Sarg answered without any particular feeling.
“Done or not, stop talking and listen to me for a moment. I said I resigned — but it was more dismissal than resignation.”
“Either it was a resignation or it was a dismissal — what do you mean, sort of somewhere in between?”
Hyderlin, with the arm not occupied with the baby free, dragged the window chair over and set it directly in front of Sarg. She dropped into it and leaned in close, one eyebrow arched.
“Sir Sarg. What exactly happened?”
Sarg’s brow furrowed.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Stop acting like her. You’re not even her double anymore — do you have to behave exactly like Hyderlin?”
A fair point — she had been far too much herself just now. Even someone who had avoided conversation with the Countess Biche could be expected to find this irritating. Hyderlin clicked her tongue inwardly and shrugged.
“I can’t help it. I’ve spent my whole life imitating the Countess Biche. So you’ll just have to bear with it.”
The shamelessness of the answer deepened the furrow in Sarg’s brow. He avoided Hyderlin’s gaze entirely, angling his face toward the window instead. Hyderlin followed his line of sight to the distant shape of the grave, and let it go with a shrug.
“So. What do you mean, sort of dismissed?”
“Exactly that. I left before I could be thrown out.”
“Did you do something? Cause some kind of incident?”
Sarg didn’t answer directly. Instead, he said something else entirely.
“Regardless, I have no intention of returning. And even if I did want to, the order would hardly welcome me back. I no longer have the power or influence I once had.”
Sarg exhaled briefly.
“So I’m not sure I’m in a position to offer the ‘help’ you’re asking for. Is the offer still on the table?”
Hyderlin looked at the tired face across from her.
A man who slept in a house next to a graveyard and practically lived in a tavern. Eyes clouded over and breath reeking of spirits. By any measure, a drunk scraping along the absolute bottom of his life.
Truthfully, Sarg wasn’t strictly necessary for killing the king. Hyderlin had been hovering around him out of curiosity — she wanted to know how a man who had been like a blade that couldn’t rust had ended up looking like this.
And she still didn’t know.
“Good thing you left the order, actually — unemployed means available. Here.”
Hyderlin took the bundle she’d been carrying and placed it in Sarg’s arms.
Sarg took it and found himself looking at the soft round face of a baby visible between the folds of cloth. The child was still sleeping soundly. He said, with a note of genuine surprise:
“This — was a baby?”
He had been holding it like a piece of luggage. Hyderlin ignored the murmur.
“That’s the favor. Watch the baby for me. Don’t worry about the cost — I’ll pay separately, on top of whatever else I promised you.”
“You’re asking me to babysit? That’s your big favor?”
Sarg sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe it. Hyderlin responded with magnificent nerve.
“‘Just babysit’ — do you have any idea how important childcare is?”
“If you know how important it is, why are you handing a baby to a man you barely know?”
“I know your name, your address, and your history. That seems like plenty. And from the way you’re holding her, I’d say you’ve done this before.”
“A person of sound mind does not leave a child with a drunkard.”
“Then take this opportunity to quit drinking. You reek. And get a shave and a haircut while you’re at it — why are you hiding a perfectly good face?”
Hyderlin made a sweeping gesture at the general vicinity of her own face and then pointed at his.
The man was a genuinely wretched sight. His jaw and cheeks were buried in stubble, and his smoke-grey hair had grown out wildly in every direction. That this was the same person who had once been the dashing Sarg Gloriosa was almost impossible to believe.
Sarg’s irritation flared.
“What business is it of yours how I look?”
“Babies should only be exposed to good things.”
“If you need a presentable babysitter, hire a wet nurse. If that’s not feasible, find an orphanage.”
Sarg held the baby out toward Hyderlin. Hyderlin crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head slowly.
“That won’t do. I can’t leave Her Royal Highness with just anyone.”
“Her Royal Highness?”
Sarg paused and looked down at the baby.
“Chesa and Margarite’s daughter?”
“Don’t go casually using those names — actually, never mind. Yes, that’s right. The daughter of His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen. Far too precious to be left with just anyone, which is why I’m leaving her with you.”
“So you’re a kidnapper.”
Hyderlin felt genuinely wronged by the accusation.
“I am not! Her Majesty entrusted the child to me personally!”
“Why would Margarite entrust her own daughter to you? Explain it. And don’t try to talk your way around it.”
Hyderlin thought quickly. She decided to mix the truth with a little fiction.
“First — the fact that His Majesty and Her Majesty are not exactly a picture of marital harmony is something you’d know better than anyone.”
The counter came before she’d even finished.
“That was true four years ago. Not anymore. They’re completely besotted with each other now.”
“What — really? That can’t be right. You must be mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken in the least. I watched the whole thing unfold firsthand.”
Hyderlin had been thrown by something directly contradicting everything she thought she knew.
“Chesa and Her Majesty grew close? How?”
“Hyderlin’s execution was the turning point. Shortly after she was put to death, Margarite seemed to find her footing again. When Chesa told her he had executed Hyderlin…” Sarg said it with a dry, cutting edge, “Margarite was apparently deeply moved. Which makes a certain kind of sense — cutting off your own right arm for love does tend to move people.”
He spoke with pronounced cynicism, his gaze fixed on the grave outside the window. His silver lashes — fine and translucent — trembled like moth wings.
“…After that, the two of them grew rapidly closer. They had children. Margarite’s health wasn’t strong, so the first and the second died young.”
Hyderlin could not make sense of it. Everything he was saying contradicted what she knew.
“And a few months ago, the third was born safely.”
Sarg continued.
“Princess Beronis is the child the royal couple managed to bring into the world on their third attempt, and the king’s only heir. She ought to be raised in the palace surrounded by nothing but the finest things, cherished beyond reason.”
Sarg gave a short, contemptuous laugh.
“And you’re telling me Margarite handed this princess to Hyderlin’s double? That’s absurd. Don’t try that on me.”
It was a strange contradiction — he had believed the lie that she was the Countess’s double, but wouldn’t believe the truth that the queen had entrusted her child to Hyderlin. Hyderlin found it baffling.
But she also couldn’t say it was unreasonable. She wouldn’t have believed it in his position, either.
“What if Her Majesty had a reason to give her child to the Countess Biche’s double?”
“There couldn’t possibly be one, but go ahead.”
The sheer condescension of it raised Hyderlin’s hackles — but she was the one who needed something here, so she kept her voice even and went on.
“Let’s look at the past. You know as well as anyone — Chesa is a man who had his own loyal knight, his own sister, framed and beheaded.”
She suddenly had the overwhelming urge to breathe a long and weary sigh. Revisiting the memory of being discarded for reasons she’d never understood sent her mood plummeting. She kept her tone breezy, with effort.
“A man who killed his elder sister without much reason might kill his own child without much reason either, don’t you think?”
Sarg’s lips parted as though about to say something, then closed. He crossed his arms and studied her.
“Fine. I don’t fully accept it, but let’s say that much is granted. Even so — why would Margarite, with all the options available to her, choose to leave her child specifically with you? What exactly is she trusting you with? Can you explain that too?”
Hyderlin was curious about this herself. But she thought she had a sense of the answer.
“She didn’t choose me over all her other options. She chose me because she had no other options.”
If Margarite had anyone trustworthy around her, she would have asked that person for help and protected her child through them.
Instead, she had fled the palace. She had wandered near a grave in the pouring rain, and had spent twelve years of her own life to bring Hyderlin back from the dead.
“If you had been at Her Majesty’s side, she would certainly have entrusted the princess to you.”
If Chesa had the Royal Guard’s Hyderlin, Margarite had the holy knight Sarg. Sarg, chosen by the saint, had been the saint’s closest companion, guard, and subject. Her most trusted anchor.
“But right now, you’re not at the saint’s side. You’re buried in a slum.”
Hyderlin’s expression became grave.
“Sarg. Why did you leave Her Majesty?”
