Chapter 333 — These Last Days of Winter

A cold wind stirred the nearby banners, setting them snapping and flapping, and Rebecca Glan raised her head, gazing quietly at the ancient castle in the distance.

Two hundred years old, Splitsone Keep crouched silently atop the hill, its sheer cliff face standing on the horizon like the edge of a blade; the sinking sun lit the jagged crags and the castle's high walls, plating those lines with a pale golden sheen.

It was a mountain of stone, one flank steep and treacherous, and Splitsone Keep sat at the summit of that precipice as though perched on a knife's edge. The ancient outer walls were mottled and, in many places, visibly cracked; when the setting sun struck the castle at just the right angle, parts of the wall would even let the light through, revealing bright vein-like lines of fracture across the stone.

People often worried—worried that one day the old keep would collapse in the sunset light, that countless tons of stone would come thundering down from the cliff top in one earth-shaking, cataclysmic roar and bury the most glorious name in this land forever.

But Rebecca remembered her husband's words, the old covenant between Xuanque Castle and the earth elementals—made in an age when House Glan was still a mere fringe vassal of House Cecil. An agreement between the family's ancestors and their earth-elemental allies: so long as the name "Glan" still ruled this land, Splitsone Keep would never fall of its own accord...

And yet the cracks in that fortress truly had been multiplying these past years...

"My lady," the steward's voice broke into Rebecca's thoughts. The steady, dependable middle-aged man held out a wooden box to the viscountess. "The soil samples you asked for."

Rebecca studied the dark, deep-toned earth in the box, reached out and pinched up a little, rubbing it gently between her fingers; then a faint glow of magic rose between her fingertips, and the soil dissolved into blue smoke that scattered on the wind.

"The potion is working," said Rebecca, the perpetual gloom on her face easing somewhat. She gave the steward a slight nod. "Half the farms on the domain need this druid's potion to restore the balance of the soil. It must be done before spring. Go negotiate with those Cecil potion merchants and see what price they'll name."

"Yes," the steward bowed his head, then could not resist adding, "My lady, you need not leave the castle at all—need not come in person to these filthy country fields. They are all crude, ignorant peasants here; they might well give offense."

"You have said enough of that sort of thing," Rebecca said, glancing at him mildly. "Just do your own work."

The steward hastily lowered his head and dared offer no further opinion.

"Duke Gaoyang Cecil will visit in five days," Rebecca broke the silence a few seconds later. "Begin preparations once we are back."

"The Duke is coming?" The steward was startled at once, but seeing the calm, indifferent expression on his mistress's face, he promptly swallowed every question and bit of nonsense back down. "I understand. I will arrange the most proper reception. But I do not know why the Duke comes—is there anything extra I should prepare?"

"Merely an ordinary meeting," Rebecca said lightly. "The Kande region has finally become a lawful fief of House Cecil."

"Kande... I understand."

Several days later.

A two-horse carriage bearing the Cecil family crest rolled along the road east of the Kande domain; ahead of it lay the land House Glan had ruled for generation upon generation.

Apart from the coachman driving and three soldiers riding at the rear, there were only Gaoyang and Amber inside the carriage.

"This is even less of a spectacle than the last trip to the Kande domain," Amber grumbled, unable to help herself, seated across from Gaoyang. "I mean, you're a duke, more or less. Even if you're visiting a noble lower than yourself, you might at least pay some attention to your dignity—two more carriages, a few more retainers, something..."

Gaoyang glanced at the half-elf girl opposite him with some amusement; he knew exactly what was going on in that head of hers. Amber did not care in the least whether his dignity was sufficient—she simply felt that after all the trouble of becoming a duke's follower, she had yet to enjoy the treatment of traveling with a whole caravan, eight hundred retainers before and behind, war drums clearing the way, trumpets announcing her entry to a city. So she felt a little hard done by. This creature's yearning for a beautiful life was simplicity itself, blunt to the extreme: pomp, glory, wealth and rank were enough, with nary a spiritual pursuit to her name.

If one had to name it, her only spiritual pursuit was probably the hope that within her lifetime someone would organize a swindling-and-fraud tournament so she could go up and take home the championship...

"You're still laughing!" Seeing Gaoyang's half-smile, Amber shot him an irritated glare. "Back in the day I saw a count go out with seven or eight carriages~"

"Carriages... are destined for obsolescence," Gaoyang said with a shake of his head. "When the time comes, I'll let you ride something with more of a kick than a carriage."

"Something with more of a kick than a carriage?" Amber's face lit up with curiosity. "What new gadget have you cooked up now?"

"Not yet—for now it's only an idea, and the timing and the technical conditions aren't ripe," Gaoyang waved a hand. "Rather than that, let's keep talking about House Glan. Besides those few suspicious points around Viscount Glan's accidental death a few years back, what else have you found?"

"Then I'd have to start from earlier. Before the previous Viscount Glan died unexpectedly, he had pushed through a series of practically outrageous 'new laws' on his domain—at the time it wasn't only his own lands; even the nobles of the surrounding domains were affected to some degree..."

"New laws?" Gaoyang's brow furrowed. "Tell me about that part in detail."

"Oh, then I have to start with him emancipating every serf and slave on the domain..."

...

As the Duke of Cecil's carriage rolled toward the Glan domain, a messenger clad in a robe of red and blue, holding high a banner of passage, was galloping at full speed down the great avenue at the heart of Saintfrost Rest.

That banner was the king's token; none dared bar a messenger who bore it. Pedestrians along the road scrambled and fled in panic and fear from the charging horse. The people of the royal capital, long accustomed to a peaceful life, had their calm shattered that day—but at this moment they still did not know what was to come. They only hid by the roadside, watching in astonishment and curiosity the direction in which the messenger's dust trail vanished, guessing what tidings this galloping rider might carry.

The messenger raced past King's Avenue, past the curved plaza before the Silver Keep, then swung down from his horse before the castle and, still holding the banner high, made straight for where the king was.

Barely minutes later, a report from the western reaches of the Holy Spirit Plain was laid before Francis II.

This urgently delivered intelligence put Francis II in a rather foul mood, for today was a rare day—the day Verodai left the Grand Cathedral to come to the Silver Keep and be reunited with him. For a father who was a king and a daughter who was a saint, this was precious and extraordinary time, and now it had been disturbed.

Verodai looked at the report just delivered, and a gentle, reassuring smile touched her lips. "Father, affairs of state come first," she said softly.

"I know," Francis II sighed, picking up the report from the table. "But this is the one time of day I least wish to receive word of any 'unexpected situation'... Those greedy nobles are never sated; they will not spare a thought for this kingdom, only make trouble for me."

Verodai smiled faintly. "Perhaps this is not news of the nobles?"