Chapter 21
Michael quickly turned away. He wanted nothing to do with anyone from House Dürman. Unfortunately, Eileen had already spotted him. She watched him trying to hurry away with peculiar interest. His was a face she might or might not recognize – Michael Bertan, youngest son of Count Bertan, one year her senior.
Meeting her eyes, he seemed strangely urgent. As if desperate to escape. Which he actually was. Eileen had a hunch. This boy knew something about her sister. About Damian too. Perhaps even close to them. Yet someone who wanted no part of their affairs.
The corner of her mouth lifted. She’d found the perfect guide to the Academy. And someone who could tell her what had been happening.
Leaving the gun behind, she hurried after him.
“My lady?! Where are you going!”
Jenny called out anxiously, but Eileen was already far ahead. Unable to collect their prize, Jenny rushed after her mistress.
Catching up to Michael, Eileen stopped and called out loudly:
“Lord Michael!”
He ignored her. He had a very bad feeling about this and just wanted to get back to his dormitory. But her next words were impossible to ignore.
“Please! Please don’t abandon me!”
What nonsense was this? Abandon what? Michael stopped and turned around. A few steps away stood the girl, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“I’ll, I’ll do better. sob”
Better at what exactly?! Michael was dumbfounded. He wanted to demand what she was doing, but he noticed the stares. Most of the Academy students were whispering among themselves.
Grinding his teeth around words he’d never normally say, he strode over to her. Pretending to embrace her, he asked through clenched teeth:
“What are you doing, my lady? Do you even know who I am?”
“Of course. The youngest son of Count Bertan.”
Eileen lifted her face from her hands and hugged him with a bright smile. Gasps erupted from the onlookers as Michael’s body went rigid. Dong. Dong. The bell tolled in the distance.
“Lord Michael, you’ve returned!”
Jenny watched this ridiculous drama unfold in horror. There was only one appropriate phrase for this situation:
We’re screwed.
* * *
“Well well. How have you been, Professor? Ah no, should I call you Chancellor now?”
Violet stared incredulously at Camilla’s outstretched hand and easy smile. On this Saturday when all classes except math remedials were off, an unexpected visitor had arrived – her former problem student. Though they’d occasionally met since graduation, it had been years since any contact. Yet Camilla acted as if they’d seen each other yesterday.
“I thought I’d never see you again. You’ve got some nerve. Did we meet yesterday?”
“Haha. Aren’t we close enough that it feels like yesterday, Chancellor?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Camilla sat on the sofa. Violet gave a hollow laugh. Setting aside the pharmacy department’s budget approval documents, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Camilla pulled out a case from her pocket, then quickly returned it with an “oops.” Violet could guess what it was without asking.
“Time really has passed. To think I’d see you smoking.”
“Oh, Chancellor. It’s just for show. Keeps people from looking down on me.”
Of course, it had started that way, but now she couldn’t quit. That’s how it always went in this business. Easy to start, hard to stop.
“So. Why are you here?”
At Violet’s question, Camilla’s relaxed expression instantly hardened. That face – she’d seen it before. The face of someone who’d made a strange decision. An uneasy feeling crept up, and her instincts proved correct.
“Please let me meet His Highness the Crown Prince.”
* * *
The man hadn’t stayed long at the gambling den. It was still midday when Ayla and Damian returned. He’d likely just gone there to take the drug rather than gamble.
Their anticipated date had turned into an undercover operation. Though slightly bitter, Damian set aside his disappointment as he watched Ayla naturally follow him to his room.
The bag of dolls they’d won at the shooting gallery sat on the desk, but neither gave it a glance.
Ayla sat deep in thought. Across from her, Damian placed the candy on the table, wrapped in a handkerchief. The yellow candy looked harmless enough to pass for an ordinary lemon drop. The Soledina scent was so faint that without knowing to look for it, one might think it odorless.
They’d expected the drug would be difficult to obtain, but it had been surprisingly easy. Ayla stared at the candy and said:
“We should analyze it first?”
Damian nodded and held his hand over the candy, eyes closed in concentration. Unfortunately, he detected nothing significant. There was a trace of magical energy, likely residue from the magician who’d prepared the drug. But it was too weak to tell anything about the magician.
Opening his eyes, he considered who could analyze the drug. The court pharmacist was out of the question. The herbal workshops too – Soledina was prohibited. Above all, his instincts strongly warned that danger awaited if they took this beyond the Academy.
That meant finding someone within the Academy. Only one person here could analyze this drug, someone who already knew of its existence. Though he’d hate it, there was no choice. After all, Damian was the Crown Prince, and he was just a count’s youngest son.
Yes, Damian saw Michael – who’d sworn to pretend he’d seen and heard nothing – as the perfect candidate.
“I’ll have Michael do it.”
His confident declaration made Ayla’s expression falter. She remembered Michael’s desperate pleas. He’d hated being involved in this.
“Will he agree?”
“He has no choice. He’s already involved, isn’t he?”
Watching Damian speak so casually, Ayla fell silent, briefly mourning for Michael. For whatever reason, he’d caught the Crown Prince’s attention and would now be dragged along. Though sympathetic, she felt slightly less wronged. She wasn’t the only one being pulled into Damian’s wake.
“Let’s organize what we know, Damian.”
She grabbed his notebook and pen, tore off a clean sheet, and began writing.
“Today we went to Count Letir’s territory.”
She drew a large circle around it, with one branch extending upward.
“There was a gambling den there, where the waiter took drugs.”
She wrote “gambling den,” “Soledina drug,” and “distribution and sales” beside the branch.
“The drugs are spreading from the gambling den. The question is…”
She put several question marks over “Count Letir.”
“Does Count Letir really know?”
A moment of silence passed. Damian wordlessly took the pen and wrote one word next to Count Letir’s name.
Magician.
Had the magician and Count Letir joined forces?
“If we assume Count Letir and the magician are working together…”
Damian continued softly.
“They must both gain something from it. What could they each want?”
Ayla pondered his question. According to Damian, running a gambling den was quite profitable. With drug sales involved, even more so. But would Count Letir want simply money?
The Letirs were a renowned military family, and the Count was a high-ranking military commander. And noble-born. What more could a noble with military power and vast wealth want?
Perhaps even greater glory? Such as…
The thought stopped her cold. It seemed impossible. Nothing was proven; it could be too great a leap. But one piece fit. Corruption always bred chaos in a nation.
Meeting Damian’s gaze, she slowly spoke:
“…Treason.”
“…”
“Count Letir might be planning treason.”
“…”
Heavy silence fell. His long lashes fluttered slowly. She watched him anxiously, waiting for his response. His face showed no emotion, his eyes cold and distant. Once again, he felt like a stranger to her.
Silently, he wrote two words in the notebook: the “treason” she’d mentioned and “Gilrota,” the key figure in this case. Looking at the words he’d written, he finally spoke. Despite discussing treason against imperial authority, his voice remained eerily calm.
“You’re right, Ayla. Count Letir is planning treason. And if we assume the magician joined him for money, it explains why Gilrota was killed. If Gilrota discovered their treason plans and tried to report it, they’d have reason to eliminate him. He probably tried to report it to me, since I was easily accessible.”
