demand a demonstration of Riersha’s abilities.
For that to happen, he needed her cooperation.
And fortunately, the method required was quite simple.
She wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.
Just as things stood now, Pernoa would continue to extend his leave, and Riersha would…
Pop.
Riersha made a point of spearing a chocolate-dipped strawberry with her fork and placing it deliberately in her mouth.
Isierd blinked slowly.
“I don’t hafta do anyfing. I just eat and play and west.”
There was one condition — for the time being, she had to stay within the bounds of the heir’s residential wing.
The simplicity of it left Isierd looking faintly scandalized.
“That’s it?”
“Mm-hm.”
But the effect, she was certain, would be spectacular.
Because that alone would be enough to turn the elders’ suspicions into conviction.
