The Grand Duke's Funeral
"Prepare the funeral according to custom."
Having confirmed that his father's heart had fully stopped, Barcas gave the order in a calm, even voice.
Laina, who had been clutching their father's rapidly cooling hand and sobbing, lifted her head and glared at him. She seemed to resent her elder brother for showing no grief at all.
Lucas, by contrast, appeared reasonably composed. Though the rims of his eyes were bloodshot, he had clearly steeled himself for this moment, and he soothed his younger sister with quiet steadiness.
"That's enough crying. Father has gone to a better place."
But Laina's sobs showed no sign of easing. In the end, Lucas wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her outside. Only then did the waiting priests lower the curtains around the bed and begin washing the body with water steeped in medicinal herbs.
Thalia watched the ritual in silence until exhaustion finally overcame her, and she tugged at Barcas's coat.
"Let's go. There's no reason for us to stay any longer."
A few people cast her unkind looks, but Thalia paid them no mind.
Barcas, who had been gazing down at his father's cold face, gave a quiet nod.
"Very well."
Without further delay, he stepped out into the corridor.
Outside the bedchamber, servants who had gathered to keep vigil at the Grand Duke's deathbed stood in ranks. As one, they removed their caps in a gesture of mourning.
Thalia studied their faces carefully. Most wore expressions of genuine gloom, which suggested that the cantankerous old man had been a reasonably decent lord after all. He had probably been a decent enough father to Lucas and Laina as well. But not to Barcas. Never to Barcas.
She stole a glance at his profile and spoke carefully.
"Earlier… what was that about?"
The man looked at her with mild confusion. Thalia pressed on, awkward.
"Your father said something strange just now."
"Nothing more than the ramblings of a dying old man."
Barcas spoke the words with firm finality, then scooped her up in his arms and started up the stairs.
Thalia eyed him with suspicion.
"Why would he ramble about something like that?"
He was silent for a moment, then answered with a composed face.
"Your Highness will have heard the rumors about our family."
"The ones about the ancient Seorkan clan wielding demonic power?"
A dry smile touched Barcas's lips at her bluntness, and he acknowledged it without flinching.
"It is true that, from time to time, members of the Seorkan line have been born with peculiar gifts. My father believed I was one of them."
Thalia's eyes went wide.
"Is that true?"
The sardonic smile returned.
"What do you think?"
Unease flickered across her face. Seeing it, the amusement faded from Barcas's mouth.
"Regrettably, I possess no such ability whatsoever."
By then they had reached the door to their bedchamber. Barcas turned the handle and strode inside.
Thalia flinched at the chill in the air. Noticing, Barcas set her down on the bed at once and drew a blanket over her shoulders.
A short while later, three or four servants poured into the room, kindling a fire in the hearth and setting out a tray of wine and food. Once the attendants had bustled about and withdrawn all at once, Thalia returned to her questioning.
"You really have no ability at all?"
Barcas, hanging his coat on the wall, turned and narrowed his eyes at her.
She watched his expression for a beat, then clung to the subject with stubborn persistence.
"The rumors say Empress Bernadette could read other people's minds…"
"All of it is baseless gossip."
His tone sharpened.
"She was simply more attuned to the emotions of others than most people are."
Thalia flinched under his cold stare but pressed on, needing to be sure.
"So you really can't see anything?"
He fixed his gaze on her face, unblinking.
In that moment, Thalia thought she understood why the dead old man had believed his son possessed some special gift. Those blue eyes, flecked with scattered silver, were like living blades. It felt as though those dagger-sharp eyes were dissecting every corner of her mind, and she went rigid — until Barcas suddenly gave a crooked smile.
"Are you afraid I might look inside you?"
Thalia flinched and dropped her gaze.
Barcas stepped to the side of the bed, caught her chin, and studied her face closely.
"I find myself rather curious what you've hidden in that head of yours, to make you tremble so."
"Who's trembling!"
She swatted his hand away, startled. It was absurd, of course — and yet the possibility that he truly could see into her thoughts sent a cold sweat down her back.
Barcas looked down at her with flat, unreadable eyes and said dryly,
"Your thoughts are quite safe. Spare yourself the useless worry."
Then he turned his back, as if he had no further interest in the subject.
"Eat your dinner first. If you mean to attend the funeral rites tomorrow, you will need to restore your strength tonight."
With that blunt advice, Barcas set the tray of food beside the bed and walked to the hearth, building the fire higher.
Thalia watched his back in silence, then lowered her eyes to the tray. Perhaps she had grown too used to him feeding her these past few days. The prospect of eating with her own hands left her feeling oddly hollow. She shook off the sensation, picked up a small piece of bread, and forced herself to take a bite.
As her head cooled, her ridiculous suspicions began to embarrass her. Of course he had no mind-reading gift. If he had, he would never have felt anything so soft as pity or a sense of duty toward her.
If he ever learned how many long years she had spent obsessing over him, he would surely have recoiled in disgust…
Just as she had sensed it would, the day the funeral began brought down sheets of rain as cold as ice. From the following day onward, however, the weather turned fair and bright.
Thanks to that, the late Grand Duke Seorkan could be laid to rest in the cathedral mausoleum east of Kalmor beneath a brilliant sun.
After the family funeral was conducted in an atmosphere of solemn reverence, the condolence callers came in an unbroken stream.
Envoys who had ridden long distances attended the grand funeral mass, then remained at Laedgo Castle for roughly a week before departing.
A great lord's funeral could last anywhere from a month to three, and throughout that stretch the castle transformed into a gathering place where the envoys mingled and exchanged courtesies. And because of it, Thalia was forced to endure a thoroughly miserable stretch of time.
Dressed in the traditional garb of the East, Thalia leaned against the railing and looked down on the crowded hall with open distaste.
She had used her health as an excuse to avoid the banquets and funeral masses, but she could not entirely escape the obligation of showing her face to the guests.
Reluctantly, she descended the stairs. Taking care that her limping gait would not show, she stepped into the hall — and hundreds of pairs of eyes swung toward her at once. Her heart dropped.
She no longer fell into outright panic the way she once had, but other people's stares still made her deeply uncomfortable. Even after realizing that most of them never noticed the scars on her body, that discomfort remained.
She forced something resembling a smile onto her stiff face.
"Thank you all for making the long journey. Please rest well while you are here."
"We are grateful for Your Grace's kind welcome, Grand Duchess."
A young man gazing up at her with dazzled eyes answered in an ardent tone.
Thalia turned away as naturally as she could, struggling not to let her discomfort show.
In that instant, someone stepped deftly into her path.
"The guests tell me they have prepared a special gift for Your Grace."
It was Daren Dru Seorkan.
Impeccably dressed in formal attire, the man guided her smoothly toward the banquet hall. Having intended to offer a single greeting and slip away, she could sense he meant to drag her into the social arena of the eastern nobility whether she liked it or not.
Thalia suppressed the urge to shake off the hand at her arm and cut a leisurely path through the visitors.
The moment she set foot in the lavishly decorated banquet hall, Lucas and Laina came into view, both in mourning clothes.
Only the sight of their somber faces reminded her that this chaos was, in fact, a funeral.
Swallowing a bitter smile, Thalia took the seat of honor at the long table.
From a short distance away, Laina spotted her at once and bristled, her eyes sharp as thorns.
Pretending not to notice, Thalia addressed Daren in a listless tone.
"You said there was a gift. Bring it, then."
The man gave a wry smile at her haughty manner and gestured to the servants. Presently an attendant arrived carrying a large casket.
"A gift prepared by Baron Basilare."
Inside the box lay a fabric of uncanny, shifting color — unmistakably the work of the fairy folk.
Gasps of admiration rose from every side at a treasure worth as much as an entire castle. The man who had presented it looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
Thalia, however, felt nothing at all. Ever since the scars had marked her body, she had lost every interest in adornment.
She looked down at the casket with indifference and recited a formal word of thanks.
"My thanks. I shall keep it well."
The baron's face stiffened faintly at her dry response.
Ignoring it, she was about to rise from her seat when hurried footsteps sounded from beyond the hall. Another distinguished guest, it seemed, had arrived from somewhere.
She let out a weary sigh. Then the steward's breathless voice cut through the room.
"Your Grace — an imperial delegation has arrived from the palace."