Chapter 95

The Lambert estate was quiet.

An estate this vast — three separate buildings — couldn't be run by one or two servants. There had to be dozens of them at least, but not many were visible to Edgar.

They all drifted through the estate like ghosts. No sound. No presence. They moved, hushed and silent, through halls as old as the kingdom itself.

Wherever Edgar looked, nothing was new. Even the carpets carried the weight of years on them.

The heavy curtains, the vases lining the hallways, even the carvings on the banisters of the staircases.

Every one of them was expensive and precious. Even to a child's eye, it was clear these were no ordinary pieces. Old and rare pieces gathered together to make yet another work of art whose value couldn't be measured.

That was what it was. A work of art. All of it beautiful and delicate and rare — and eerily old.

That was House Lambert.

The Duke of Lambert had told Edgar and Edwin they were free to go wherever they liked, except the central main building, which was under repair. If there was anywhere they weren't allowed, the servants would let them know.

It had been more than a month since Edgar had come up to the capital from the Bertholdt domain. He was still adjusting to the new life, but Edgar thought he would never adjust to this vast, gloomy estate. And he had no desire to try.

Just as the duke had said, the servants never stopped Edgar and Edwin from wandering the estate. There were the occasional rooms they couldn't enter, but those were the duke's bedroom or his study. Even those, when there were no guests, could be entered with the duke's permission.

"Count Bertholdt. Come in."

The Duke of Lambert spoke with a faint smile. Edgar looked steadily at the man with the pale gold hair tied loosely back, then stepped into the study.

The duke glanced at the empty chair across from him. It had clearly been set out for Edgar in advance. Edgar regarded the duke warily. But standing there indefinitely would have looked absurd, so he cautiously took the empty seat.

The moment Edgar sat down, the duke slid a sealed envelope across the desk. The seal on the envelope bore the emblem of the central bank.

"You can go to the bank yourself later to confirm. For now, look at what's urgent. I had them send this at my request."

"..."

Edgar opened the envelope right away. As the thin volume suggested, there were only a couple of sheets of paper inside. He could feel the distinctive pebbled texture the central bank used to prevent forgery.

Edgar had never seen bank documents, so he didn't grasp them at a glance. But there on the paper was his father's name, one he hadn't seen in a long time, listed alongside his uncle's.

"You'll inherit all of House Bertholdt's accounts. As a minor, there are still restrictions. On that point, you..."

"I know."

"Good. And the late Count Bertholdt left savings for you and your brother. Al— the late Count Bertholdt's personal assets, they'd be."

Edgar noticed that the Duke of Lambert had started to say his father's name and then caught himself. He was mildly surprised, but he didn't ask about it.

It wouldn't have been strange for his father to have known the Duke of Lambert. From what Edgar dimly remembered, Albrecht Bertholdt had been a nobleman of some influence in the capital.

"That, too, you can only touch once you come of age. Originally, your father had given something to Harold for your upbringing..."

The Duke of Lambert narrowed his eyes as he spoke.

"As I recall, he said he didn't need it and split it in half to open new accounts in your names. Probably you can access them once you enter the academy."

Following along with the duke's explanation, Edgar could see what the bank documents were saying.

Just as the duke had said. An account he could access at coming-of-age; another that would open before then...

"And there'll be what Harold left as well."

"..."

"I don't know how much he set aside. But over ten years as a mercenary — no. There's no need for me to go into that. Even so, he'd have put away a fair bit."

He'd caught himself on Albrecht's name, but for Harold, apparently, no such correction was needed.

Mattheus had told him too that his uncle and the Duke of Lambert were old friends, but Edgar still couldn't quite believe what the duke was saying. Overlapping at the academy didn't necessarily make two people friends.

Besides, his uncle had been overseas for a long stretch after graduation. Even if they'd been close as children, would that friendship really have lasted through the years since?

"Harold doesn't find spending money particularly enjoyable, but he wasn't the type to work for nothing either."

Under Edgar's suspicious look, the duke didn't change expression in the slightest.

"For large sums, you'll need my confirmation as your guardian. Otherwise, spend as you like."

"..."

Edgar slowly went through the papers. The duke let him take his time.

The bank documents didn't offer any more detail than the duke's explanation. There was only the standard line saying that if he wanted a more detailed account, he should visit the central bank's main branch in the 5th District and ask for the officer handling his file.

Even that would require a representative to accompany him, as long as he was still a minor. Edgar glanced sidelong at the duke.

The duke hadn't told Edgar to leave the study, but he'd stopped paying attention to him either. Brow furrowed, he was flipping through a book on his desk.

The family's lawyer would do fine.

Edgar deliberately made a small sound tidying the handful of pages. The duke, who had been turning pages with the disinterested air of someone who might or might not have actually been reading, looked up at the sound.

"If you want to go to the bank, tell a servant. They'll have a carriage prepared."

"..."

It had been one of the things he'd been meaning to ask about, but hearing the duke bring it up first stung his pride somehow. Then again, raising it himself would have been just as uncomfortable. Edgar couldn't tell what he actually wanted.

But he knew the root cause of the discomfort.

Whether that man had really been his uncle's friend, he couldn't say — but either way, he had gone through the legal process and become his guardian.

Edgar clenched the envelope tight. The bank's seal creased badly. The duke's eye twitched and he grimaced.

"Count Bertholdt?"

"...My brother's and my living expenses—"

"Your uncle settled that before he went."

The Duke of Lambert said it without a moment's hesitation.

"...But."

"No. I understand what you want to say, but I'll decline. It's all already been arranged."

Edgar clenched his fist. The duke let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm not going to take money from a child. It's not as if I'm short on funds. I'd normally indulge your stubbornness, but not on this."

The guardianship itself was unavoidable. That much he understood.

As a minor he needed an adult's protection. Whether he actually needed it was another matter.

But Edgar didn't want to be indebted to the Duke of Lambert. Living at the Lambert estate was more than enough already.

"I owe your uncle a great deal."

The duke pressed hard between his brows.

"Think of it as me paying back what I owe Harold, if that makes it easier for you."

"..."

"I have things to see to, so let's leave the conversation there. If you want to go to the bank, tell a servant... The main building is off-limits, as I said?"

"...Yes."

"It's an old building. Frankly, I'd like to knock it flat, but apparently it's a protected heritage site, so I can't."

"..."

"If you need anything, tell me or the butler."

The Duke of Lambert dismissed Edgar with no attempt to soften it.

Whether the man actually had something to see to, Edgar couldn't be sure, but before he could respond, the duke stood and put on his coat.

Faced with that clear dismissal, Edgar had no choice but to step outside. The butler standing guard at the door bowed to Edgar and then went into the study.

Not knowing what he ought to feel, Edgar wandered the hall clutching the bank envelope. It wasn't dark out yet, and lamps were lit in the corridor, but somehow it felt gloomy. Probably because, as the duke had said, it was an old building. Not as old as the main hall, but this building had to be decades old too.

Bringing up his uncle had been a cheap move. But once the duke had spoken his uncle's name, Edgar had no comeback. Of course, he hadn't seriously thought the duke would let him pay Edwin's and his own living expenses.

Still, for the duke to bring up his uncle's name like that...

"Excuse me, young master."

Edgar looked up.

Wandering wherever his feet had taken him, he'd ended up at the garden behind the estate. It was one of the few bright spots in this heavy building.

In the past month at the Lambert estate, Edgar had never once seen the duke out here... but he liked the well-tended view, and whenever he needed time alone he'd often walk in the garden.

"...It's Edgar."

"I'm sorry, young Master Edgar."

"It's fine. Even our uncle had trouble telling us apart."

"Please, speak more comfortably."

The neat livery of House Lambert's servants. Edgar nodded.

"So, what is it?"

The servant, sensing Edgar's refusal, didn't press the point.

"I'm sorry. If you'd like to use the garden, might I ask you to come back at another time?"

An odd request.

It was phrased as a request, but he wasn't young enough to miss that it was the same refusal as when the duke's bedroom and study were off-limits.

Were they tending the trees? But if that were the case, they'd have said so.

Either way, Edgar was a guest here. Guardian or no guardian, he wasn't shameless enough to raise a fuss over how someone else ran their household.

"All right—"

"A guest?"

"Miss."

"It's fine. I heard my brother had brought someone home. I was wondering when he'd introduce us."

A small back-and-forth drifted from further in the garden. A clear voice, one Edgar had never expected to hear inside this house.

In the end, whoever the voice belonged to must have won, because an elderly woman pushed a wheeled chair out to the garden entrance. Edgar's eyes went not to the older woman but to the girl seated in the chair.

The first thing to catch his eye was her fiery red hair. Between skin so pale it looked as if she'd never seen proper sunlight and a thin frame that spoke of illness at a glance, only that hair made a bright impression. Even wrapped head to toe in a thick blanket, the girl had eyes that glittered as if stars from the night sky had been set into them.

"Hello!"

"...Hello."

"Oh, you don't have to be so shy. You're Uncle Harold's nephew, aren't you? My brother mentioned you a while back."

Judging by how the duke's servant was flustered, this was clearly no ordinary girl. But how many people could walk the Lambert estate freely? The duke's remaining family was Wilhelm Lambert, captain of the royal guard, and—

"Miss. Young Master Bertholdt won't know who you are."

"Oh! Sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I'm — um, Linda, is this all right? Is it against etiquette?"

"It's all right, Miss. This is your home. Speak as you like."

Home?

Edgar slowly worked out who the girl was. The duke did have a younger sister—

"Hello. I'm Adelheid Lambert."

Where Edgar and his brother were the mirror image of each other, the Lambert siblings looked nothing alike, from head to toe.