Chapter 48

Harold didn't panic.

Panicking was for amateurs. Calmly, Harold checked on Edgar first.

His twin's absence hadn't slowed Edgar down. He was muttering to himself, running his eyes along the shelves. On the floor around him lay the books Harold had pulled down for him. Apparently not noticing that Harold was watching, Edgar checked the shelves against the pile at his feet, going through them carefully. Every so often he tilted his head, plainly not satisfied yet.

Harold looked at the library door. He'd deliberately left it open, and the corridor was in plain view.

"..."

No sound of anyone. Nothing suspicious in the air, either.

"What else is missing..."

"Edgar."

"...Yes? What is it, Uncle?"

"I'm going to go get Edwin. You stay right here in the library and don't go anywhere else. Understood?"

Only then did Edgar seem to realize Edwin still hadn't come back, his eyes going wide.

"Don't go anywhere else."

"Okay, Uncle."

"If anything happens, call for me — loud."

"Yes."

Only after a few more confirmations did Harold leave the library.

If someone was good enough to slip into the manor past his own hair-trigger senses, that was another problem entirely. Harold stepped out into the corridor and scanned his surroundings.

Maybe he shouldn't have turned Anne down when she'd offered to come. The children hadn't caused any trouble on their own before, and he'd let himself relax.

But when he thought about it, they did have a track record of sneaking out of the Archibald estate... At their age Harold had pulled worse than that, so he wasn't in a position to sigh over the boys.

Even so, at that age his brother had never had his hands off a book. The love of books came from his brother; the adventurous streak came from his sister-in-law. There was no need to take after both sides quite this evenly.

"..."

Harold started up the stairs.

Albrecht had once called Harold a beast. Not exactly the thing to say to your younger brother, but he wasn't wrong either.

"Lucky for you you were born in a peaceful age."

Harold's senses went past anything a normal human's should.

Some part of Harold's mind was always processing that input — perceiving, interpreting, reacting. He usually made a point of tuning it out because keeping it on was tiring, but you couldn't shut out external stimuli any more than you could stop breathing.

He expanded the thread of awareness he usually kept in the background. Not stopping at what was visible, touchable, smellable, but reaching further.

The slow air inside a manor cut off from the outside. The sound of wood expanding and contracting. The tremor of branches knocked together by the wind.

Perceiving each one and analyzing and sorting it in the same moment. A feat no ordinary person could manage. Harold managed. And he found it.

A trace as faint as some small animal. But for Harold, it was a warmth he'd been able to picture in his sleep these last few months. A warmth he'd thought he could never forget.

Edwin.

His young nephew was in his father's bedroom.

Seeing the small back through the open door, Harold felt the tension go out of him. He'd known no one else was in there, but he couldn't relax until he'd seen the boy safe with his own eyes.

"..."

Harold started to call out to Edwin, then thought better of it and came closer quietly. What went through that tiny child's head to bring him into this room, he couldn't guess.

The bedroom, despite what had happened last winter, was tidily kept. If not for the stain left on the carpet, no one would have guessed anything had happened here. A faint smell of blood brushed at the edge of his nose.

There was no band of intruders forcing their way into the bedroom, no man dragging a child in and shouting him down.

He wished that had been the case.

But what had happened had happened. The image of the boy calling out for his twin, not even minding the cut on his own arm, was still vivid in his mind.

Someday one of the two would take his father's place and become Count. When that time came, this bedroom would be opened up again.

But until then, Harold didn't want to leave his nephew alone. He didn't want to see him standing by himself in this room.

Harold gave his head a small shake. He pushed out the image of blood running down a small white wrist.

He didn't want to know what the boy had been feeling, or what his face had looked like, when he walked into this room. But Harold was Edwin's guardian. He'd resolved to be beside him whatever happened.

But before Harold could call to Edwin, Edwin turned around first.

"Um... Uncle?"

"Edwin."

"..."

Edwin drew his shoulders in and gave an awkward smile. The gesture of someone who knew he'd done something he shouldn't have.

If you knew it was wrong, then you shouldn't do it — Harold finally understood the lectures he'd gotten from his mother when he was small.

"Sorry for sneaking off..."

The sheepish little smile the boy shot up at him took what anger there was clean out of him. Truth be told, Harold had never really believed he could scold the children.

So he lowered himself to one knee, met Edwin's eyes, and opened his arms. Edwin came running and hugged him with easy familiarity.

"From now on, you tell me first, all right?"

Harold said it again.

"You come with me."

"Well, I'll think about it!"

Joke or no joke, this good child wouldn't break a promise to his uncle.

Harold lifted Edwin easily and stood without effort. Edwin squirmed in his arms, finding a comfortable position.

"Did you make it to the bathroom?"

"...Yes!"

"I hope Edgar stayed put."

"In the library? Edgar's good, so he'll be there."

"And you're not good?"

Harold tapped Edwin lightly on the tip of the nose. Edwin covered his nose, giggling as if it tickled.

"Well... I didn't listen to you, so?"

"You look pretty good to Uncle."

"That's a problem."

Edwin said it in mock alarm.

"How so?"

"If I'm not good, you'll be disappointed!"

Harold bounced Edwin a little to shift his weight and met his eyes.

"I might be disappointed, sure."

"See."

"But I'd still love you anyway, Edwin."

"..."

Harold turned it around and asked Edwin,

"What would you do if I were a bad person?"

"...There's no way you're a bad person, Uncle."

His chest ached. Going forward, Harold decided, he'd be a good person. Not that he'd been a bad one before, but — anyway.

Edwin stuck his lip out, but nodded, serious.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I might be disappointed too, but I'd still love you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're family."

That was all he needed.

Once they were back on the first floor Edwin twisted to be set down. Lately, the time the boys spent in his arms had grown shorter. Had they grown that much in the meantime? Children grew too fast.

Harold looked at his suddenly empty hand for a moment, then followed after Edwin. Fortunately Edgar was still in the library, tidying up the books.

Edgar shot Edwin a glare, then turned to Harold and made his demand with an air of authority.

"Uncle! Carry these for me."

"This is enough?"

"You shouldn't take more than that, Edgar."

Edwin stuck his tongue out at Edgar.

"You aren't even going to be able to read all the ones you've got."

"I'll read them all, Edwin!"

"I'm going to sit next to you and see if you really do."

Edwin ran his eyes over the books Edgar had stacked. Then, startled, he looked back at Edgar.

Edgar grinned smugly.

"You said you wanted to learn magic."

"But this isn't a book about magic, it's about history..."

"Everything starts with the fundamentals!"

They were the books Edgar had asked him to pull down while Edwin was out.

For Edgar to say something like that meant Edwin must have been interested in magic for quite a while. Now that life was starting to settle, once the Adrien Renard business was over he really should call in the researchers from the magic institute for a talk. He'd mention Edwin's interest at the same time.

"All right, Edwin, you don't need any more books?"

"There's already lots."

"Then let's put these in the carriage and — I don't know. Should we drop by a bookstore? I told you I'd get you some new ones."

"But there's this many already?"

Edwin's eyes went wide as he pointed at the pile on the floor.

Even so, Harold knew perfectly well that these books were beyond the boys. But saying so plainly would only get their backs up. They'd inherited their mother's pride, and it was already something.

"There are plenty of books not in here."

"Hmm... All right! There might be new releases, too. I used to go to the bookstore with Dad a lot."

The image of his brother wandering around a bookstore wasn't easy to conjure. But the image of him being dragged around by two children who took after him wholesale — that came almost embarrassingly easily.

Harold gathered up the books on the floor. They weren't heavy, but the sheer number meant two trips at least. He wished he'd brought some cord to tie them with, but he hadn't thought the boys would want to take this many, and there was no help for it.

"Edgar! Look. It really is spring now."

"There are still some flowers that haven't opened."

"With it getting warmer, they'll open soon, won't they?"

Edgar and Edwin buzzed around Harold, chattering. The sight of the familiar garden apparently had them wound up — they took off running, and Harold had to call after them.

"No running!"

"Uncle, can we come back with Grandma Linda sometime? Grandma said there weren't enough flowers in the little house's garden!"

"You want to transplant some from here?"

"She said there was some way to... to make more flowers."

Edwin scrunched his face up trying to explain. If you could even call it an explanation.

Then, spotting something else, he took off again on the balls of his feet, bouncing as he ran.

Thud!

"Edwin!"

Harold had had a bad feeling about it, and sure enough Edwin caught his foot on a stone and went down.

He dropped the books and rushed over, startled. He hadn't paid attention to the garden and this was the result. Edgar came up beside him and started scolding.

"You should have watched where you were going!"

"Ow, ow..."

"Edwin, are you all right?"

Edwin held out his hand, on the verge of crying. Red streaks of blood were welling up on the palm caked with dirt.

"I must have scraped it on a stone."

"Uncle said not to run."

Edgar's face crumpled in sympathy.

Harold took Edwin's hand and carefully examined the scrape. Beads of blood had come up, but fortunately the cut wasn't deep.

A watch officer stationed near the front gate had seen the boy fall and came over.

"Is everything... Do you need a doctor?"

"It's not that deep, but..."

Best to have it looked at all the same. Harold took the handkerchief the officer held out and pressed it firmly to Edwin's palm.

"Take him to the Archibald estate."

"Ah, the books."

"We'll handle those."

"But they're our books!"

Edgar scrambled to gather up the fallen books. The watch officer smiled at him fondly.

"It's all right. Helping when someone's hurt is part of a watch officer's job too."

Seeing Edwin's teary face as he clutched the handkerchief tight, Harold accepted the officer's kindness.

Edgar kept glancing back reluctantly, but he settled quietly into Harold's arm. Edwin didn't cry outright, but he complained his knee hurt too and made a small fuss for his uncle's benefit.

Feeling the warmth filling his arms, Harold nodded to himself.

The boys still had a long way to go before they were grown. Until then, he'd hold them as much as he wanted.