Chapter 31

The Kingdom of Alharn had an educational institution for its nobility.

These days it hid behind some line about gathering the finest talents from across the country to hone body and mind for the future of the kingdom, but originally it had been a military school for training officers during wartime.

Even with a name like the Royal Academy of Higher Culture and the Arts stuck on the front of it, its role as a military school hadn't entirely faded. He didn't know how it had changed lately, but twenty years ago, when Harold had attended, the military school's influence had still been very much present.

Harold Bertholdt and Grisha Lambert had come to know each other at that school.

Their courses of study had been different, so they should have had almost no reason to cross paths. But one day, when Harold looked back, he and Grisha had already become close enough to call themselves friends.

The Harold Bertholdt of academy days hadn't been the sort of decent human being who kept friendships going. He knew that better than anyone. Even so, the two of them had stayed friends, despite the sparse contact after graduation.

The national cemetery was still.

For Albrecht Bertholdt's funeral, all other traffic had been barred. The royal guard stood in formation without moving a muscle. But the disquiet Harold had felt earlier still lingered in the air.

"..."

Grisha Lambert moved alone through the strange silence.

Grisha laid the flower he'd brought before Albrecht's headstone. A single white bloom, tied with a black ribbon. The long ends of the ribbon stirred in the breeze.

A single flower.

To anyone who hadn't known Albrecht well, it would have seemed a strange choice. But Harold's brother had preferred a single stem with a ribbon to a bouquet.

Harold knew why.

One flower is enough.

It was the gift his brother had always given his wife. Even back in their dating days, every Monday he'd tied a ribbon around a single stem and handed it to her. Harold, subjected to this every week whether he wanted to be or not, would screw up his face, but neither his brother nor his sister-in-law ever batted an eye.

Edgar and Edwin, insisting they had to give something to their father too, would each pick a flower and tie the ribbon themselves. Harold did the same. So did Mattheus.

Even after his wife had gone missing, Albrecht had still bought flowers for her.

And Grisha bringing a single flower meant he knew all of that.

Was my brother close with Grisha, then?

Harold tilted his head.

Well, they'd known each other, obviously. Back at the academy, he'd brought Grisha home often. His brother had seen him plenty of times.

And even setting personal ties aside, Count Bertholdt would have had plenty of occasions to meet with the heir to the Duke of Lambert.

But close enough to know something as personal as this?

Neither his brother nor Grisha had ever mentioned it to him.

...We didn't write often. They might have grown close in that time.

Grisha, having laid the flower down, bowed his head in silence before the headstone.

Despite everything, there was something oddly peaceful about the moment. Maybe it was the wind, warmer now.

Maybe it was the appearance of a stranger — Edgar and Edwin had ducked behind Mattheus. If he'd known Grisha would come, he'd have said something to prepare them in advance.

But seeing Harold speak with him seemed to have kept them from being outright afraid.

Edgar clung tight to Mattheus's leg and peered out at Grisha. He was on his guard in his own way, but he couldn't quite hide his curiosity.

Come to think of it, Edgar had recognized the small manor in the King's Woods right away. If he'd met Grisha alongside his father before, he might well remember. He was a bright child.

But it wasn't Edgar who caught Harold off guard.

"...!"

Edwin wasn't hiding behind Mattheus and stealing glances like Edgar. Gripping Edgar's clothes tight, he was staring straight at Grisha without expression.

For a child usually so full of expression, the absence of a smile was almost eerie. When Edwin wasn't smiling, Harold had trouble telling him and Edgar apart. He was more used to it now, but even so, when Edwin was pulling a prank, Harold still got it wrong about once in ten.

But the Edwin standing there now wasn't Edgar either. For a moment his eyes had gone so dark they looked almost black, fixed on Grisha. The mouth that was always laughing, always chattering, was set in a hard line. Even the flushed cheeks that suited a small child had gone pale.

"..."

Sensing the look, Edwin turned his head.

"..."

His eyes met Harold's, and Edwin blinked.

And in an instant, color and laughter came back to Edwin. Like flowers opening in spring rain, a bright, guileless smile filled his whole face. Blue eyes shining as though set with stars; the flush returning to those two cheeks.

This was the Edwin Harold knew. His nephew.

Harold walked over to Edwin. When his uncle came closer, Edgar looked up too. Edgar naturally stretched out his arms toward Harold.

Harold didn't ignore the silent ask to be picked up. He scooped Edgar up easily, and then Edwin as well, still beaming.

However warmer the day had grown, apparently the wind was still cold for children. Their bodies were chilled despite their rosy faces. Edwin burrowed into the inside of Harold's coat like a cat looking for warmth.

That same feather-light warmth. As if a stray gust of wind could carry them off. Far, far beyond the reach of Harold's hands.

"Edwin."

"Yes, Uncle."

He couldn't help worrying about the boys.

Should he not have taken them at their word when they said they were all right? But how was he supposed to refuse when they'd said they wanted to say goodbye to their father?

And holding a funeral without the boys had felt wrong too.

They were grown-up enough to understand their father's death. That didn't mean the shock hadn't touched them.

Harold tightened his hold on the boys in his arms.

"...You can come to Uncle anytime. All right?"

"Why are you saying that all of a sudden?"

"Uncle, um, well... Uncle will always be here."

"Well, obviously."

Edgar gave a small snort and, like Edwin, burrowed further into Harold's chest.

"You're the one who says that and then goes off somewhere. Don't."

"Of course not."

The little hands tugging at his coat were shameless about it.

Edgar had been more openly clingy lately. Some of it was probably the fallout from Dustin Glenn, but Edgar had been letting little bouts of petulance show even before that.

It was proof the boys were opening up to him. He wished they'd let themselves be a little clingier still. Watching the boys bear up bravely through everything they'd been through, Harold was both proud and heart-sore for them.

"Harold."

Finished paying his respects, Grisha came over.

Grisha looked at the twins in Harold's arms and gave a nod.

"Glad to see they're doing all right."

"Grisha."

"You seem... busy at the moment."

Grisha smiled faintly.

"The funeral? Are there more people you're waiting on?"

"...No. Even if there were, I'd turn them away."

"Oh. Am I an exception?"

"Did you know my brother?"

"There were a few things going on while you were away from the capital."

Grisha said it flatly.

But Harold, who'd known Grisha Lambert for a long time, caught the self-mocking laugh and the tiredness beneath the sullen tone.

Grisha, looking at the children in Harold's arms, waved a hand.

"The boys look tired. Wrap this up and get them inside."

Pale green eyes turned to Harold.

"We'll talk later."

---

"..."

Flip.

"Well now. What's got you reading the paper?"

"What?"

Harold snorted, looking incredulous.

"I've been checking since I came to the capital."

"Really?"

"I have to make sure no one's running their mouths about the boys..."

Anne swallowed at the dangerous glint in Harold's eye.

She knew she'd poked at a bad topic.

Not long ago, an article about Count Albrecht Bertholdt's funeral had finally appeared. As far as Anne was concerned, they'd managed to hold it off longer than she'd expected, but she had the good sense not to say that in front of Harold.

Harold folded the paper and set it on the table.

As far as Anne had checked, there was nothing troubling in today's paper.

"I've imposed on you too long, Anne."

Harold said it to Anne, who was still glaring at the paper.

Anne bit her lip.

"You could stay longer, Senior. There's no one else at the house anyway..."

"No."

"...About Dustin Glenn. I'm sorry."

"That wasn't your fault, I told you. He fooled me too. There was nothing you could have done."

He wasn't the only one that business had stuck with.

He genuinely wasn't blaming Anne. But just as Harold blamed himself, Anne was surely doing the same to herself.

Harold shook his head. There was no lifting that weight from her. Because Harold was going to be carrying it his whole life too.

"Edgar and Edwin need somewhere quiet, I think."

"...Hmm. Still?"

"Yeah. They've gotten used to the people they see often, but they still startle at the smallest thing."

Edgar and Edwin were still wary of unfamiliar adults. However much Harold tried to reassure them, they still bolted at the sound of someone beyond the door.

The staff at the Archibald estate knew it too. Since Dustin Glenn, they'd been taking turns keeping the children in sight, so it wasn't as though they could have missed it.

Worried the constant tension would take a toll on them, Harold had eventually limited the boys' contact to the few faces they'd come to know best.

"I think slowly getting them used to things in a limited space would be better. At the very least, they need somewhere they can let their guard down."

"Fair enough... Bring the boys and come visit."

"You're not coming to us?"

"I'm not brave enough to set foot in that place just yet."

Anne gave an awkward laugh. Grisha showing up at the funeral seemed to have spooked her further.

Harold couldn't quite understand why she reacted that way.

"Anyway, Edwin's wound has healed up... They said as long as we keep applying the ointment there shouldn't be a scar."

"Oh, that's a relief. Edgar's all right too?"

"Just bruising."

Thinking of the mottled red-and-purple bruising that had covered that small back, the anger still hadn't left him.

But with the boys right in the next room, he had no intention of letting his temper loose. Anne edged back a little from the mildly-smiling Harold.

"What?"

"Nothing... felt a chill from somewhere."

Anne shrugged.

"The butler will bring your things over. Still, you'll have the boys' clothes and their books. If there's anything else you need, just say the word. Those boys might as well be my own nephews."

"I know. Thanks, Anne."

"Please... and I mean you too, not just the boys. What are good neighbors for?"

"You've already helped more than enough."

---

The day after his brother's funeral.

Dustin Glenn had regained consciousness. Opinions were divided on whether he was in any state to give a proper statement, but the fact that he was conscious was what mattered.

Between the city watch and Intelligence, they'd get Dustin Glenn talking one way or another. Then they'd have a new thread to follow.

Harold and Anne met each other's eyes with fierce smiles.

"Uncle!"

Edwin came running to Harold. Beneath the lighter spring clothes, the bandage was no longer visible.

Harold caught him quickly, worried he'd trip.

"The carriage is here!"

"Is it?"

"Edgar wants to go now."

"And Edwin?"

"Me too."

Edwin grinned up at him.

Harold set the squirming Edwin back down. Edwin dashed off down the corridor. Harold, with a small laugh, followed after him.

It was moving day.