Part 7
Liel fell silent for a moment at her father’s demand. If it had been a year ago—before he had entrusted Harmonia to her—he would have had no choice but to know. For him to ask whether Harmonia had gone missing when she herself hadn’t even known of its existence could mean only one thing.
“Are you saying Harmonia—which you never even handed to me—has gone missing?”
“Yes. Since you know of Harmonia, it was you, after all. I wanted to believe it wasn’t.”
“Father.”
“…If you used Harmonia, I believe you must have had sufficient reason. Liel.”
“What are you talking about? What is this ‘Harmonia’?”
“…Father, Mother.”
The Countess, who didn’t know what Harmonia was, perked up at the talk only those two seemed to share. Liel’s grip tightened on the hem of the Countess’s skirt. A long silence fell. Confessing the truth required no small amount of courage. Once her resolve was set, Liel drew a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them slowly and parted her lips.
“Father, Mother—please don’t be alarmed and listen. The truth is, I was falsely accused and put to death.”
Count Tigris had braced himself in his heart, yet the words his daughter spoke were so shocking that his mouth fell open. Doubting whether he had heard correctly, he asked again.
“Liel. What do you mean? That you died?”
“Just as I said, Father. I died under a false charge. Because of that, our House Tigris walked the path of annihilation.”
Liel continued calmly, matter-of-fact. She said she could have borne dying alone for a crime she hadn’t committed, but she had to stop the path that led to the destruction of the house.
“There was no other way but Harmonia.”
Finishing in that steady tone, Liel lifted her head and met her father’s gaze, drawing in a deep breath that made her chest ache with every inhale and exhale. On Count Tigris’s face, confusion and grief churned together like a raging storm.
“I’m sorry, Father. I know you didn’t give me Harmonia to use it for something like that.”
“Liel, what on earth are you saying—how could you have died?”
“Li…el. Why would you die? Why?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to squander our family’s treasure.”
I should have been more careful, more cool-headed. Liel’s voice sank as fresh sobs welled up. The sobs that swallowed the end of her words rose to her eyes and spilled down as tears. It was undeniably her fault—her mistake in wishing for a miracle from Harmonia without seeking other ways. In a sense, it had been no different from a gamble.
“Liel.”
The emotion she had barely reined in slipped its leash, floundered, and burst. Count Tigris rose and came to her, taking her by the shoulders. The fists on her knees were clenched so hard the nail marks were deeply dented.
“Enough tears. What if your barely mended health worsens again?”
“Hhk—hup… I—I couldn’t bring myself… to face you and Mother.”
“Liel. It’s all right. My daughter—it’s all right.”
“Because of me. Because of me.”
“It is not your fault. It’s that false charge you were forced to bear. It’s the fault of the one who framed you, never yours.”
“No. It’s because I trusted people too much.”
Turning the blame upon herself, Liel swallowed her tears. The tear-stains on her pale cheeks would not dry; they left marks. Only when her white sleeves were blotched with tears did her sobbing finally subside. Murmuring “poor thing” over and over, the Countess drew Liel into her arms and soothed her as she wept in great heaves.
“If such a thing happened, you should have told us sooner.”
“How… how could I have said it? It all happened because of me.”
“Are we parents whom you trust so little?”
“That’s… not it.”
“Must your father’s and my hearts be torn further before you’ll think to regret it?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Anyway—what is this ‘Harmonia’ supposed to be? Tell me,” the Countess said.
At the Countess’s question, Count Tigris wiped away the tears pooling in his dry eyes and began to explain: it was a treasure passed down in their house, imbued with magic to turn back time. The Countess’s eyes widened.
“Time magic, is it. True, even magicians find time magic difficult and troublesome to handle. To think such a precious magic was laid upon Harmonia.”
“Thanks to it, Liel returned alive. That’s what matters.”
“Father, I have no intention of repeating the same mistake.”
“Can you tell us who framed you?”
“…Even if I told you who it was, you would find it hard to believe.”
“But Liel, we’re talking about the one who tried to annihilate our house. I must know as well, so we can prepare.”
“…Dyina Fisher.”
The faces of the Count and Countess of Tigris went stark white. That someone with power enough to bring down a house would be a mere young lady. Fighting to steady his shock, the Count asked quietly:
“You mean the Marquess of Fisher’s house?”
“Yes.”
“No—that Dyina? How could that young lady possibly—?”
“I couldn’t learn the whole story in detail, either. But Dyina said it herself, so it must be true. Which is why, in this life, I intend to prevent things from ever coming to that.”
Drying her tears, Liel forced a smile and tried to grin bravely. The Countess curved her eyes in a crescent and wiped the last wetness from her daughter’s lashes, though worry still filled her gaze.
“That cunning hussy—this mother will certainly teach her a lesson.”
“Right now, there’s no telling how things will turn out.”
“Then we must at least be wary of the Fisher marquessate.”
“Yes, Father. This time, everything… will go well.”
Because I’ll smash it all with my own hands. Liel hid that last thought without voicing it. Count Tigris still found it hard to believe his tender, young daughter had gone through such things. How terrified she must have been—having experienced the destruction of her house and her own death. That thought tore at the heart of the father who cherished her.
After sending Liel back to her room, the Count and Countess looked at one another and wept. When they thought of such an unbelievable thing happening to their daughter, their hearts felt shattered to pieces. Swallowing her tears with difficulty, the Countess said to the Count:
“As Liel said, this time such a thing must not happen.”
“Of course.”
“With a face as angelic as that, to have done something so cruel—I cannot forgive it.”
“For now, it hasn’t happened; there is nothing we can do.”
“We must make sure it doesn’t repeat.”
At the Countess’s words, the Count nodded. He added, with weight, that what they could do now was to lend their strength to Liel. The Countess said she would see to Liel’s meals properly, then gathered up her full skirts and hurried out.
“Young lady!”
Jane, who had been waiting for Liel to finish her meal, rushed to support her when she emerged looking somewhat pale. Liel pushed away Jane’s arm, saying she was all right.
“Did… something happen?”
“No. It all went well.”
“Then why does your face look like that? You’re so pale.”
“I’m fine. Ah—I need to write a reply to Kyle’s letter.”
“It’s fine to send it after you’ve recovered a bit more. I saw you put the letter in your desk drawer before you fainted.”
“If I’m late, Kyle will worry.”
Just letting the name “Kyle” slip across her lips made something tickle in a corner of her chest. Perhaps because of the confession he’d dropped along with a bouquet on her birthday before she returned. A prickling heat seemed to rise in her face for no good reason. Looking back, she remembered exchanging letters with Kyle after returning to the capital.
Before I went south, he said he’d be traveling abroad, didn’t he—Schutan, was it?
Liel traced the threads of memory carefully. She felt a heavy guilt toward Kyle, too. Perhaps it was a blessing that she hadn’t answered his feelings. If she had accepted, misfortune would likely have spread to his family as well.
“Young lady, will you be attending the ball at the Nobillis ducal house, then?”
“Yes. I’ve spoken to my parents. There’s still some time left, anyway.”
“You said you had a place in mind, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. I can’t go now, feeling like this… Ah, Jane—what if you went ahead and had a look?”
“Shall I? If it’s famous, there might not be room to set foot.”
“It’s not that famous.”
Not yet. Liel recalled the location clearly—the dress shop that, though unnoticed now, had begun to rise rapidly thanks to Dyina’s patronage. Back in her room, she sketched a simple map of the alley where the shop was and showed it to Jane.
“Hmm. It’s in quite a secluded spot, isn’t it?”
“A true master doesn’t choose by location.”
“For you to say that, when you’ve never cared for dresses—it must be an astounding master indeed.”
At Jane’s comment as she scanned the map, Liel smiled faintly. In the past, such a remark wouldn’t have been wrong. She had lived shut away at home, doing nothing but magical research and reading. What a tediously dull life that had been.
“Then I’ll go and let them know you’ll be visiting soon.”
“Ah—Jane.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“When you get there, pick out a few dresses you think would suit me well. Then we can save time when I go next.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
After Jane stepped out for a while, leaving her alone, Liel went to her desk, sat, and opened the drawer. Inside were the paper she’d hastily stashed before going to eat, and beneath it, the letter.
“Kyle.”
Speaking the sender’s name, Liel ran her fingertip over the front of the envelope. The neat yet strong strokes of Kyle’s handwriting brushed her finger—and her chest prickled.
If it had been me, at the very least I would never have betrayed your heart.
Kyle’s low, warm voice flowed softly in her ear. Heat rose to her fingers gripping the letter. As her eyes traced the words, a light pink soot of feeling settled at their edges.
[I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you at your debutante, too. But this time, let’s be sure to go together.]
He was as gentle as ever. Why is it one only realizes such things after they’re gone? Moisture gathered at the corners of Liel’s eyes as she held the letter to her chest. She regretted not recognizing those clear, blue-green eyes that had always watched her. A few drops fell onto the letter, and a deeper regret spread across the page.
“To think I fell for Theo when Kyle was right there…”
She was the same Liel Tigris then as now—but her past self must have had something over her eyes. Otherwise, how could she have fallen for Theo Nobillis? Liel berated and denied herself, but in truth, she knew: at the time, she couldn’t help falling for Theo Nobillis.
“This time, I won’t. Never.”
She wiped her tears, dipped her pen in ink, and began to write a reply—crafting it as if nothing had happened, as if she were her usual self. It wasn’t easy. Though she and Kyle had exchanged letters from time to time, she couldn’t recall every detail; still, she dredged up what she could and filled out her response.
“You did make it to the Nobillis ball—just in the nick of time.”
She finished the letter by saying she hoped they could meet before the ball. Liel’s eyes fell on the sheet she had been writing on earlier. She picked up her pen and crossed out one of the small notes scribbled at the bottom. The word she erased was: “Caladea Shop.”
To be continued.
