Chapter 158

Seated in the drawing room of the estate, Nerys was served a hot drink to warm herself.

As she savored the tea, with its fragrance of cinnamon, fruit, and nutmeg, she felt as if she had returned to a time long ago. Madam Moriah sat upright at the head seat, her sharp eyes observing Nerys sip her tea.

“Did you learn your manners from the viper?”

She meant, had Nellusion given her special training to present her to society. Nerys shook her head.

“Hardly. My manners are better than Nellusion’s.”

“That much is true. Charging up to a royal’s house with a carriage was his idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Though I saw no reason to refuse.”

From a brief glance earlier, Madam seemed to have already discerned the balance of power between Nerys and Nellusion. It was convenient—no need for pointless formalities or to waste time probing each other’s intentions.

At Nerys’s wry smile, Madam’s gaze sharpened again.

“So, not just dragged here—you have something to say as well. Then speak quickly.”

It was far more favorable than Nerys had expected.

“Before that, may I ask you something?”

“And if I said no?”

“Even then, asking remains my choice.”

“Bold girl. Do I not frighten you?”

“Do you thunder at anyone without cause?”

“What?”

“I do not believe so. Then why should I fear you?”

When Madam had not rejected her arm earlier, Nerys had been sure. For some reason, Madam liked her.

And when Madam liked someone, she tolerated straightforward speech. Time need not be wasted.

Sure enough, instead of leaving, Madam raised her brows—an indication to continue.

“Very well. Ask.”

“Why did you admit me?”

As Crown Princess in her previous life, Nerys’s first visit had ended in rejection. With her current status far beneath even that, Madam could easily have dismissed her entirely.

Yet she had not only allowed Nerys inside, she had dismissed Nellusion as well. Unless Nerys knew the reason, she could not proceed with what she had come to say.

Madam’s brows furrowed. Then, as if she had never heard the question, she lowered her eyes calmly.

At length, a heavy voice came forth.

“Because letting you in would vex certain people. I simply wished to amuse myself. Don’t mistake it as for your sake.”

…Indeed, if Camille learned Nerys was here, even being served tea, she would go mad.

Nerys smiled faintly, feeling somewhat lighter.

And something else became clear: regardless of her curt manner, Madam’s dismissal of Nellusion had been an act of favor. If there had been any reason beyond “Nerys cannot speak freely before Nellusion,” Madam would have stated it outright.

Good. Drawing upon the words she had long rehearsed, Nerys drew a quiet breath.

“Thank you for saying so. While I was indeed brought here, as you said, I also have my own purpose.”

“Speak.”

“Madam, you are the elder of the Imperial Family. If you speak to the Imperial investigators, unless the crime is truly against the throne itself, they will release the accused.”

For the first time that day, disappointment flickered across Madam’s face. Bored, she turned her gaze toward the window. Nerys watched her steadily.

At last, Madam asked slowly, with indifference,

“Whom do you wish me to release?”

Naturally, she expected the answer to be “Nerys herself.” But if that were all, there would have been no need to send Nellusion away.

Nerys answered in a calm yet firm voice,

“There is a man of the Redeng tribe, accused of murdering twelve in Tropur. He must be freed.”

Tropur was one of Madam’s many fiefs. For Nerys to speak of its people here was not strange, but—

Madam’s eyes blazed with fury as they turned back on her.

“Do you even understand what you say? You know what he did, and still you ask this?”

“I do. But contrary to your suspicion, he did not kill Lady Monica.”

Madam’s voice roared with rage.

“And how would you know that!”

Nerys knew well why Madam was so incensed.

Because among the supposed victims was the steward’s younger sister, Monica—Madam’s long-time maid, cherished almost as a daughter.

❖ ❖ ❖

The steward, who had served Madam all his life, was from Tropur. His blood carried that of the Redeng, one of the minority tribes dwelling there.

In her past life, Nerys had learned that his younger sister had been murdered early that year.

Though Madam seemed austere, she cherished her people. She had taken the maid, who had been with her since childhood, as dearly as family—and her sudden death struck Madam deeply.

There had been no witnesses, no proof. For over half a year, the case lay unresolved.

Then a suspect emerged—an infamous man accused of multiple murders.

The Imperial Family intended to punish him. Victims were many. He was imprisoned in the capital without further trial.

Such criminals were usually executed under the local lords, but this one had been brought all the way to the capital. It was Madam’s will—she wanted him to suffer, not merely die.

‘The Imperial Family prefer torment over death.’

Though not as vile as Abelus or Camille, Madam too sometimes dealt such blows. It was part of the Imperial culture she had grown up in.

Nerys spoke in the quiet, even tone Madam preferred.

“When Lady Monica was found after two days missing, all her valuables were gone, her body hidden at the village outskirts. With no witnesses, the trail went cold. But a recent murder mirrored it, and suspicion fell on this man. Am I correct?”

Madam’s hand clenched the armrest.

“Correct. And what of it? That someone else may have done it? Monica never wronged anyone—she was kind, generous. Only a wretch beneath contempt could have hated her!”

The Redeng were called many things—“maggots of money,” “saltier than the sea,” “even the clouds won’t rain on them.”

A century ago, fleeing persecution in Verlaine, they had come to the Bistor Empire. To survive, they took up despised work, saving coin by coin.

Once treated as outcasts, they now prospered in Tropur. But the Bistorans despised their wealth, and the poor among the Redeng envied their own rich.

The steward’s family was well known, a prime target for violence rooted in ethnic hatred. If the accused had indeed killed indiscriminately, suspicion would have needed no more.

“So it seems. I never knew her, but I believe your words. Yet the accused still denies his crimes, does he not?”

“And what criminal admits freely?”

“Even under torture? He must know he has nothing left to lose.”

Nerys’s words rang true. A man with no future but slow death in the dungeons—why would he deny guilt if guilty?

She added with bitter irony,

“I hear Imperial torture wrings confessions from the innocent, until they beg for death instead.”

She said she “heard”—but in truth, she had lived it. Torture honed to the utmost cruelty, refined malice of the Imperial Family.

Madam’s eyes bore into her with scorching intensity.

“You speak as if you know. Do you know the true culprit? How can I believe the man is innocent? And what do you gain by freeing him?”

“How could I ‘bring’ the culprit? If I had him, I would have already. I have no ties to the accused. But if the true killer is after my people, I may as well ally with the wronged.”

“Your people?”

“Joan Moriér. She may seem a mere merchant to you, but she is my friend. And she is in Tropur, where troubling rumors spread—that someone is killing Redeng and framing their kin.”

Madam’s eyes flickered, faintly shaken.

She would not decide on words alone, not one so shrewd. But if she so much as opened her ears, persuasion was possible.

There was no need to use the Jeweled Eyes. Madam was one who could weigh reason and evidence.

Sending Joan to investigate Tropur had been the right choice. Smiling at the grandaunt she had once deeply respected, Nerys felt certain.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Nellusion, what do you make of that girl?”

The Duke asked, and Nellusion answered evenly.

“As I said before. Clever, but tender-hearted and pure. Why do you ask?”

“Because I see otherwise.”

The Duke could not shake his unease at his son’s certainty.

Though he had warned his wife and daughter, even he did not fully trust Nerys Truydd.

Why would he? She was tied to that Duke. She claimed her mother had been taken hostage, but anyone could say that.

‘Too early, her mother disappeared.’

If her story were true, her mother was abducted years ago—before the Jeweled Eyes had even manifested.

‘Why target her so soon?’

What was so special about Nerys Truydd?

The Duke dismissed her at heart. Though grown far beyond the child she once was, she was still only a girl without backing.

‘They couldn’t have known her eyes would awaken.’

And yet at dinner, she had outwitted even twelve Valentins with ease. Surely she was the one who sought ties.

It was only natural to doubt.

The only reason he did not seize her and wring the truth through torture was simple.

‘Nellusion is no fool.’

Of all the world, the Duke trusted himself most—and second, his son. Ever cold, ever discerning, Nellusion would not vouch for her without reason.

Nellusion smiled brightly.

“Father, after all, she belongs to this house now. What is there to fear?”

Indeed, whatever Nerys Truydd’s motives, she was in their grasp.

The Duke accepted this and was satisfied.