Chapter 32

He'd used the boys as his excuse to Anne, but the one who actually needed the isolation from the outside was Harold himself.

That wasn't to say Anne Archibald couldn't be trusted. But how could anyone really know what was in a person's heart? People changed their tune for pocket change.

...Of course, Harold was aware he was being oversensitive.

But knowing that and being able to calm down about it were two different things. And Harold knew he wouldn't be able to settle his mind until all of this... was over and he was certain they were truly safe.

In that case, he needed to carve out at least a bare-minimum safe zone. He couldn't stay up night after night watching the boys forever. A few nights without sleep didn't cause problems, but Harold was still human in the end. He needed sleep.

At least inside this forest, there was no one who could easily approach... He wasn't sure how well the sheepdog Edwin kept singing about would work out, but if they brought it up, some training might not be a bad idea. A sheepdog was a clever breed; it could probably manage a passing imitation of a guard dog.

The carriage rolled to a slow stop.

Harold gave a slight frown and looked over the manor. The small manor was surrounded by a white fence. Vines curled along the length of it.

Behind the manor stretched a wide forest. A little farther in, there was a small stream. It was a man-made channel connecting the other houses in the woods.

No sign of anyone. No sign of anyone slipping in unseen either.

For all its calm and quiet, there was a strangeness to the place — the feel of somewhere cut off from the outside. For Harold as he was now, that shut-in quality was exactly what he wanted.

"Lord Bertholdt. Where would you like the luggage taken?"

The Archibald butler broke Harold from his thoughts.

"Set it down by the entrance. I'll handle the rest."

The butler didn't press further and moved as Harold had asked. Harold had tried not to let it show, but apparently his sharp edge had been noticed anyway.

Harold gave an awkward smile and helped his nephews down from the carriage.

"Uncle, Uncle. Can we use the garden here too?"

The moment Edwin was out of the carriage, he was already running excitedly for the garden.

Thankfully, since the funeral, Edwin had gone back to his cheerful self. Harold nodded as he helped Edgar down.

"Of course. Is there something you want to grow?"

"Hmm."

Edwin peered down at a sprout near the fence — grass or flower, he couldn't tell — and hummed to himself.

"But I've never grown a plant before."

The place had been kept clean, but with no one having lived here for a long while, there was still something bleak about it.

Then again, with all the coming and going of the past few days as they'd brought in furniture, that impression had started to fade.

Maybe this place really would become home.

If Anne heard him thinking that, she'd have a fit. Harold gave a small snort. He could only hope he wouldn't be staying long enough for it to feel like home.

"Have you?"

"Hm?"

"Have you ever grown flowers, Uncle?"

Edwin's curiosity had turned on Harold.

Inside the fence was a small garden. Given that the whole surrounding area was a private estate of one sort or another, Harold wasn't sure a fence marking off boundaries even meant much.

But whoever had wanted the place to look properly appointed had planted a range of trees and flowers. All neatly kept. It was nothing like the Bertholdt garden, which had gone to seed after only a month without a caretaker.

Edwin had already moved on, peering into an empty flower bed.

"I've never grown any either."

"That's going to be a problem."

"Is it a problem?"

"If I can't grow it, then Uncle has to!"

"That's on me?"

Edwin looked at Harold with a face that said, why are you asking me something so obvious?

The shameless expression was only endearing.

"Then Uncle had better put his back into it."

His brother would have done any of this easily. However difficult or awkward the question, he'd have had an easy answer ready — the same went for growing plants or looking after animals.

But Harold wasn't Albrecht Bertholdt.

Most of what Albrecht could do, Harold couldn't.

That didn't mean Harold didn't have his own ways. Conversely, most of what Harold could do, Albrecht couldn't have.

Harold couldn't be these children's father. But he was their uncle. In ways his brother couldn't have, and in his brother's place, he'd raise these boys.

"Should we try growing flowers together? Is there a flower you like?"

"Not really..."

"Should we go look for one together, then?"

"A plant encyclopedia!"

Edwin's eyes lit up as he called it out.

"Hm?"

"We need a plant encyclopedia. Uncle, can I bring Dad's plant encyclopedia over later?"

Edwin had read a lot back at the Archibald estate, too.

Remembering that, Harold nodded. He didn't want to take the boys anywhere crowded... but if he went with them, that would be fine. He couldn't keep Edgar and Edwin locked up forever.

"Can I bring other books, too?"

"Other books? From your father's collection?"

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't they be too hard for you to read?"

Harold thought of the books in the library and the study.

Of those, the number he actually recognized could be counted on one hand. Not read — recognized.

"I can read them."

Edwin said it, sulking.

Harold, with an apologetic face, stroked Edwin's hair.

"All right, all right. You can read them. We'll go together later."

"Edgar too?"

"Of course Edgar has to come too."

Harold turned to Edgar.

Even though he'd been to the manor several times during the move preparations, Edgar still hesitated every time he saw it. Maybe because he'd seen Grisha at the funeral.

On the way back to the Archibald estate, Edgar had asked quietly, tucked into Harold's arms.

Is that man really your friend, Uncle?

Since Edgar had recognized Grisha right away, the odds were high that his brother had known Grisha after all.

He'd find out for sure if he asked Grisha.

Harold, focused on Edgar and with his back to Edwin, missed the way Edwin winked at Edgar. Out of Harold's line of sight, Edwin gave a mischievous grin and stuck out his tongue.

At which point Edgar, gripping his stuffed bear tight, pursed his lips and scowled.

"Edgar?"

Only Harold, with no idea what had just happened behind him, was left puzzled.

Worried Edgar had suddenly taken ill, Harold made a fuss checking him over. The memory of Edgar coughing hard enough to make himself sick was still vivid in Harold's mind.

"Uncle, I'm fine!"

"If you're not feeling well, you have to tell me. All right?"

Edgar stuck his lip out and pulled at Harold's hand.

"It's just bright out. I'm not sick. Let's go inside, Uncle."

"You're really all right?"

"Uncle, can we go into the forest?"

"Not alone, Edgar. Uncle will come with you."

"Lord Bertholdt, I've had all the luggage brought inside."

"Uncle, where's your room? Which one did you pick? Can I go see?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Uncle, what's over there?"

Edgar and Edwin each grabbed one of Harold's hands and yanked him in opposite directions.

Harold, bent nearly double, could only nod at whatever the boys said. The fact that their uncle only had the one body seemed to have escaped them entirely — they were pulling him in completely opposite directions.

The Archibald butler barely managed to swallow a laugh at the sight. Even if he had burst out laughing, Harold wouldn't have minded much. He didn't have the presence of mind left to care.

In the end, Harold hoisted both children up. He'd wondered why other parents always seemed to carry their children — this must be why.

In his haste, instead of tucking them into his arms the way he usually did, he'd swung them straight up into the air. Only then did it hit him — ah.

"Uncle!"

The boys' surprise lasted only a moment before they grabbed onto Harold's hands and dangled. High peals of laughter echoed. Edwin caught Harold's hand and swung his legs wildly.

"Uncle, swing us like this!"

Grown-up as they could be, they were still children.

So much for how carefully he'd been holding them, as though a breath of wind might carry them off — Harold swung his arms as the boys asked.

"Harder!"

He couldn't imagine such a small motion being that much fun, but the boys' laughter didn't stop. Their flushed faces shone.

If it meant he could go on seeing this face, he could swing his arms as much as they wanted.

"Higher!"

---

Night.

Outside the window, there was nothing but darkness.

It was a darkness never to be found at the Archibald estate. The lamps that lit the streets glowed faintly even in the small hours, when no one at all was passing by.

There were no lamps like that in the King's Woods. Once the lights inside the manor went out, there was no light to be found anywhere nearby.

Harold looked at the lamp faintly lighting the room. Beneath the dim glow, his two nephews slept peacefully on the bed.

He couldn't just set down the tension he'd been carrying at the Archibald estate. Even in sleep, he'd have to keep watch...

"..."

Whether they'd really meant it when they'd asked earlier in the day about sleeping with him, come nightfall, Edgar and Edwin had abandoned the rooms they'd picked with such care and come to Harold's.

They'd been afraid to sleep alone in a place they weren't used to. They'd never admit it — for children, they had their mother's pride in stubbornness — but that was the truth of it.

Harold gave a small smile. Twins or not, as different as their personalities were, so were their sleeping habits. Unlike Edwin, who slept deeply without a twitch, Edgar tossed and turned often.

...That one was Edgar, right?

He'd been confident he could tell them apart now, but looking at them like this, he wasn't so sure again.

"...!"

Harold looked back out the window.

The forest, dark and unlit. His eyes, adjusted to the dark, could make out the faint sway of the trees.

Harold stared out at the empty darkness. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there before a small point of light appeared, flickering, far off at the edge of his view.

A lantern.

Swaying this way and that, coming toward the manor.

Harold wasn't surprised. The light grew steadily larger. A single black horse was coming slowly along the wooded path. A lantern hung from the roof of the carriage. The driver, also in black, wore his hat pulled low despite the hour.

Harold picked up the lamp and stepped quietly out of the bedroom. The children slept on, none the wiser.

He went down to the first floor and opened the front door. The black carriage approached the manor like a shadow. The black horse gave only a soft snort and stopped obediently. The driver, without so much as a glance at Harold, climbed down and moved to escort the man inside.

A man stepped out of the unmarked carriage. A face Harold knew. The pale gold of his hair, reflected in the lantern hanging from the carriage, deepened in color.

Grisha Lambert gestured to the driver. Without a word, the driver put out the lantern. The carriage was swallowed in an instant by the dark.

Grisha strode into the manor as though he owned the place.

Which he did, technically. Harold didn't stop him — he only followed.

"Should I light more?"

"Don't bother. I only came to talk."

Grisha sat down in a chair in the drawing room, looking tired. Harold set the lamp down on the table.

"You had to come in secret like this?"

"There's too much bothersome nonsense..."

"Grisha?"

"Albrecht shouldn't have died."

Without any warning, Grisha said something that rocked Harold where he stood.