Chapter 43

Sixteen days after Albrecht Bertholdt's death.

The Bertholdt estate.

"What. Snowing again?"

"It's been snowing a lot this winter."

The thick curtain came back down over the window.

The faint light that had been leaking out was blotted out by the shutter and the layered curtains. From outside, you'd see nothing but darkness unless you came right up to the window.

"Hey. Toss the booze over."

The man who'd drawn the curtain waved a hand, his face already flushed from drink.

The kitchen was already a mess. Empty bottles rolled across the floor, and half-eaten food was strewn around. The red-haired man feeding kindling into the stove looked up.

"Which one?"

"The pricey stuff."

"Everything here is pricey."

"Fine, then whatever our butler recommends."

The moment he'd finished, the room burst into laughter. The red-haired man waved his hand irritably.

"Shut up. Just drink whatever."

"Those little masters still alive, right?"

From within the laughter came a bored question.

"You told me to leave them, so I did, but if a kid dies it leaves a bad taste."

"Since when were you so concerned?"

"When there's a body it makes running harder. If you want to work out whatever it is you're working out, at least wait till we're clear, Adrien."

"I've got nothing to work out."

"Then why bother locking them up at all?"

Adrien threw the wine bottle in his hand at the man.

The man, who'd been sprawled back in his chair, jerked upright and just managed to catch it.

"You said this was expensive! What if I'd broken it!"

"There's plenty in the cellar. Grab another."

Adrien picked up a bottle from the table. It was still half full.

He drank straight from it without bothering with a glass and gave a rough laugh.

"Aren't you curious what kind of bed a lordly little sir sleeps in?"

"..."

"Want to see?"

The drunk men whooped, eyes glinting. Coarse laughter and whistles rang through the empty hallway, sharp enough to hurt the ears. Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs.

Adrien flicked a glance at the far end of the second-floor corridor and turned away.

"Not that way. Follow me. This place is big enough that a lot like you'd get lost."

At the far end of that second-floor corridor was a single room with a lock on it.

Not a fleck of light leaked out, and the cold winter air was thick inside. The clumsy lock looked more like something meant for an outdoor storage shed than for anywhere inside a manor.

Sure enough, the door itself couldn't take a lock in the first place. A board had been nailed over it and a lock forced onto that. So no riffraff could get into the room. Or so nothing valuable inside could get out.

"..."

Beyond the door lay a stillness that put the hair up.

There was nothing precious enough to worry about being handled by amateurs, and nothing so terrible that it needed keeping in.

Despite the thick carpet on the floor and the curtain drawn over the window, the air was cold enough to make the skin shiver. The fireplace held nothing but cold ash.

The open storybook, the doll, the scattered toys — none of it could soften the bleakness in the air.

In front of the fireplace, a pile of blankets was bunched together. Crumpled and tossed aside — but if you looked closely, they were shifting, just a little.

"Edgar."

A child was sitting there, holding that pile of blankets in his lap. The look on his face, under the dim moonlight filtering into the room, was uncannily grown up for so young a face.

"Edgar."

The child shook the bundle of blankets gently. The blankets slid, uncovering a small child asleep beneath them.

The two faces were startlingly alike.

Edwin Bertholdt poked his twin's cheek. It was strange for a child who hadn't slept deeply since Albrecht's death to be this hard to wake. Edwin sighed and tugged the blankets back into place.

"Nothing anywhere said something like this happened."

Edgar's breathing was rough. From what little Edwin knew, it looked like a mild cold. Of course, he couldn't be careless about it. A young child's body was far more fragile than Edwin instinctively took it to be.

Still, when he laid the back of his hand against his twin's forehead and cheek, they were only a little warm — not hot.

...Not that he knew where it might go later.

Well. He'd survive, either way.

"I was just going to learn magic and enjoy a nice little fantasy life..."

Feeling the touch, Edgar — sleeping deeper than usual, dulled by the low fever — stirred and curled in on himself. Edwin gave a small smile and stroked his hair. The soft strands slipped through his fingers.

At the familiar touch, the tension in Edgar's face — the small pained sounds — eased.

"Poor thing."

A tangle of feeling passed across Edwin's face as he looked down at Edgar.

The face of the man he'd last seen flickered up. Busy as he was, unable to properly rest even at home, he'd made a point of eating breakfast with the children every morning.

Even when he was flipping through the paper with a face full of irritation because something wasn't going his way at work, when he was with his sons he set all of it aside and smiled wide.

Edwin.

Albrecht Bertholdt hadn't been the complicated man he appeared to be from the outside. That man's priorities had always been—

"..."

He hadn't made any promises to that man.

There had been times he wished the man would just ask him. Even though Edwin himself couldn't have said what it was he wanted to tell him. And he figured it had been the same on the man's side.

But Edwin had misjudged his father. That man had known his own son better than Edwin knew himself.

That was why he hadn't asked. Why he hadn't asked for any promises.

Edwin looked down at his sleeping twin and whispered,

"Whatever happens, I'll protect you."

Because the man had known Edwin would never abandon Edgar.

---

"Somebody killed Dad, right?"

Edwin didn't give Harold room to speak.

"That's why you've been busy, isn't it? To catch the person who killed him? Is it Adrien?"

Just as well. There wasn't anything Harold could have said anyway.

Harold stared at Edwin, dazed. The smile was gone from Edwin's face now. The blunt look on it was uncanny in how much it resembled his brother.

And at the same time, his sister-in-law was there too.

"I don't think it's Adrien, though. If it were, he'd have run long ago. He wouldn't have kept me and Edgar for a whole month."

Harold's nephew took after his brother a great deal. It was probably down to the black hair and blue eyes he shared with Harold. But wherever a certain delicacy rare in the Bertholdt line showed through, you could find traces of his sister-in-law too.

Beyond the physical, in more than looks, the two boys were an exact echo of Albrecht Bertholdt and Cecilia Barbosa.

Edgar in particular had inherited that couple's sensitive temperament wholesale. He disliked strangers, disliked anything unexpected. His conviction that everything ought to go according to plan was his brother and sister-in-law's researcher's mind transplanted whole.

Having Edgar beside him only made Edwin's easygoing nature stand out more.

The boys' grandparents — Harold's parents — hadn't been prickly people either. Harold himself preferred to let things slide. To Harold's eye Edwin wasn't quite as easygoing as he seemed either, but with Edgar next to him, the trait didn't stand out.

Maybe because Edwin was always going around with a bright smile.

"That doesn't mean Adrien's fine either! Uncle, you have to catch Adrien too."

"..."

"Uncle!"

Edwin's voice sharpened, and he tugged at Harold.

Only then did Harold register that Edwin was waiting for an answer. He nodded.

"R-right."

Edwin gave him a skeptical look, huffed once, and let it go.

...For a moment Cecilia Barbosa was there. Then, as the boy's eyes turned back on him, Albrecht overlaid the face.

Their son through and through.

Not that he'd ever doubted it. Even so. Yes.

"Edgar doesn't remember what happened back then very well."

"...Back when?"

"When Adrien locked us up. So don't bring it up with Edgar, all right? If you need a statement, I can give it."

Harold opened his mouth, closed it.

He'd had no idea what to say for a while now. Something serious had just passed between them, and Edwin was ignoring the plain look on his uncle's face.

"Whatever else, he hurt Edgar. I don't like Adrien."

"That..."

After a few more false starts, Harold managed to get his voice out.

"...I don't like him either."

"Right?"

Edwin's face brightened.

If only the subject weren't what it was, Harold's chest wouldn't have felt this heavy.

"You don't have to worry about Edgar. I'll look after him."

"..."

"You're worried about him anyway, though, aren't you?"

Edwin tilted his head and smiled.

"If you're worried about Edgar, then hurry up and catch Adrien. Or the person who killed Dad — Dad was murdered, wasn't he!"

What could he possibly say, looking at that face?

Harold did what he always did and dropped to a knee to be at Edwin's eye level.

However grown-up he tried to sound, a child was still a child.

When their eyes met, Edwin drew his shoulders in the way a kid caught at some mischief does. Did he think Harold was going to be angry? Or something else?

"Edwin."

Harold couldn't answer his question.

Albrecht's death was on record as a carriage accident. However suspicious the circumstances were, nothing had been established outright as murder.

Was he supposed to tell this child that?

Bright as this child was, Harold knew that wasn't how you break the news of a father's death.

Harold took Edwin's hand. Edwin flinched but didn't pull it back.

"I'm worried about Edgar. And I'm worried about you too."

"..."

"I... I'm not as clever as your father, so I can't tell you I'll take care of everything on my own."

Edwin looked at him as though he couldn't believe it.

"Aren't you supposed to say to just trust you?"

"I can't lie to you."

Edwin shook his head. Even that was straight out of his brother and sister-in-law.

"But I'll do everything I can. Can you trust me?"

"..."

Edwin studied Harold.

His eyes were just a shade brighter blue than Harold's.

After what felt like an eternity to Harold — only a few seconds, really — Edwin nodded.

"Yes. I trust you."

Before Harold could open his mouth again, Edwin quickly spoke.

"But when you catch Adrien... if you find out who hurt Dad, promise you'll tell me."

"Edwin..."

"I'd be fine either way, but Edgar won't be able to settle until he knows everything's been dealt with."

Then Edwin slipped his hand out of Harold's. Before Harold could react, Edwin threw his arms wide and hugged him.

"I'm sorry for asking about Dad, Uncle. It's hard on you too."

"..."

"But I know you'll do it."

Edwin turned and headed up the stairs. He'd be going back to Edgar.

Listening to the footsteps fade, Harold kept his mouth shut, feelings a tangle.

That bright child was certain his father's death had been no accident.

Refusing to answer had been an answer of its own, as far as Edwin was concerned. Maybe he should have just denied it outright.

But somehow, he had a feeling Edwin would have seen through the lie regardless.