Chapter 8
02. White Flower (2)
“You should just kill me and leave this place now.”
Those words had been sincere. No, in fact, there hadn’t been a single word she spoke that day that wasn’t sincere. Did he ever realize the truth in those words—that she would rather die? Since that day in the eastern tower, she had been spending all her strength fighting against the desire to end her life and free herself from this crushing guilt. That was the extent of the exhaustion, the despair that had taken root in her life ever since that day.
So of course, when she told him to leave Dünang, that too was genuine. After meeting her, Léonard could no longer continue the peaceful life of Léon Serdieux—the amiable young man who had come down to Dünang from the capital for some vague reason. And that had nothing to do with whether she wanted to reveal his whereabouts to the revolutionaries or keep them secret.
At Philippe’s question, Anaïs swallowed dryly. He asked because he already knew they had met. Denial would be useless.
“Yes, I met him.”
“How curious that he’s in Dünang.”
If it were me, I would have chosen the road to exile in Cladièvre. Philippe’s idle murmur passed in one ear and out the other for Anaïs. She had already spent a few days pondering why Léonard hadn’t chosen exile, and she had a fair idea of the reason. The real problem was why he wasn’t heading to the Bastbourg fortress—and an even bigger problem was the fact that he had met her. Now, that bigger problem had been dragged to the surface by Philippe Ardinaing.
So, what now?
Philippe Ardinaing was harder to persuade than anyone else she knew—even harder than Edmond, who had condemned her to bitter defeat and indelible guilt over the execution of the imperial family. Philippe was not obstinate; he was fast. Quick to calculate. Like a true businessman, he excelled at weighing gains and losses, and when faced with a situation, he would swiftly decide what benefitted him most—and never, ever change that decision. He was neither one to be persuaded nor one to persuade others. He was simply a man who chose.
If he had already made his choice about this matter, then to change it with words… would be not just difficult, but nearly impossible.
Of course, Anaïs still had some options. One was to leave immediately, return to Dünang, swallow the humiliation of an even more wretched life, confess everything to Léonard, and beg him to flee to a place beyond their reach. What path he chose after that would be entirely his. If he chose to run, she could never truly relax, but it would still be an immeasurable relief. If he refused to run even to the end—well, there was nothing she could do. Perhaps watching the end of a Léonard who would not flee and then finally dying herself would be the best course. Her exhausted mind kept dragging her thoughts toward extremes.
But for now, at least, she didn’t know what Philippe had “chosen.” So she would listen. If he was willing to let this go under certain conditions, then she could consider accepting them. She did not, even for a thousandth of a second, expect Philippe to demand nothing. If that were the case, he would not have brought her here and begun this conversation.
“Mr. Ardinaing, what must I do for you to let this go?”
“Well now…”
Philippe stroked his clean-shaven chin, feigning thought, like a child toying with a dragonfly’s wing. In truth, Anaïs knew he had already decided what he wanted. And she was ready to accept whatever it was.
After a moment’s silence, Philippe smiled and spoke.
“How about calling me Philippe?”
He looked as if he’d found an excellent solution, but to Anaïs, his words made no sense. She blinked several times in blank astonishment and repeated foolishly:
“…What?”
“From now on, I’d like you to call me Philippe, not Mr. Ardinaing. Dropping the ‘Mr.’ would be even better.”
“That’s all?”
Philippe nodded nonchalantly, as though wondering what more she expected. The young businessman, wearing a black fedora tinged faintly green above his short-cropped blond hair, adjusted his hat with a hand and spoke in a lightly amused tone:
“If you think of me as a comrade, that’s flattering, but as I’ve always said, I’m no revolutionary. And certainly not a lackey of President Renicourt or Edmond Lambert. Besides, there’s no astronomical bounty on the Second Prince’s head.”
Léonard had been given only an unofficial order within the revolutionary ranks—he was not a wanted man in any real sense, nor was there any bounty on him. That was true. It even sounded like a joke. Even if there had been a bounty, it would hardly be a sum to tempt the wealthiest man in eastern Léon. So yes, everything he said was true. The problem lay in believing it.
Anaïs stared at him, still baffled. Philippe shrugged and went on.
“What profit could I possibly gain from this? After coming this far with you, do I really need to curry the republic’s favor? I’d much rather value your trust. Anaïs—I’m a businessman. Whatever tiny profit I forgo by keeping silent, or the small financial loss I take from this—well, hearing you call my name from now on more than makes up for that.”
The smile on Philippe’s lips did not fade. He seemed genuinely pleased simply to have this chance to help Anaïs—and indeed, he was.
Anaïs, insensitive to such nuances, could not have guessed that Philippe’s goodwill toward her was far more sound and sincere than she imagined. Instead, she fixated on one small phrase he’d used: “small financial loss.” Of course.
“Thank you, Philippe.”
“So you won’t drop the ‘Mr.’—but fine.”
Having finally succeeded in being called “Philippe” by Anaïs, Philippe took off the hat he had been fiddling with, apparently dissatisfied with its shape, and held it to his chest. Then, almost casually, he asked:
“Doesn’t it anger you that I… put someone on you?”
Anaïs, feeling the tension melt away and the warmth of sleepless fatigue creeping into her body, chuckled at his odd question.
“No.”
“That’s surprising.”
“You said you’re a businessman.”
Anaïs’s lake-clear blue eyes shone straight at Philippe.
“Listening to nonsense about someone you never even hired—wouldn’t that be a loss?”
This time it was Philippe who was taken aback. Or rather, struck dumb. Someone you never even hired. Only then did he realize his slip of the tongue. Someone you never even hired. A small financial loss. His face went white. He recalled her earlier words—not “What will it take to make you keep silent?” but “What must I do for you to let this go?” A chilling question sprouted in his mind.
“…Anaïs.”
“Yes, Philippe.”
“You knew everything from the start…?”
“How could I not?”
Anaïs murmured again, with a faint, sorrowful smile:
“How could I not know?”
Philippe’s earlier cheer vanished. He stared at her with grim intensity, fists clenched as if he might seize her shoulders and shake her. She had known it would come to this from the beginning? Then why, of all places, had she chosen Bastbourg?
“You… knowing all that, why Bastbourg? Do you have any idea how—”
“I had no choice.”
Why Bastbourg, of all places? Charlotte had asked the same question. Those she never got to bid farewell to—if she had seen them again, they would have asked too. It wasn’t as if Senne had no need for doctors, so why insist on Bastbourg? What had she answered Charlotte?
Anaïs’s expression turned somber as she recalled those weeks ago, which now felt like ten years past. Back then, she had been full of guilt and responsibility. It felt as though the suffering of Bastbourg’s people was their doing—that it was a harsh side effect of the world they had changed. And so she thought she had to take responsibility in the only way she could.
“Now… I really can’t answer any other way.”
But in truth, perhaps it was more than that…
