* * *

The cashiers in a lord's service answered to the treasurer and generally had to wear a ridiculous outfit during working hours: a one-piece robe that enveloped the head and chin, leaving only the face exposed, and hung all the way to the feet. Its hood tapered into a long point that trailed down the back, and the fabric was embroidered with garish polka dots.

No definitive reason had been given for making them wear this outfit at work, but it was probably because they handled money. Put simply, it was a precaution against their running off with the funds. It made them easy to spot from a distance and prevented them from moving quickly. A cashier who failed to wear it during working hours was therefore liable to punishment.

Back from the forest, Valeri held his work clothes in his hands and stared down at them. Then he folded them neatly, put them back in the drawer beneath his bed, and left his room wearing the same tunic he had put on that morning.

He went down the corridor and descended the defensive tower's stairs to the ground floor. Outside the room where he handled payments, he found Roke guarding the door from a chair he had brought over.

Roke was one of the boys who had been in the forest that morning. His face was slightly flushed, perhaps from the drink, and he seemed to have just taken over the watch. He, too, was a knight's squire. Whenever squires were not tending equipment or attending their knights, they were assigned night watches and various other guard duties.

Roke looked bewildered at the sight of Valeri. He was not wearing the garish outfit required for work. Seeing him without something he had worn every day for nearly four years was strange even to Roke.

"Huh? Where's your outfit?"

"I didn't put it on."

"I can see that. I'm asking why."

"I just didn't feel like wearing it."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Who knows?"

"..."

Roke merely blinked, dumbfounded. Perhaps because of the uncanny movements he had witnessed that morning, it never occurred to him to press Valeri.

In truth, he had looked without seeing anything. He had missed the entire act of taking the sword and seen only the result. More importantly, his job was to stand guard. He had no authority to tell Valeri what to do.

"Open it," Valeri said.

The office was padlocked, and the guard held the key. Still bemused and vaguely uneasy, Roke unlocked it without a word. He wanted no part of this.

Leaving the still-bewildered Roke behind, Valeri entered the office. It was little more than a tiny cubbyhole. Or perhaps a prison.

A strongbox and a single desk were all it held. Ink, a quill, and neatly organized stacks of documents sat on the desk. The papers were recent contracts, checklists, and the like.

First, Valeri opened the small window's wooden shutter. Light filled the room.

He sat down and pulled open a heavy drawer to find bulging money pouches inside. He placed the pouches, mostly filled with silver and copper coins, on the desk and drew the topmost document toward him. It listed the people from whom he was to receive money or to whom he was to make payments that day, along with the goods and amounts involved: camellia oil, fish oil, and olive oil delivered by the oil merchant, as well as necessities such as beeswax, cloth, thread, and leather...

The treasurer managed the estate's finances as a whole, entered into contracts, and maintained good relations with tax collectors and other administrators. Valeri's work as a cashier involved directly receiving and paying out money: wages for the knights, soldiers, and other employees, and payments due under various contracts.

It was important work, in its way, but in practice he spent all day doing sums. Here in this tiny cubbyhole.

Valeri remembered first being assigned the job at ten years old. How happy he had been to finally have something to do.

As a bastard, he had lived in constant anxiety over having no place of his own. At last, he had felt he was becoming someone useful. Above all, he had been grateful for the chance to serve his father, however modestly—the father who was his only connection in the world.

It would have been a lie to say that staring at numbers all day, every day, for years had never bored him. But whenever it did, he had steeled himself, renewed his resolve, and worked with meticulous care.

And then, out of nowhere, the man had tried to kill him. 'Because I wasn't his real son? To get ahead?'

Even now, the memory stirred anger in Valeri's chest. But perhaps because his heart had already gone cold and died once, it was not enough to rob him of his characteristic composure.

The ostensible reason Earl Æthelred had tried to kill him was to prove his loyalty to Duke Sven, who had supported the Third Prince. Now, however, Valeri could clearly see that there had been more to it than that.

To begin with, House Winslow was not a Nord family. It was Astrian.

Very few Astrian noble houses had survived the War of Founding, but a handful had managed to endure. Some had earned the Nords' respect by fighting bravely; others had navigated their way to survival through diplomacy.

Surviving had not been the end of their troubles, however. Subtle discrimination and persecution from the Nords were a matter of course, and sometimes there were blatant attempts to seize their lands. House Winslow, in other words, had spent generations anxiously struggling to preserve its family and domain.

Ironically, the greatest threat House Winslow faced now was its own liege lord, Duke Sven. Relations might have been tolerable in the previous generation, but no longer.

The duke did not interfere or obstruct them directly. Instead, he allowed bands of wandering warriors to roam the earldom of Winslow or incited other vassals to provoke disputes. Under the guise of a suggestion, he had even pressured the earl into giving his son a Nord name. Harald was not an Astrian name, but a typically Nord one.

The most devastating blow, though it had yet to happen, had been taking Harald away as a hostage in all but name under the pretext of training him as a knight.

With no other children and only that one son, the earl must have had no choice. Kill the prince. Otherwise, your son dies.

Valeri suddenly recalled Harald's innocent smile that morning.

'Why had I killed him so brutally in front of Earl Æthelred? Because I felt betrayed? Or had it been jealousy instead? Because he chose Harald, not me.'

"..."

Calmly, Valeri examined the truth within himself that he had not wanted to face—one he might have known all along and deliberately ignored. Did he regret it? Not particularly. What meaning did any of it have now?

What had changed was that he now knew he was not a bastard, and that Earl Æthelred was not his real father. He also knew that, as his guardian, the earl was aware of his princely identity and bound to keep it secret. If he accidentally divulged that secret, the first king's inviolable edict could condemn not only him but all of House Winslow to extermination.

Valeri considered the various realities of his situation. Yet the fundamental question remained.

What should he do now...?

Dust drifted slowly through the sunlight streaming in the window. As he pondered, the door opened, sending the languid motes into a sudden, chaotic swirl. Roke had opened it to admit a merchant.

Without thinking, Valeri opened a money pouch. He scattered the coins across the desk and stacked them ten high. He did not pile them up one at a time. A simple sweep of his hand produced ten columns of ten coins in an instant.

The merchant's eyes widened as though he had witnessed magic. Paying him no mind, Valeri picked up his quill, looked at the document, and spoke.

"Name."

The sun was sinking slowly toward the western hills. Day's final moments shone gold, yet the setting sun seemed to hasten on its way.

Farmers, woodcutters, and the people who lived in the castle were all finishing their respective tasks and bringing the day to a close. Yet for some reason, the entire household had gathered in Winslow Castle's courtyard.

Earl Æthelred was returning from a week spent touring and patrolling his lands.

The household had not assembled at random. Each person's position reflected their status.

Naturally, the countess stood nearest the keep, in the most conspicuous spot. Harald was right beside her, followed by the ladies-in-waiting and maids. Next came the council and administrators, the squires and soldiers, and those who did menial work. The lower their standing, the closer they stood to the curtain wall.

Valeri stood behind the people near the wall. It was the lowliest position, but he was not there simply because he was a bastard. He wanted to stay out of the countess's sight as much as possible.

She did not particularly mistreat him, but she preferred not to see him. That was understandable. As far as anyone knew, he was her husband's child by another woman.

As Valeri stood there, he sensed someone watching him. Turning, he found Harald far away, craning his head to one side to peer at him. When their eyes met, Harald beamed and waved. The countess promptly caught her son's hand and lowered it.

Valeri turned away again, indifferent.

He could still feel the gaze on him, but was doing his best to ignore it when someone tapped him from behind. He turned to find the kindly-looking treasurer, whose eyes held both reproach and concern.

"I hear you weren't properly dressed today."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'And?' Don't you know you can be punished for not wearing it?"

"I know. What do you want me to do about it?"

"N-now, listen. You mustn't speak like that. This could get me in trouble as well as you."

"I won't get you in trouble."

Valeri turned to face forward again. The treasurer seemed rather at a loss, unsure what to do.

They had no particular name for it, but people knew from experience that boys tended to become rebellious between the ages of twelve and sixteen. The treasurer thought that must be what was happening to Valeri. Unable to do anything about it on the spot, he could only fret. Such a worry, such a worry...

"His lordship is coming."

A soldier on the wall turned toward the courtyard to make the announcement. The treasurer hurried back to his place.

Before long, the faint sound of hoofbeats began to reach them, growing steadily clearer. Then, with the hooves of three horses pounding the earth, Earl Æthelred and two knights thundered into the castle.

CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP!

His short, blanket-like cloak flapping, Earl Æthelred reined in sharply. He turned his horse in a circle, seemingly calming the animal after its exhilarating gallop.

The sight of an enormous warhorse at close quarters was threatening enough to set one's heart pounding. Those horses had been the decisive factor in the new generation's victory during the War of Beasts. The first generation of warriors had mainly traveled by ship.

Looking up at the earl on such a mount, the people felt fear and the weight of his authority. Neither Æthelred nor his two knights looked entirely pristine, as though they had slept outdoors several times during their patrol.

When a tour took them to a vassal's residence or a town, they could find comfortable lodgings. Patrolling the borders, however, sometimes left them no choice but to camp.

The earl surveyed those who had come to greet him. As always, his gaze found Valeri first.

Once, Valeri had read gruff affection in that look. Not anymore. If anything happened to the prince, not only the earl but his entire domain and family would be destroyed. Naturally, he checked on Valeri first.

Once the horses seemed to have come to a halt, two squires and the stable keeper rushed up to take their reins. Earl Æthelred dismounted first, followed by the two knights.

There was something overwhelming about a grown man fully equipped in mail, surcoat, cloak, sword at his waist, and boots.

"Welcome home. I've had the sauna and your bathwater prepared."

The countess approached him as she spoke. Æthelred scarcely looked at her beyond a passing glance. He simply stripped off his gloves and all but tossed them to his squire, Gidwin. Stroking Harald's head with one hand and surveying his household, he addressed his wife.

"And the feast? I sent word ahead."

"Of course. Everything is ready. Audrey's cheese is simply delicious this time. We slaughtered a suckling pig this morning, too, and smoked it over applewood. The aroma is so..."

The countess chattered like a lark, seemingly doing all she could to win her husband's attention. But Æthelred paid so little heed to her words that it bordered on coldness. He effectively ignored her and simply headed for the keep. Perhaps because of his heavy armor, his footsteps sounded especially weighty.

The two knights silently greeted the countess with respectful gestures before following the earl. Their squires went after them.

Even before the earl disappeared inside, Valeri had concealed himself in the shadows as best he could. Then he slipped away at once. He simply did not want to catch the countess's eye.

She believed her husband did not love her because he could not forget Valeri's mother. Every time he returned, he looked for Valeri first. Though he ordinarily seemed indifferent, he quietly looked out for the boy. Above all, one look at Valeri's face made it easy to imagine how beautiful his mother must have been.

Valeri had nothing to apologize for, but he was not entirely free of sympathy for her. She did not mistreat him; she mostly swallowed her feelings and endured them.

He would have felt less uncomfortable if she had tormented him instead. That was what he thought.

Having thoroughly washed away the hardships of the road, Earl Æthelred held an evening feast.

It was not merely a gathering for food and amusement. He received reports on anything that had happened during his absence, assessed his people with his own eyes, and told them what he had seen and heard while touring his lands. The feast itself was an act of governance.

A noble in this day and age had to pay constant attention to people, especially if he was a knight or commanded troops. That was why kings and great lords held banquets so often.

Earl Æthelred was a diligent man. He attended to matters both within and beyond his lands, taking care to leave no gaps.

But to Valeri, his limitations were obvious. In the end, he had never escaped the net Duke Sven had cast around him. Survival required breaking out of the established framework, and he was not a man capable of that.

In short, he worked hard at everything but lived in constant anxiety, however unshakable he pretended to be. Valeri could see right through him now.

The banquet hall had a place of honor, with the guests seated along a long table: the family, knights and squires, the treasurer, a priest, a legal adviser, and other retainers.

Earl Æthelred, his wife, and Harald occupied the seats of honor. Candles burned in holders on the table, and lanterns hung on the walls. The hall was not particularly bright; it seemed half light and half shadow. Valeri sat quietly in its farthest corner, doing no more than occupying his seat.

Servants busily carried in food. After several rounds of drinks, high spirits seemed to brighten the hall in place of light.

Harald had not drunk much wine, but he seemed a little tipsy. Excitedly, he brought up a subject the earl might find uncomfortable.

"Did you know? Today was Wid's birthday. So I gathered everyone this morning and held a feast to celebrate. Whenever I worked up the courage to ask him to come play with us, he always ignored me, but today he actually came. At least—at least we could be friends, couldn't we? I deliberately didn't give him a present. I thought it would be nice if you gave him one, Father."

At the mention of Valeri, the countess's expression abruptly hardened. The people who had been chatting and laughing fell silent.

Harald looked bewildered, wondering what he had done wrong. In an attempt to salvage the situation, he drew Gidwin in.

"Right? We had fun today. You know, when Tommy..."

"Young master."

Since this was a formal occasion, Gidwin addressed Harald as young master to quiet him. But the mood had already been thoroughly doused.

Everyone watched Earl Æthelred for a reaction while stealing glances at Valeri in the farthest corner.

The earl's gaze rested on his cup. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. Was he angry, merely displeased, or remembering the past?

Even the servants carrying food and drink stood frozen. The atmosphere was suffocating.

At last, Earl Æthelred raised his eyes to Valeri, seated far away.

"So it was your birthday. Is there anything you want?"

The master of this household and ruler of Winslow had asked a question. Whatever the answer, Valeri had to give one. Yet his silence stretched on, until the others were more uncomfortable than he was.

Valeri was looking only at the food on the table. Unlike the mess at everyone else's places, his meal remained neat.

He had spent the whole day wondering what to do next. But thought alone had yielded no answer, because the answer lay in his heart.

'If I lived my life again, what would I do? Rather than repeating what I had done before, wouldn't I try the things I never had? The things I had failed to do because other people's opinions, or whatever else, had made me shrink back?'

Valeri raised his eyes to Earl Æthelred. A few of those present, including the knights, watched impassively. Most looked on in breathless tension.

"Who is my mother?"

Scattered, quiet gasps followed the instant he finished speaking.

The onlookers seemed more disconcerted than either participant in the conversation, as though they had heard something that should never have been spoken. The countess's heart pounded as if it would burst.

Even under Valeri's characteristically intense gaze, Earl Æthelred's eyes did not waver. He answered firmly.

"She's dead."

The silence in the hall grew heavier.

Valeri knew at once that the earl was lying. But he did not press the matter here. Lowering his gaze to the edge of the table, he spoke again.

"As of tomorrow, I will no longer be counting money. I'll take that as my present."

He was not saying he did not want the job or asking permission to quit. It was a unilateral announcement. Then, to compound matters, he stood and walked out of the banquet hall. It was a grave breach of etiquette.

The silence was so heavy that a falling pin would have sounded loud. Valeri's footsteps rang like thunder, seeming to strike not just their ears but their very chests.

STEP. STEP. STEP...

In a noble household, a bastard was an awkward, unwelcome presence. Most were abandoned; it was rare for someone to bring one home and raise him as Earl Æthelred had.

But if all of that was founded on a lie, did he really need to care how uncomfortable people felt?

Valeri walked down the pitch-black corridor. It was so dark he could see nothing. Just like the path his life had taken.

Now, he only hoped that at the end of the abyss, he might find a light of his own.