Flowers for a Sister
He hadn't so much as frowned, so why did he feel so unsettled?
Asros toyed with a button on his clothes, pretending to be absorbed in something else, and only after a long while did he lift his eyes. Lord Sieorkan had already moved into the left wing corridor and was speaking with the High Priest. The atmosphere looked grave enough that Asros narrowed his eyes. Their backs were turned, so he couldn't read their faces, but he could see the veins standing out along the old priest's gaunt neck. As the man shook his shoulders, pouring out some bitter complaint, a cold edge passed across Lord Sieorkan's features as well. Even at a glance, they did not seem on friendly terms. Asros's eyes brightened with interest.
What are they talking about?
The priests were steadfast supporters of the Crown Prince, and the same held true for the next Grand Duke of Sieorkan. He wondered what could set two men of the same faction against each other. Curiosity got the better of him. Asros slipped quietly out of the congregation seats, hid himself behind a pillar at the crossing, and tried to eavesdrop—only for someone to seize him firmly by the nape of the neck.
Asros jerked his head up and found Berens's stern face looking down at him. His brows drooped. The man regarded him with a somber expression and scolded him in a low voice.
"Those men are His Highness the Crown Prince's political enemies. Do not approach them."
"Political enemies? What political enemies. I don't have any of those."
He pouted and argued back, but the man did not so much as flinch. Still wearing a dissatisfied look, Asros rolled his eyes toward the wing again. Lord Sieorkan had already finished speaking with the High Priest and was walking toward the crossing. Asros hurriedly ducked behind Berens's legs.
Lord Sieorkan cast him a brief, indifferent glance, then crossed the colonnade with an elegant stride. Hidden behind Berens, watching that retreating back, Asros asked in a hushed voice,
"What do you think the High Priest said to Lord Sieorkan?"
"Some form of rebuke over the present crisis, I would imagine."
"Why? Lord Sieorkan and the Grand Cathedral are allies. Even if he did something wrong, shouldn't they be covering for him?"
A faint, bitter smile touched the corners of Berens's eyes.
"The world is not that simple."
He spoke as if chiding him, then turned his head toward the altar where the funeral rites were still underway and continued, slowly,
"Many among the priests harbor resentment toward the Khan Tribe. The fundamentalist clergy, in particular, hold a deep-rooted loathing for the Sieorkan bloodline."
Asros opened his mouth to ask why, then closed it again. Lessons from his history classes rose unbidden in his mind.
In the past, it had been the Khan Tribe who fought to the very end against the unification of the ten kingdoms led by Darian Roem Guerta. They had even dealt a mortal wound to Wigru—the knight said to have been chosen by the gods—in the final battle of the north. After the war, the eastern peoples had been absorbed into the Roem Empire, yet even now the Khan Tribe had never fully blended into the western world, and the hostility the empire's subjects felt toward them had never entirely faded.
Turning those facts over in his mind, Asros suddenly snorted.
"That's stupid. Plenty of other peoples fought just as bloodily. To shun them just because they held out the longest—isn't that petty?"
Berens looked down at him for a moment with a startled gaze, then tugged one corner of his mouth upward.
"It isn't only for that reason. It has more to do with wariness—because the Sieorkan line possesses formidable power."
"Formidable power?"
Asros tilted his head and asked again. Berens was silent for a beat, then spoke slowly.
"According to the records, a certain proportion of those born into the Sieorkan line possessed uncanny abilities—foreseeing the future, reading the hearts of others, commanding every manner of beast at will. Thanks to those strange powers, they once reigned as objects of terror."
Asros's eyes sparkled at the intriguing tale.
"Does Lord Sieorkan have some special ability too?"
"Almost certainly not. The priests examined him thoroughly and found nothing out of the ordinary."
Berens stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Most likely the blood has thinned over the generations, and the abilities with it. In the eighty years since the last powerful mind-reader was born, no primal sorcerer has appeared in the House of Sieorkan."
Having stated it so firmly, he seemed to catch on something that flashed through his mind, and added, still rubbing his chin,
"Come to think of it, I have heard a rumor that the former Empress possessed the gift of foresight, though…"
"My brother's mother?"
Asros asked back, startled. Berens paused as if weighing something, then shook his head.
"Most likely nothing more than a rumor invented by those who wished to deify the woman. The Crown Prince and the First Princess are ordinary enough, are they not?"
He smiled gently and added,
"Perhaps the abilities of the Khan Tribe have vanished entirely."
The reassuring tone only slightly soured Asros's mood. Why should he feel relieved that the Khan Tribe had lost the powers they had carried for generations? He had no intention of standing against his brother. That meant the Sieorkan line was no enemy of his, either. But saying as much would only be dismissed as a child's petulance, so he kept his mouth shut.
"The rites appear nearly finished. It would be best if Your Highness withdrew now."
Seeing those in the seats of honor begin to file out of the colonnade one by one, Berens laid a light hand on Asros's back. Asros followed him out of the chapel at once. He, too, had no desire to run into the half-siblings who regarded him as a thorn in their side.
They avoided the main entrance thronged with mourners and went out through the rear garden. Even there, however, a cluster of nobles sat gathered, chattering away. Spotting Gareth's most zealous hangers-on among them, Asros's brow knotted sharply. They would never dare harm an imperial prince—but that was no reason to subject himself to their unpleasant faces.
He took Berens's hand and turned down a narrow, heavily shaded path. Just then, a familiar name reached his ears.
"How likely do you think it is that Talia Roem Guerta will recover?"
"Who can say. They found her half a corpse, from what I hear. Even the elves would struggle to heal her completely."
Asros's eyes went wide. He looked up at Berens.
"Is that true?"
Berens hesitated as if deliberating, then slowly nodded. Asros's face turned grave at once. He had heard that his sister's condition was poor, but he had never imagined she was hurt badly enough for rumors like that to circulate. He demanded,
"Why didn't anyone tell me my sister was injured?"
"Because it is not a matter Your Highness needed to know."
"She's my sister! Of course you should have told me."
He raised his voice sharply, and the lively garden fell silent as if cold water had been dashed over it. Turning his head, Asros found the nobles who had belatedly noticed him scrambling to offer their respects, and he scowled. Having no wish to deal with them, he strode out of the garden with the widest steps he could manage. Berens, who had followed in silence, let out a sigh.
"Your Highness, that woman hates you. No amount of concern will earn you any reward."
Asros stopped dead and glared at him.
In his head, he knew the man was not wrong. Talia Roem Guerta disliked him. Had she not said so with her own mouth? But he did not want to accept that fact so readily.
"Maybe—maybe she regrets saying that to me. That day she was just… in a foul mood and spoke more harshly than she meant to. People do that sometimes, don't they?"
"…"
"If I go visit her, won't she tell me she's sorry?"
The words had come out on impulse, but they sounded rather plausible. Without waiting for Berens's answer, Asros turned at once toward the annex palace. Along the way he gathered an armful of the prettiest flowers in the garden for a get-well gift.
She'll be surprised when I show up, won't she?
Perhaps she might even find it in her heart to grow a little fond of such a kind younger brother.
Buoyed by anticipation, Asros walked without rest across the vast grounds. At last, beyond a garden dense with flowers and greenery, a crude gray building came into view.