Their eyes met.
She hadn’t wanted this particular coincidence.
Or perhaps she had.
Her heart lurched in a way that felt like being caught doing something wrong, and at the same time a warmth rose in her—unbidden and irrational—simply because he had, for one moment, registered that she was there. Contradictory feelings flared and went out.
But Hyderlin smiled, as she always did.
Sarg’s brow drew slightly together, and then he turned back to face forward. As his gaze moved away, the smile faded from Hyderlin’s face and left only a cool stillness behind.
She considered leaving, but decided she would stay until the ceremony was over.
When the departure ceremony concluded, the Kroitze Order began their march. Sarg, who had been at the head of the line, said a few words to the knight-commander and then turned his horse and rode toward Hyderlin.
Sarg dismounted in one easy motion from his black horse and walked directly toward her. The cold winter wind had chapped his cheek and the tip of his ear to a faint red. Hyderlin watched him approach without a word.
Sarg spoke first.
“It’s been a while, Sir Biche.”
Hyderlin smiled—out of habit.
“It has. The last time I saw you was…”
The last time they had met was the day Chesa had proposed to Margarite. A brief, awkward silence followed. Hyderlin said:
“…Nearly half a year ago.”
“It is, isn’t it.”
“The next time I see your face will be a month from now.”
Probably longer.
“Travel safely.”
“You as well, Milady. Please, take care of your health.”
Hyderlin gave a single nod. When the hollow exchange came to its end, she turned to go. Sarg stopped her.
“Wait.”
“…Did you have something else to say?”
“It’s just…”
Sarg’s mouth closed. He seemed to be hesitating. Another awkward silence. Hyderlin waited with patience.
“If I may ask you for something.”
“If it’s something I’m able to grant.”
“Please speak to the King.”
Sarg said it with quiet gravity.
“He’ll listen to you, even when he won’t listen to others. You’re his sister. So please—go to him and say this: if he truly loves Mak, it is time to let her go. They may not be able to be lovers. But they could still be friends again. It isn’t too late.”
Hyderlin shook her head.
“It’s well past too late. You know what happened between His Majesty and the Saint—they fought terribly. The Saint is furious with His Majesty.”
She thought, with a bitter private edge:
And Chesa is absolutely livid in return.
Once the Captain of the Royal Guard and multiple archbishops had made an agreement of this nature, it was difficult for the Saint to simply undo it—not unlike how a noblewoman objecting couldn’t unravel a politically arranged marriage between noble houses.
In fact, Chesa had sent Hyderlin to look into exactly how the arrangement had unraveled. What she’d found was that Sarg had thrown his weight behind Margarite’s position—arguing that the marriage alliance between the royal family and the Order should be nullified, and backing the claim with a donation that exceeded what Hyderlin had originally contributed.
The money had come from Duke Gloriosa’s coffers. When Chesa learned this, his hatred for both Sarg and the Duke blazed hotter than ever.
“The King and the Saint returning to what they once were—that’s not possible.”
“It’s not entirely impossible. At least, Mak is…”
Sarg hesitated slightly. He seemed to be weighing whether he should say what was on his mind. Then he made his decision and said it firmly:
“Mak wants to go back to the way things were. If Chesa were to apologize sincerely—”
“Do not address His Majesty the King by name so carelessly. Sir Sarg Gloriosa.”
Sarg appeared not to hear her.
“—if he apologized sincerely, Mak would certainly accept it gladly.”
Hyderlin replied, with a trace of exasperation:
“I couldn’t say whether that’s Margarite’s own sentiment or your opinion, but let me make one thing clear—the King will not apologize. If anything, the King is the one owed an apology. The Order unilaterally broke a sworn agreement.”
“I’m uncertain what binding force an agreement had when it was made without Mak’s consent. The one who deserves an apology is the girl who was not shown sufficient respect by the King.”
As he always did—but particularly today—he spoke of Margarite with a warmth that was almost entirely unguarded.
“Don’t be naive. That’s simply the nature of political marriage.”
“Do you silence an individual’s voice by saying ‘that’s simply the nature of things’? Then everything that is ‘simply the nature of things’ appears to me to be a harm.”
“It’s a rather peculiar thing to say from someone in a profession that sacrifices the individual for the collective. You, Sir Sarg, who are about to ride to the front lines for the sake of Lotsa’s people.”
“I chose this path of my own will. Mak was pushed. You know this as well as I do—why do you pretend not to see the difference?”
Ah. He sees right through it. Hyderlin gave a sardonic inward laugh.
“Why don’t you just call me an idiot and be done with it?”
“If you’d permit it, I’d be glad to.”
The deadpan reply startled a laugh out of her before she could help it. The tension that had been building between them dissolved instantly.
“Would you really call me that, if I gave you permission? Being called an idiot by you might actually be quite entertaining.”
Sarg’s eyebrows lowered slightly. For just a moment, there was something that might have been a faint smile.
“Let us set aside this pointless exchange. I hope you’ll genuinely consider what I’ve asked of you.”
“Well. If the occasion presents itself, I’ll think about it.”
Hyderlin answered diplomatically. Deception and misdirection were her specialties.
The conversation was winding toward its conclusion, but Sarg didn’t leave. He lingered, as though something remained unsaid.
“Was there something else?”
Sarg’s mouth closed. More hesitation. When the words finally came, they were unexpected enough to catch her off guard.
“When the campaign is over—would you like to spar? It’s been a while.”
Hyderlin was, genuinely, surprised. A rare thing. Sarg added:
“At the Kroitze Cathedral’s knight’s hall. At our usual time. Like before.”
“Come to think of it, it has been a long time since we crossed blades.”
She murmured it almost to herself, and then caught herself and let out a small, ironic breath. She had nearly answered yes—swept away by a tide of nostalgia before she could think better of it.
“Listen… I’m the King’s knight and you’re the Saint’s Holy Knight. Don’t you think the situation between us is politically complicated?”
Sarg shook his head slightly.
“Before, you were the King’s knight and I was the Saint’s Holy Knight. I don’t recall our relationship being particularly complicated in those days.”
He was proposing a return to what things had been. He seemed to hope that Hyderlin would become a bridge for Chesa and Margarite to reconcile.
But Hyderlin would not do that. Because she knew it was useless.
Chesa had been shaped by the late King to become a ruler, had been made a king by Hyderlin, and had spent every day since living as one.
Kings did not apologize. Kings made others pay for insults received.
Therefore Chesa would not apologize. And having felt insulted, he would exact a price.
And Hyderlin—the King’s knight—would help her king.
By the time Sarg returned from the campaign and met Hyderlin again, in all likelihood, everything would already be different.
The King’s knight smiled, bitterly, and nodded.
“If your feelings are unchanged when you return to Nadirotsa—I have no reason to refuse.”
From the palace, which occupied the highest ground in the capital, the whole of Nadirotsa lay visible in every direction. The King stood at the window and looked toward the distant shape of the Kroitze Cathedral.
“The Order holds too great a position in Lotsa. This country’s sovereign is the King—and yet the people revere the Saint and her Holy Knights with something bordering on worship. That the Order, emboldened by them, has grown insufferably prideful is only natural. Their power needs to be brought down.”
Saint Margarite made her rounds through all of Lotsa every Sunday, healing the sick.
People had not forgotten that the Saint’s knight, Sarg, had led the investigation into the disappearance of the slum children and been instrumental in seeing the culprit punished.
The lowborn revered the Saint and her Holy Knight almost as they would gods.
That the Order, with the Saint and her knight at its banner, was riding high was inevitable. To the nobility, it was deeply irritating.
Up until now, Chesa had maintained a cordial relationship with the Order despite the nobility’s resentment—out of consideration for Margarite.
But circumstances had changed. The time had come to explore a different arrangement.
“Have you heard? About the Kroitze Cathedral burning to the ground?”
“Of course. They say it was entirely gutted in a single night.”
“Word has it that it was the work of Leone Collozzo’s remnants.”
After Leone Collozzo’s sudden death, there had been considerable upheaval.
Collozzo’s people had petitioned to have Leone’s funeral conducted at the cathedral, but the priests had refused to oversee the rites of a man who had spent his life in every variety of wickedness. This had led to a disturbance in which Leone’s remaining followers caused a scene at the cathedral—and the current arson was rumored to be an extension of that confrontation.
The Captain of the Royal Guard had taken the remnants of Collozzo’s gang into custody.
“I did not do this! You’re going to pin arson on an innocent man?”
They denied it. The Captain of the Royal Guard issued an order.
“Sir Skalts Petaora. Hang this one upside down.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Skalts carried out the order faithfully. The man confessed, at length, to various crimes he had actually committed. But he denied the arson to the very end.
“Then someone else did it. Give me a name.”
Several names were added to the list. The Captain of the Royal Guard had the names’ owners brought in and hung upside down as well. They gave her more names. She had those people brought in too, and—
“The harm that Leone Collozzo’s remnants have inflicted on Nadirotsa is enormous. A thorough purge is necessary. Don’t you think?”
Under the Captain’s direction, the decision was made to conduct a major cleaning of the slums. Gambling dens, taverns, illegal shops—all were swept and gutted.
A thorough purge.
