Chapter 112

When Edwin was four, Albrecht realized what his son was.

Edwin didn't doubt for a moment that Albrecht had figured it out even earlier. Otherwise, knowing full well Edgar had been born first, he wouldn't have kept quiet about it. Of course, at that point he'd probably just thought Edwin was too clever to be the younger sibling.

The reason Albrecht waited until Edwin was four to bring it up was that he wanted him to have enough of the language to express himself clearly.

You really trust me?

You're my son.

That's not an answer.

What Albrecht did next was something Edwin would never forget for decades to come.

No. It's the answer to everything.

Albrecht was a parent. Edwin had never doubted that, but until that day, he hadn't really understood what it meant.

Even if you act older than your age, everyone will chalk it up to being my son. Behave however you like.

How right he'd been.

Whether Edwin rattled on about concepts that didn't exist in this world, spouted fanciful things about magic, or dropped remarks too sharp for his age, everyone chalked it up to being that Albrecht's son.

Edwin let himself imagine life could go on this peacefully. Whatever might happen big enough to reshape the world, that was still far in the future. With luck, it might not happen at all. He might even prevent it.

"Take it out when you need it, Edwin."

Edwin looked at the safe. Wrapped in old magic, it vanished in the blink of an eye.

"And..."

Unusually for him, Albrecht hesitated.

But the hesitation didn't last long. Edwin, who'd known this man since birth, could tell Albrecht had long since settled on the best course.

That he hesitated at all was because Albrecht was Edwin's father. Edwin grinned and snatched the small slip of paper out of Albrecht's hand.

"I'll finish the rest myself. Not that we really need this, though..."

The slip listed an odd assortment of books. To anyone who didn't know what it meant, it would look like a laughable list. Edwin fluttered the paper in the air.

"Still, can't hurt to have it."

"Be careful."

"I know."

Albrecht straightened Edwin's clothes, his face somber. Edwin knew his father well enough to see how hard Albrecht was fighting the urge to look toward the bedside.

On the nightstand beside the bed stood a portrait of Mama. Cecilia, who had gone missing four years ago. How much did Edgar remember of her?

"You be careful too, Papa."

"I will."

Albrecht smiled faintly. The tiredness on him was plain compared to his usual self. Maybe it was the cold. Albrecht, who was sensitive to it, had been complaining more and more once the snow started. Genius or not, even he couldn't do anything about the weather.

"Your uncle wrote back. He said he'll come down after winter ends, so if the weather cooperates, he'll be here by February."

"February? Won't the roads still be blocked by snow? I'd have thought March at the earliest."

"You still don't know your uncle."

For once, Albrecht smiled without a trace of gloom. A smile that had become rare since Mama disappeared.

"I only saw him once, back when I'd just started walking..."

"Right, that's true. Your uncle's on another level from me. If a bit of snow were enough to hold Harold up, all traffic in Alharn would have ground to a halt long ago."

Edwin gave Albrecht an odd look. This man, so sparing in his assessments of others, was full of certainty only when it came to his brother.

The only time Edwin had seen Harold Bertholdt was back when he'd just started walking. Harold had looked like Albrecht, but Edwin had known at a glance they were opposites as people. Edwin had still been very young then, too, and his uncle hadn't stayed in the capital long, so it hadn't really been possible to get a sense of the man.

So even the fact that this was his uncle didn't stir much in him. But he was curious, at least, about the man Albrecht — whom he'd known for seven years now — held in such high regard.

"So Uncle—"

But Edwin didn't get to finish. Loud footsteps came racing toward the tightly shut bedroom door.

Startled, Edwin looked at the door. Albrecht rested a light hand on Edwin's shoulder, signaling the conversation was over.

At the same moment, the door burst open.

"Edwin!"

"Edgar."

"Hey! You two telling secrets again?"

The dark-haired boy bounced up and down, pouting. That restless, can't-sit-still energy was exactly what you'd expect from a normal seven-year-old.

Edgar barreled straight into his father.

"Whoa there."

"What were you talking about? Oh! Edwin, there's tons of snow piled up in the garden. Didn't you say you wanted to make a snowman?"

Edgar tossed what he'd been holding at Edwin. Catching it on reflex, Edwin felt something soft and fluffy. Gloves.

Albrecht scooped Edgar up, but for a kid who'd come running in on his own, Edgar apparently didn't like being caught either, and when Edgar started thrashing, Albrecht couldn't hold on for long and set him back down. Shaking his head, Albrecht caught hold of Edgar again and smoothed down his mussed hair. Whatever the boy had been doing, his head was covered in dust.

"Edgar. You're not thinking of going out like that, are you?"

"Huh?"

"Put on a coat and a hat before you go."

"Um..."

He'd thought to grab the gloves, but apparently the rest hadn't crossed his mind. Edgar stuck out his tongue and grinned sheepishly.

Even having his father brush the dust off seemed to be too much trouble, and Edgar kept twisting out of the way — until he spotted the paper in Edwin's grip.

"What's that?"

"Huh?"

"What is it! Let me see too!"

Edwin kicked himself. He'd heard Edgar coming and still hadn't had the sense to hide the paper.

Maybe it was a twin thing, but Edgar wanted to do everything together with Edwin. They'd been each other's closest friend since birth, so it was only natural — but it did get tiresome now and then.

"Go away, Edgar!"

"Why won't you show me?"

Edgar's face crumpled. Edwin, who had been hiding the paper behind his back so Edgar couldn't snatch it, flinched.

It was ridiculous to get angry at this kid. At least he wasn't reaching out with a drool-covered hand anymore. What would happen when this kid got older and started having secrets of his own? Being trailed around like this was tiresome, but when that day came, he was going to miss it.

There was no helping it. Standing side by side, they were twins so identical the servants couldn't tell them apart properly, but to Edwin, Edgar was still nothing more than the drooling little baby who used to come toddling toward him.

How many times had he pulled the kid back from climbing over the crib rail? Or soothed him when he cried because someone had stopped him sucking his toes? The moment Edgar could walk, he'd charged straight for the stairs; Edwin had blocked him. When Edgar hated baby food, Edwin had made a show of eating it enthusiastically so his twin would eat too.

Snatch.

"Edgar!"

Taken in by the crestfallen face again. No matter how many times, he never seemed to learn.

He'd watched him since birth. Unlike Edwin, whose real age didn't have a clean answer, Edgar was genuinely a seven-year-old child. However bright he was, a kid was still a kid.

"Hmph!"

With the exaggerated flair only small children can pull off, Edgar snorted and grinned triumphantly at the paper in his hand.

Either way, the list was nothing but books the Edgar of now was too young to read. Edwin had thrown in a few storybooks as a joke, but he doubted Edgar would even recognize them as titles.

"Edgar."

Before Edgar could unfold the paper, Albrecht's hand stopped him.

"Papa?"

"Don't look at it now. Later."

Albrecht took the paper out of Edgar's hand. The gesture was so smooth that Edgar, unable to kick up the fuss he'd kicked up at Edwin, just stared blankly. Albrecht folded the paper twice more so the contents wouldn't show, then handed it back to Edgar.

"But what is it?"

Content, for the moment, just to have the paper in his own hand, Edgar didn't immediately try to check it the way most impatient kids his age would have.

Albrecht laughed softly. Distracted by the paper, Edgar seemed not to notice — but Albrecht winked at Edwin.

"You'll understand when you're a bit older, Edgar."

"..."

"Hmm..."

"It'll come in handy."

Edgar screwed up his face.

Edwin gave Albrecht an incredulous look. That wasn't for Edgar's sake.

"But not right now?"

"Not right now."

"So how much older do I have to be?"

"Let's see. Around when you start at the academy?"

"That's ages from now!"

Still...

Edwin snickered under his breath where Edgar couldn't see. Stubborn as Edgar was, he wouldn't forget about the paper. However patient he might be, there was no way he'd actually leave it unopened until then.

But at that moment, Edwin caught on to what Albrecht was up to. Only he and Albrecht knew what the things on that list were actually for. To anyone else, aside from a few storybooks, they looked like high-level nonfiction or specialist texts.

If Edwin pretended to read them beside him, Edgar — fiercely competitive with his twin — would follow suit. A decent reading list, really. No need to wait until the academy at all.

"Ha ha, all right. You can look at it sooner than that. But—"

"...Not right now?"

"Right. It'd be too hard for you right now."

"What about Edwin?"

"Too hard for Edwin too."

Albrecht lied with a perfectly straight face.

But what was a transparent lie to Edwin was, to Edgar, his father's trusted word. Edwin laughed to himself. Edgar's promise to his father would hold up for three days, tops.

Most of the books were in the library anyway... Well, a kid reading a lot was a good thing.

"That's enough of that. Let's go make a snowman."

To distract Edgar, Edwin pointed at the snow coming down from the sky.

Cheap tricks never fail. Clutching the paper Albrecht had handed back, Edgar's face lit up.

"Put your coat on before you go. Understood?"

"Yes!"

Leaving their smiling father behind, Edwin and Edgar ran off to their room.

"Edgar. Get dressed and let's go, hurry."

"Wait a second!"

In the middle of doing his buttons, Edwin looked over. Edgar was casting around as if searching for something, then blinked.

"Edgar?"

Edgar pulled the brown teddy bear out of the toy box.

"What's with the doll?"

"I'm going to hide it in here."

"Hide what?"

"This!"

The old teddy bear's seams had already come loose. They were past the age of playing with dolls, so no one had bothered to mend it. Edgar had remembered — he tugged a few more stitches apart and slipped the paper inside.

Edwin raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure it needed hiding like that, but who was he to say what went on in a kid's head. He just went along with it and told Edgar how clever that was.

"There. Now let's go!"

"That's a lot of snow."

"They say it's going to snow a lot this year."

"Who says?"

"Papa did!"

"Then it'll snow a lot."

"You don't believe me?"

"No. I believe Papa."

Whatever it was Edgar found so funny about that, he burst out laughing. In all that drab, snowy weather, the sound of that laughter, at least, was bright.

Everything was going well. Albrecht Bertholdt's brilliance was something you could trust. As long as that man was around, things weren't going to go wrong.

Well.

Edwin had gotten cocky. To be more precise, he'd fallen into that particular childish kind of pride — the "my dad is the strongest in the whole world!" kind.

Two days later, there was a carriage accident.

Albrecht Bertholdt was dead.