* * *

From the window of Earl Æthelred's study, the village and farmland below the hill were visible at a glance beyond the castle walls. There were vast stretches of land and forest, too, a river, and the mountain ridge that marked the region's boundary, all illuminated by the bright spring sun.

"... Well, you see, despite my explicit warning, um, Wid... young master? The young master failed to wear the proper work attire yesterday. Perhaps his duties have been a little too taxing lately..."

The treasurer was nervously answering Earl Æthelred's question about whether anything unusual had happened. The earl stood looking out the window. Dealing with Wid himself was simple enough—he could treat him as a young boy—but he apparently had no idea how the earl regarded his own bastard, making even the choice of a title difficult.

"Anything else?"

Earl Æthelred asked without so much as turning around.

"Anything else... I checked the documents, and his work was impeccable, but..."

"Very well. You may go."

At his dismissal, the treasurer somehow managed to bend his ample waist in a bow and fled the uncomfortable audience.

Gidwin was tending a sword in one corner of the study. He looked somewhat less uncomfortable than the treasurer had, though he still watched the earl's mood for a moment before tentatively speaking.

"Wid and Tommy got into an altercation in the woods yesterday morning. He was quite... impressive. Tommy was subdued before he could do a thing."

"... Was he? Did he seem interested in training as a knight?"

Unlike with the treasurer, whom he had not even looked in the eye, Earl Æthelred turned to Gidwin as he asked.

"I've never noticed any particular sign of it. Yesterday came out of nowhere. I doubt he's had any training on his own, but he certainly seemed talented. No, to be honest, he was extraordinary. Unbelievably so."

"..."

Earl Æthelred wondered whether the boy was indeed different because he carried the blood of House Vǫlsungr, said to be the last divine bloodline.

But that distinction was not particularly welcome. His task was to raise Valeri unharmed while maintaining absolute secrecy until the current king died. Nothing good could come of attracting attention with exceptional talent. It could make the secret harder to keep, and if the boy learned to fight, went off showing his strength somewhere, and got himself killed, everything would be ruined.

Besides, the earl had not witnessed the incident himself and assumed it had merely been impressive by children's standards. Even if Valeri had some talent, he did not think much of the boy's abilities.

"Why not put him to the test?"

Gidwin cautiously offered his opinion.

It might have been presumptuous for a mere squire, not even a knight, to venture an opinion. But he had served the earl for long enough that perhaps he could do so occasionally.

Earl Æthelred did not rebuke him. To Gidwin's surprise, he merely shook his head with a faint smile.

"Everyone has their place."

To Gidwin, it sounded as though he meant a bastard was a bastard, after all. Earl Æthelred seemed to have a tender spot for Valeri, but apparently had no intention of actively supporting him. That was how Gidwin saw it.

"And Harald? Has he been attending his lessons properly?"

Earl Æthelred asked how Harald had been doing.

Harald had a surprising amount to do. In the mornings he had lessons with his tutor, and in the afternoons he had to learn the seven knightly arts. His lessons covered heraldry, history, arithmetic, court etiquette, and the like. The seven knightly arts were swordsmanship, archery, spearmanship, riding, swimming, chess, and poetry.

Some of these, once learned, would serve a person for life, while others required diligent practice for a lifetime. Being good at everything was difficult indeed, but it was best to be at least competent in the martial arts. In some noble houses, they trained in nothing else, to the point of being unable to read or write.

For this was a world where a blade was more persuasive than the written or spoken word.

"Pardon? Oh, well... Ha ha ha..."

Gidwin tried to laugh the earl's question off awkwardly. The truth was that Harald skipped nearly all his lessons and spent his time playing instead. His tutor's morning bellowing as he searched for Harald was practically a daily ritual at Winslow Castle. Only when the earl was away, of course.

Gidwin stole a look at Earl Æthelred's face. He did not seem particularly angry, merely on the verge of sighing.

"It's high time he grew more responsible..."

In a world where fifteen was adulthood, and children sometimes went into battle even younger, thirteen could hardly be considered a tender age.

"B-but everyone loves the young master. They'd go through fire and water for him. None of them would hesitate to take on hardships for his sake."

Gidwin did his best to defend Harald. To him, Harald was someone he owed his loyalty to, a friend, and a younger brother who needed looking after.

But Earl Æthelred shook his head.

"A ruler who is merely loved cannot protect what is his. You are too young to understand how savage the world becomes once that paper-thin wrapping of peace is stripped away. We study and train every day so that when a storm too fierce to withstand descends upon us, we can somehow find a way to survive."

With a worried expression, Earl Æthelred turned to the window once more. The land outside could not have looked more peaceful, yet to him it seemed precarious.

It was not that Gidwin failed to understand his liege lord's concerns, but he felt they were a little excessive. He had never seen fields covered in corpses or rivers running red with blood.

After announcing that he would quit his job as cashier, Valeri had nothing left to do. In other words, he was living in the castle, eating and idling away his days without working. In a world where the saying that those who did not work should not eat was accepted as simple common sense, he drew quiet looks of disapproval from all sides.

Yet no one dared step forward and say anything. When it came to treating a bastard, the servants took their cues from whatever measures Earl Æthelred or his wife took, or even the slightest indication of their feelings. Neither had offered any such signal.

In short, depending on the circumstances, a bastard could be treated worse than the lowest commoner or virtually like a true noble. It depended entirely on the lord's favor and attention.

Tommy had occasionally shown subtle contempt for Valeri before, but even that had stopped after his birthday. Valeri was quite literally an outsider drifting on the fringes, left alone by everyone.

No, there was exactly one exception.

Valeri sat somewhere on the slope of the castle hill, gazing endlessly across the fields. Far in the distance were grazing cattle, tiny as dots, carts traveling along the roads, and people weeding with their backs bent almost double. Beyond the mountain ridge lay the wider world, and somewhere in that world was his mother.

Mother. Mama. Valeri had never once spoken either word, nor held it in his heart. Before his return, it had never even occurred to him to search for her. If he asked himself why, all he could say was that rage had blinded him.

Now, if he wanted to look for her, there were steps he would have to take—or obstacles he would have to overcome.

First, unlike ordinary marriage customs, the king was permitted multiple wives. He did not live with them, either. He would spend some time with a wife at her family's home, then leave once she became pregnant. This was the method the first king—Valeri's grandfather—had chosen to stabilize the country after the conquest.

Originally, the Nords had no concept of a kingdom, only a multitude of tribes. Having gained a country overnight through conquest, he must have had little choice but to form alliances through marriage to win the chieftains' support and retain it.

But that could produce so many princes that the country would be torn to pieces, for the Nords traditionally divided an inheritance among the heirs. Thus they had established this strange—or grotesque, or sacred—law of royal succession.

A prince was separated from his mother the moment he was born, and his name, status, and related information were recorded in something called the Gold-Sealed Register. The register was maintained by people known as rune mages, who appointed a guardian to raise the prince and keep the secret.

When their royal father died, the Valkyries—the king's daughters—consulted the register and informed the princes of their true names and identities. That was when the war of succession began.

Because of this arrangement, even the king had no way of knowing who his sons were or what they were called. A prince had even less chance of learning who his mother was without looking inside the Gold-Sealed Register.

Finding his mother was therefore all but impossible. Unless he waged war against the king, or committed the grave sin of killing a rune mage.

He could do it if he chose. The Valeri of today was capable of it. But was it worth going that far? At any cost? Even if he learned who his mother was, what then?

"Wid."

A breeze from somewhere brushed his nose with the scent of acacia blossoms, and then he heard someone calling the name that was not his true name. He turned to find Harald, the one person who insisted on bothering him.

Harald had brought the half-grown hunting dogs. When Valeri turned, they approached with wagging tails, trying to lick his face and hands.

It was a considerable nuisance, but Valeri did not dislike dogs. Dodging some of their attentions and giving them a few pats, he answered.

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Can't you see? I'm sitting."

Despite Valeri's curt reply, Harald came closer and sat beside him, petting the dogs as well.

"About that day, at the feast. Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Did I upset you?"

"No."

"Then let me apologize. I'm sorry."

"... You're going to be an earl, and you're apologizing?"

"Can't earls apologize?"

"Unbelievable."

Valeri shook his head, as though thoroughly sick of Harald's hopelessly naive response. Harald merely smiled.

For a while, Harald sank into thought as the two of them sat in the spring breeze blowing over the hill. Then his smile faded, and he spoke with an earnest expression, at least by his standards.

"Shall we look for her together? Your mother."

"Don't pity me. That really does upset me."

"It's not pity."

"And don't joke about it."

"I'm not joking, either."

"Don't make me angry."

"Did I make you angry? Me?"

Valeri frowned and shot Harald a glare. But there was no venom in it.

Most people froze, beyond mere intimidation, when confronted by Valeri's piercing gaze, yet Harald seemed entirely unaffected. That irritated Valeri a little.

"I told you. We're brothers. I mean it. I wish you'd understand that."

Harald spoke with a somewhat bitter expression.

Who on earth had he taken after to turn out so soft? It had gone beyond pathetic and become almost admirable. Valeri was about to give him a sharp reprimand. Take care of yourself. Stop worrying about other people.

But though the words rose to his throat, he never quite managed to say them.

"Hey, you two idiots. What are you doing down there? Pair of layabouts."

Valeri and Harald turned at the same time. Gidwin stood looking down at them.

"The earl wants you. Come along."

Harald looked momentarily stricken, then rose with a dejected expression. Valeri remained where he was, petting the dogs, until Gidwin addressed him.

"What are you doing? You too, Wid. He called for both of you."

"..."

Valeri had never expected to be summoned himself and found it surprising. Him? Why?

He thought for a moment but could come up with no answer, so he simply brushed himself off and rose. He climbed the hill with the dogs.

When they reached the earl's study, he was seated at his desk, reading documents. Permits, contracts, correspondence, things of that sort. Light entered through the window behind him, falling slantwise across him and his desk. The room was full of the smells of wood, paper, and ink.

Even after Gidwin brought the two boys in, Earl Æthelred did not glance up, continuing to examine the documents on his desk for some time. Harald watched him apprehensively, perhaps fearing a scolding for skipping lessons, or for what had happened at the feast, before he spoke.

"You sent for us?"

Only at his son's words did the earl slowly raise his head and look at Harald and Valeri. He regarded them silently for a moment, then abruptly gave an order.

"There will be a horse market in Blacken in a few days. Take Roden and Kale there and sell them. Whether you get a fair price or trade them, conclude a deal before you return. You may go."

Blacken was a town within the earldom of Winslow. Roden and Kale were both riding horses, Roden an old stallion and Kale a young mare.

The unexpected order bewildered both Valeri and Harald, but with Earl Æthelred already back to reading his documents, neither could bring himself to ask or say anything.

"I said you may go."

Earl Æthelred spoke again. Making one's lord repeat himself was a breach of etiquette, so Valeri and Harald had no choice but to leave the study.

"Horses... Do you know how much they cost?"

Harald asked because he assumed Valeri would have at least a rough idea from his work as cashier.

But even without that work, Valeri knew how horse prices fluctuated. Iron and horses were strategic resources, and he had managed them carefully before his return.

"There's no fixed price. It depends on the circumstances. They'd be extremely expensive in wartime, but we're not at war now. Even in peacetime, though, prices vary with conditions at each horse market. They depend on what sorts of horses are being offered and what sorts people are looking for. The so-called big spenders have a major influence on prices, but even they can't control everything. There's no need to decide until we get there and see which way the market is going. He said we could trade, too, so exchanging them for a warhorse would be a great result, but don't get your hopes up."

"..."

Harald stared at Valeri with wide, astonished eyes.

"How do you know all that?"

Valeri ignored him and simply walked on. Harald hurried after him, continuing.

"You're so clever, Wid. I can just leave it all to you."

At that, Valeri stopped, whipped around to glare at Harald, and warned him.

"Listen, get a grip. You're the one making the decisions. I'm only giving you a little help. And don't take horse trading lightly. There's no telling what people might do if they never intend to come back here. Do you think they'll fall at your feet and obey just because you're the earl's son? If they hurt you, then ride across the border, how are you going to catch them?"

"... S-sorry. I only..."

Harald stammered in dismay at Valeri's sharp retort.

Valeri turned away again in disgust and walked on by himself. Even so, Harald persisted in following him.

Valeri thought he understood why Earl Æthelred had given them this task. He seemed to want Harald to learn something of the world, while preparing Valeri to serve as treasurer. Or perhaps as an assistant to the current treasurer.

The problem was that none of this had happened before his return. He had never imagined he would end up looking after Harald.

Yet even Valeri could not say whether this was better than counting money every day and keeping as low a profile as possible.

It was a nuisance, but at least it was not boring. It felt rather like buying something he did not want at a price he did not want to pay.

The greatest change was that, along with feeling guilty toward Harald, he no longer simply disliked him. That left Valeri deeply uncomfortable.