Chapter 36 - A Night of Counting Stars (10)

When Ivan arrived at Counterintelligence Command, everyone from the sentries to the agents manning the desks had risen to face him.

“Good heavens, it really is him!”

“Little Ivan...”

Quiet whispers filled the headquarters, following in his wake as he walked. Before him, they stood rigidly and bowed in silent greeting.

One agent happened to meet his eyes, hastily raised a hand in salute, and approached.

“I-it is an honor to meet you, Lieutenant Colonel Petrovich!”

“Do you know me?”

“I know of you, sir.”

The young man trembled under Ivan’s gaze and hurried to explain.

“I belong to the generation trained on the manual you wrote, sir!”

“Ah. That.”

Ivan nodded. He remembered writing something of the sort. It had mostly covered methods of infiltrating demon settlements and his experiences assassinating key targets in the field... something like a diary.

And, as was generally the case with diaries, meeting someone who had read it was deeply embarrassing. Ivan turned away, his face expressionless.

“Are you here to see Lieutenant Colonel Cherkatov?”

“Mm. Tell him I have a matter to report directly to Palace Minister Kirillovna.”

“... I will escort you to the eastern palace. This way, sir.”

Ivan gave a brief nod and followed the nameless agent. A suffocating silence settled over their surroundings.

A direct report to Her Highness the Princess...? Just how serious was this...?

Standing stiffly, the agents bowed their heads in salute behind Ivan, then returned to their posts. They had a feeling they were about to get busy. They did not know what would happen, but if “Little” Ivan was seeking a personal audience with the Princess, the repercussions would surely reach them too.

* * *

Krasilof’s eastern palace was a vast marble building constructed solely for the Princess. Her disposition had given it a tendency toward extreme practicality rather than palatial grandeur, but its sheer size and symbolism were imposing enough.

Ivan alighted before the great front gates adorned with reliefs. The agent who had driven the carriage saluted without a word and disappeared down the street.

Here before the palace, it would have been no surprise to find anyone watching. Ivan paid little mind to that.

“Dmitry.”

“Ah, sir!”

Dmitry looked half asleep, as though he had rushed out the moment the report reached him. He smoothed back his hair and gave an affable smile.

“Let’s go straight in! Her Excellency is already waiting.”

“She knew I was coming?”

“Well, she hasn’t retired to her bedchamber tonight!”

Dmitry chuckled, picturing Elizaveta fidgeting anxiously.

If the mission had succeeded, the aerial battleship should have vanished from the skies over Prizhenkaya. If it had failed, news of Ivan’s death in action would have arrived.

Either prospect made sleep difficult. Anticipating Elizaveta’s worries, Dmitry had stayed awake attending to his work as well.

“Her Excellency is in the rear garden. This way!”

The eastern palace’s rear garden opened toward the city boulevard leading to Jansk University. In other words, anyone sitting there could look up and see the aerial battleship.

She would have been sitting there, watching the sky, waiting to learn whether the mission had succeeded. That utterly meticulous woman, who was also so tenderhearted.

Dmitry smiled faintly as he led the way.

[“Our reunion must take place at a more fitting time, in a more fitting place.”]

In the end, it hadn’t turned out to be a particularly romantic reunion. He chuckled to himself, recalling Elizaveta’s words.

* * *

On his way to the rear garden, Ivan sank into thought, recalling the last time he had seen Elizaveta.

[“I’m sorry. I’m sorry... Vanka. I am so, so sorry.”]

She had stood there on that dreary, rainy day, her voice thick with tears. He was struck anew by how small she was. For a moment, he wondered how a woman like her could have come from the bloodline of that strapping former king.

[“You... You, of all people, had every right to resent me, to resent this country. You had earned that right. Even if you had fled, I would not have blamed you.”]

What had he said to the Princess as she sobbed in the rain? It came back to him at once.

[“Do you happen to have any roses?”]

[“... What...?”]

[“Cherenovika liked roses.”]

That place had served as both a funeral site and a burial ground. Without a single headstone, without any mourners coming to pay their respects. A place to honor the agents’ passing, for those no one else mourned. For those who had to be forgotten.

Until Counterintelligence Command was built there years later, it had been a desolate vacant lot in a corner of war-ravaged Prizhenkaya.

With not even an eave to shelter her from the cold winter rain, Elizaveta asked, her face haggard,

[“Do you remember what the others liked as well?”]

[“Yes. Every one of them. Everything.”]

[“Tell me. I will remember.”]

Those words were enough. Ivan quietly began to speak. When he had finished, Elizaveta whispered,

[“Roses, chocolate cake, musk perfume, silk handkerchiefs...”]

She whispered again and again, repeating the names of the departed agents and the things they had loved.

As the rain gradually eased, she looked up at him with wet eyes and reached out. Her hand was cold. Her chilled fingertips trembled faintly, perhaps from the cold.

Ivan stood motionless as Elizaveta’s slender hand stroked his cheek.

[“Vanka. Please live quietly. Quietly, out of everyone’s sight. So this country can forget you.”]

Ivan was a specialist trained in lip-reading, and could read even the words Elizaveta mouthed without giving them voice.

[“So that I alone may remember you.”]

[“Because no one else in this country deserves to.”]

[“But don’t ruin your face. Hmm... Yes. What about growing a beard?”]

[“A beard... Your Highness?”]

[“Yes, like Grandfather’s. I think it would suit you.”]

Recalling the face of the great former king, Ivan gave a small nod. It had been a magnificent beard. Dignified and masculine.

He stood in the rain a little longer, then turned and left. That had been the last time he and the Princess met. Four years had passed since then.

With the Princess’s help, many had forgotten him. Fortunately, as a senior officer who had once served in the Royal Guard, his name remained in the national cemetery.

* * *

Beyond the rear garden’s entrance lay a vast flower garden. Flowers carefully tended with magic bloomed in profusion beneath the night sky.

Ivan stopped for a moment.

Roses, lilies, freesias... To some, the sight of all those flowers growing indiscriminately together might have looked like nothing more than a haphazard, poorly planned flower bed. But Ivan knew. This was a memorial garden for those who had fallen in the last war.

She had somehow discovered which flowers the dead had loved in life and planted them here, so they could bloom through all four seasons. So she could always remember.

“Your Excellency, your servant Dmitry Cherkatov presents himself.”

“Come closer.”

A cold voice answered. Beyond the flowers stood a long outdoor table. It gleamed white in the moonlight, with a modest assortment of refreshments set upon it. Behind it sat a small woman sorting through a pile of documents.

“Vanka. It has been a long time.”

Her silver hair was neatly arranged and secured with a vivid blue pin. Rather than the austere uniform he remembered her wearing, she was dressed in a royal gown. Clad in blue, she raised her head to look at him.

As Ivan considered what to say, her eyes widened in shock.

“Good... heavens...”

Being a trained agent, Ivan could again use his lip-reading skills to infer the words she swallowed.

“What on earth have I done...”

Her gaze was fixed on his chin.

* * *

It took Elizaveta some time to recover from the shock. She had to clear her throat repeatedly, trying not to look him directly in the face.

By the time Ivan finished his report, she had regained her cold expression, no longer showing her dismay.

“Veolgrin appeared in person and said that.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Hmm.”

Elizaveta tapped the table in thought. After a moment, she raised her head toward the sky. Stars lay scattered across the dark expanse.

“Vanka. My most trusted woodsman.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You have met my father. What do you think of him?”

“... The great king...”

Hearing his reply, Elizaveta gave a wry smile.

“A great king. Is he truly?”

“...”

“He is a fool who believes everything will resolve itself if he simply keeps his mouth shut and sits still. I shall gladly despise my father. I must.”

Her eyes blazed fiercely.

“The United Kingdoms feared a sharp blade. Did you know? Had the Hero’s Party not disbanded, there would have been a second war. One history would have recorded as a war between individuals and collectives.”

Since the advent of the Demon King, the monarchs of the United Kingdoms had been deeply troubled. The enemy’s armies were frightening, but more frightening still was an individual who could overwhelm those armies.

The very existence of an individual capable of taking on a collective was a challenge to authority. Thus, had the Hero’s Party not disbanded, had its members not returned to their homelands and rejoined society, the world would have faced a second war.

“He said Maximilien did not disappear... And Veolgrin is searching for my brother.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I will deal with the ‘false’ brother in this city myself. You needn’t concern yourself with him. But, yes... What could have led my ‘real’ brother to establish ties with the great mage of the Hero’s Party?”

Elizaveta’s eyes gleamed sharply.

“Suppose there was a reason for the Hero’s Party to be eliminated, just as there was for all of you back then. Suppose that, whatever happened to the others, one person absolutely had to be removed. Who do you think that would be?”

“... Maximilien.”

“Yes. Of course. Humanity’s strongest. The greatest of all time. Maximilien, the ‘slayer of the Demon King.’ It would be him.”

Veolgrin had orchestrated all of this to discover the real Crown Prince’s whereabouts. If he had mentioned Maximilien’s seclusion in the midst of it, it was reasonable to infer some meaningful connection between the two.

That left only one question.

‘How?’

How could anyone dare make that mighty man ‘disappear’? What means could possibly remove him? Was it even possible? Even Ivan, who knew so many of the United Kingdoms’ most powerful figures, could not readily imagine it.

If everyone else in the Hero’s Party ambushed Maximilien, it might be possible. But that could never happen. And short of that, Maximilien would never have fallen by human hands.

“Wait for now. I will uncover how... and why it had to be done.”

“Yes.”

“Sit. I have kept my guest standing far too long. Forgive me.”

Ivan took the seat prepared for him. A maid approached and poured steaming black tea into his cup.

SCRAPE.

Elizaveta pulled her chair over and sat beside him.

“Let us put work aside for a while. For now, yes. Can we enjoy the moment?”

“...”

“It has been four years, Vanka. I had hoped our reunion would be more romantic than this, but well. When does the world ever go as we expect?”

Sitting side by side, they gazed at the garden. The flowers shone beneath the moonlight, swaying gently in the breeze.

“Do you recognize them?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I have not forgotten.”

The small woman, who still reached only to his chest, smiled faintly. Deep fatigue and pain showed in that smile, yet it retained a trace of the days when she had shone with such vivacity.

“When I step out from my office onto the terrace, this garden is right before me.”

“Your Highness. I wish you would not look at the flowers.”

“Hmm?”

“There is something the former king once told me.”

Ivan chose his words, briefly recalling the old days. It had been during his service in the Royal Guard.

“He said the war, the hardships, and the price in blood were his burden to bear. He wished for Your Highness to live looking not at the ground, but at the sky.”

“...”

Elizaveta stroked her teacup without a word. Ivan raised his head toward the sky. Stars lay scattered across the night like grains of sand.

Perhaps one of the few virtues of this premodern fantasy world, with its scant light pollution, was the beauty of its night sky.

Ivan spoke in a calm voice.

“Your Highness said that you remember the departed when you look at the flowers. But that is not right. Do you remember our battle maxim?”

“... Do not mourn the departed.”

“Yes. For we stand in the same ranks as they do. For all of us will someday leave this earth.”

Elizaveta closed her eyes at his words. He poured tea into her cup and placed it in her hands. The black tea had warmed the white porcelain. It was warm.

“Your Highness, please honor His late Majesty’s wishes. Walk with your eyes on the sky, not the ground. When you sometimes miss the departed, look instead at the night sky.”

Elizaveta opened her eyes at his words. The night sky was not dark. Across its black expanse, between clouds that had drifted into view, starlight spread in profusion.

“Do not seek those who have gone before us in the flowers. Count us among the stars. That is what they, too, would wish of Your Highness.”

“Vanka...”

Elizaveta turned to him. For a long time she gazed at Ivan with tear-filled eyes, then quietly reached out.

Her hand, warmed by the teacup, came to rest on his cheek. After looking at him a moment longer, she asked softly,

“What about trimming your beard just a little?”

“... I beg... your indulgence.”

“And if I order it?”

“Your humble servant has already retired.”

“It seems all you have gained since then is a glib tongue.”

Having said something Enrique would have vehemently disputed, Elizaveta broke into a radiant smile.