Before Reading:

If you didn’t come back last Sundayfor the 2nd part of chapter 24, go back and read it now! I onlywanted to post the full chapter on NU, but it uploaded it automatically… oups!

If this is the real end – 8

            Ina story, there is always a theme. If we compare this strange life to a story, Iwonder what would the theme be? And what kind of lesson was included in it?

“Al, do you know this book?”

            WhenI showed him a book I quietly pulled out from under my pillow, Al dexterouslyrose one of his eyebrow and tilted his head. Maybe he thought it was a littleunsatisfactory for a daughter of a n.o.ble family to read this neither thick northin book. However, its readability was probably one of the reason it becamepopular even among the members of the high society, regardless of their rank.As there weren’t many characters, the human relations.h.i.+ps weren’t complicated.Only the love story between the princess of the neighboring country and aknight was developed.

“Of course, I know it but…”

            What about it? Al glanced at the book Iwas holding while making an overly serious expression that showed his doubts.Because that book became a hot topic of conversation among n.o.bles for a while,as the subordinate of an aristocrat, it wasn’t strange for him to know it. Wehadn’t talked about it, but he probably had at least heard the t.i.tle.

“Is something wrong with this book?”

            Alwho was standing too far away to reach the book took one step forward andlooked at the novel I presented. He seemed to hesitate about whether or not itwas alright for him to receive it. His right hand hanged out in the air a shortwhile before it returned to its original position without taking the book. 

“I wonder if you have ever read thisbook, Al?”

            WhenI asked him, as expected he shook his head to answer negatively. After Ibriefly told him the outline, he replied “Oh, it is that kind of story…” whilenodding his head with an uninterested expression. Marianne had also been likethis but it still became popular in the high society and people who showed thesame reaction as Al were few.

“And so, what is so special aboutthis book?”

            Theprincess of the neighboring country and a mere knight, those two maincharacters who would normally never have been wedded to each other, transformedthe story into a magnificent romance, it was a romantic tale whose contentswere all over the place. Although those two characters were confronted with aharsh destiny, in this country there were many n.o.bles who had never been weddedtogether due to the difference in social rank. If you picked them up one byone, you would surely find an even more dramatic story. That’s why Al couldn’tfind any interest in the content of this novel. Rather, he seemed to besuspicious of the book itself, doubting if there wasn’t any trick to it. Hisblue eyes were zealously staring at the front and back covers. However, therewas nothing special about that book. Nothing was different from the one youcould usually purchase in general bookstores, it was a good that could beobtained the next day after requesting it from our usual supplier. Suffice tosay, as a romance novel its cover was very plain.

“… This book you see, belongs tofather.”

            Itried to prevent my voice from trembling. But I didn’t think I did a good jobat it. The words tinged with an unsettledness surpa.s.sing what I had imaginedleft a reverberation in the room that had fallen silent. Even though I intendedto pretend to be calm, suddenly, my fingers lost their strength. The book felton the carpet with a thud, its pages were turned even while there was no wind.As I was about to reflexively move to pick it up, with his gaze Al held me backand did it himself with natural movements. I remained lying on the bed, simply staringat the book that fit in his palm. It was at that moment I noticed my own handswere shaking. I released the breath I had unintentionally hold up. My heartwhich should have calm down was slightly pounding. Was it really alright tocontinue like this and narrate the truth? Suddenly, I realized I was afraid andshut my mouth.

“It belongs to master?”

            Al’svoice was tinged with doubts, probably because he knew that person wouldn’tgive me something like this. In those repeating lives of mine, in this lifetimethat wasn’t that long, the things father gave me were few. If I thought aboutit, the necklace I received the year of my social debut was the only item Icould declare having received from father. As for other things… … such as thebooks needed for my education as a lady, the dress I wore when invited toanother house, or the ornament handed over through mother, in the first place,I didn’t think father had been involved with them. Mother had delivered thempersonally, saying “Your father gifted them to you,” but the truth was probablydifferent. She probably pitied me who never received anything and said this. Andso, mother wouldn’t know what this romance novel was and father wouldn’t giveit to me. Al also knew this. As my escort, he had noticed the unnaturalness ofmy swallow relation with father.

            WhenI said in a low voice to the frowning Al, “I stole it,” he opened his eyes widein an interesting reaction. Since his expression was so different from hisusual face, I burst in laugher unintentionally, a disgraceful chuckle risingfrom the depth of my throat.

“… Lady…”

            Seeingme react like this, I guess he thought I was teasing him. A hint of protestmixed in his voice, he peered into my eyes.

“… It is the truth you know.”

            I really stole it, I repeated it again,lifting myself properly from the bed this time. Compared to earlier, I feltthat most of my weariness had faded. Now that it was no longer the time tolaugh and dodge the issue, Al silently swallowed his breath. Stealing one’s ownfather’s possessions was not something that should be done, the other familiesaside, in our house, it wasn’t permitted. To say nothing of the fact theoffender wasn’t Silvia but me. If father were to learn of it, he would condemnme without allowing me any room to explain myself. No, maybe the word “condemn”was a bit too much. However, I would be abused with cold-heart words like “Idon’t remember raising such a daughter,” and I would likely be locked up in myroom. He would give me an inconspicuous punishment so that it wouldn’t becomeknown by outsiders. But if Silvia had been the offender, there was no doubt hewould have laughed and forgive her, saying something like, “this helplesschild, what will I do with you?” And it would stop at him gently rebuking her,“keep your pranks to a moderate level.” Did he trust that child this much, ordid he just simply suspect I was a harmful existence for this house? Although Iimagined various possibilities such as this one, in the end, I knew nothing.

“Lady, can I hear your reasons fordoing this?”      

            Notdaring to approach the topic of me stealing things, Al looked at the book. Hewas pondering strongly with his head tilted on the side, probably because nomatter where he looked there was no trace of the mechanism he had expected tofind. Did he think of the possibility of hollowing out the contents to hidesomething precious inside? But very few people would use such a cla.s.sic method.“There is no trick to it you know,” when I repeated this once again with asmile, Al moved his line of sight to observe me instead. He seemed to bewanting an answer to his question.

“… reason, a reason you ask…”

            However,I didn’t have an answer when asked “why?” It could be said I had found thisbook by mere coincidence, or that I was lead to discover it by something. Ifelt that I had been driven by some circ.u.mstances and guided by a great force,and as a result, “I couldn’t help but find it.” Probably no one knew theanswer. If someone did know, then it would only be the being called G.o.d.

“I am sorry Al. I cannot tell you.So, I would be happy if you do not ask me.”

            AsI shook my head in refusal, he narrowed his eyes that were like the color of adeep sea. This gesture was like trying to ascertain something far away.

“… No, it is also me who was toointrusive.”

            Ismiled wryly seeing my escort with his head lowered in a slightly depressedstate. Perhaps he was truly perceiving that he “had been too intrusive.” Theone in the wrong wasn’t Al, but I couldn’t tell him everything here and now.For that reason, I laughed and glossed over the issue, “It is fine, I am alsosorry.” As usual, Al answered, “There is no need for my lady to apologize” withhis gaze still lowered. He himself was surely quite sick of repeating thissentence, yet each time I would apologize, he kept saying those same words. Hehasn’t changed since long ago. From long, long before, without any change, hetries to be my escort knight.

            Thefirst time I found this book was in one of my past lives; it truly happened bychance then. I, who had already been married to Soleil, was visiting my parents’house to ask father advices about territory management. However, in spite ofhaving made an appointment in advance, father was absent. When I asked thesteward, he unapologetically explained that in order to help the feeble Silviato recuperate, he, mother and Silvia and headed for a villa in the suburbs.After being asked if father didn’t know I was coming today, the steward laughedwith an embarra.s.sed expression that was saying he thought father knew. He loweredhis head and added in a forced way that they had seemed to be in a hurry. Inother words, I thing he wanted to explain there had been no time to contact me.I had to desperately gulp down the lump of heat that had welled up in the depthof my throat at that moment. Then, I conducted myself as if I was abroad-minded and very tolerant person and said, “If it is for Silvia’s sakethen it cannot be help.” I persuaded myself I was no longer the young daughterof a n.o.ble. I warned myself that this was part of politics, part of my work. Ifit wasn’t an interaction between family members, then I won’t be hurt thatmuch. I should think that a work agreement had been revoked. Therefore, it wasn’tthat difficult to fabricate a smile. The steward who thought I would surely flyinto a rage smiled and commented, “My lady has also become a magnanimousperson.” I didn’t know if it was sarcasm or his true opinion, but I had enoughcomposure to at least thank him. That was how much experience I had acquired. Iwasn’t the me from the time I knew nothing. I understood well what must be donein order to protect myself. I a.s.serted myself forcibly and thought that despitethe fact I could have predicted father’s conduct, I had been negligent inconfirming it.

            Afterthe steward left, I remained alone in the corridor, deep in thoughts as Iheaved a sigh. Why did things always turn this way? In this corridor devoid ofwindows, there was nothing else but some flower vases, some wall-decorationsand a gloomy silence. Even if you concentrated you sight on it, my shadow wasalmost invisible. The scenery wouldn’t change even if it wasn’t here. I gazedat the ceiling, thinking my life might be like this too. Hoping that a blackbird might be lurking there, my line of sight glided over the luxuriouscandelabrums lined up at regular intervals. 

            Andthen, nearly unconsciously, I clutched the door k.n.o.b of father’s study.

            Itwas an unexpected action for my usual self, but for some unknown reason I feltI had to do this. In fact, the door which should have been locked opened veryeasily. Until that moment I had thought that thick door should have been heavy,yet I remembered it felt light as a feather. I understood that if metrespa.s.sing in the study without father’s permission was discovered, theproblem wouldn’t be settled with a simple apology. But as if another ego hadsprout by itself, my feet developed a will on their own and moved arbitrarily. Ratherthan feeling I was creeping in, it felt like I “simply entered inside” and Ididn’t feel any guilt. That shrewd father of mine, there was no way he wouldforget to lock his study. Therefore, regarding the fact it wasn’t locked, itwould make sense for it to only be an accidental incident. Perhaps I felt that theone to blame wasn’t me but the servants.

            Itwas at that time I got hold of this novel.

            Onthe top right corner of a bookshelf taller than a person. The book was put awayin such a place as if to forget its very existence unless you intended to fetchit voluntary. In other words, it was in a place where it wouldn’t be seenunless you prepared something like a stepladder. I didn’t even know myself whyI had noticed such a place. But, as if I felt something was there, I pulled thechair for the guests which was placed in a corner and climb on it. Since he hadwent to the villa father wouldn’t appear suddenly. I had already lost thefeeling of tension. 

            …… Why did father have a romance novel?

            Thatwas the first impression I had of it. He wasn’t a person interested in others’love stories, much less in a work of fiction, it would probably never evencatch his attention. That was the kind of person my father was. Even I myself,as my maximal priority was to fight against my hapless fate, while I knew thatbook was popular in the high society, I never thought of reading it. Because Ihad heard it was a usual story of love between people of different social casteyou could find everywhere. That’s why, I felt a sense of discomfort with thefact such a book was in father’s study, and while pondering about it whit atilted head, I turned the pages. Not even knowing that an important secret washidden there.

“Al, can you open the book at itslast page?”

            Nottelling anything, I suddenly asked the confused Al who was touching the spineof the book with his long fingers to turn the pages. He was making a perplexedexpression but still followed my order without showing any reluctance inparticular. Since it was just a matter of opening the book it didn’t take anytime at all. Then, after a moment of silence…

“… … Silvisama…?” He squeezed outthe name of my little sister.       

            WhenI found this book in father’s study, I confirmed its content without delay andheaved a sigh when I saw it was undoubtedly the same as the story I knew. Ididn’t know if it was a sigh of relief or discouragement. Anyway, the weight onmy shoulders was removed as there was nothing recorded about the happeningscontrolling my life. Then, at that time, I found that thing.

“Is it a sketch? No, it’s aportrait… isn’t it?”

            Iquietly nodded at Al’s question. That’s right. That was what was drawn on thewhite sheet, on the very last page of this novel. A picture drawn with a messy penthat looked like a scribble. Yet, this image was also accompanied by a patheticfeeling of it being an ephemeral and fleeting dream. Like Al, I had alsothought it was a painting of Silvia. Feeling a bit afraid at how jealous I wasof that adored child, I had closed that book. Even if our mothers weredifferent, the fact that both Silvia and I were father’s daughters wouldn’tchange. … … It was how things should have been. And yet, these really smalldetails showed off the difference in the affection we received, making my heartcreak. My fingers which were tracing the book’s back cover were slightlytrembling, and from the bottom of my heart I felt pity for the parents of myfirst life that had abandoned me. Pretending to be calm again after havingtaken a few deep breaths, when I tried to put back the book to its originalplace … what was the sudden feeling of discomfort I sensed? I didn’t know what,but I felt that “something” was wrong.

“That, you see Al… it is notSilvia.”

            Ifyou opened the book once again and looked closely from cover to cover, you willderive the answer in due course. The date, era and father’s name were engravedthere. All the paintings father drawn had his signature and the date, it seemedto be a habit of him and it proved it all. It proved that what was written downhere, had been made long, long before Silvia was born.

“It isn’t Silvisama…? No, but… herface… looks a lot like hers.”

            Thewoman on that piece of paper had almost the same face as Silvia. Because shewasn’t drawn in color, it couldn’t be proved it was a different person. Humanswith delicate silver hairs like those of Silvia were very rare in this country.If that woman in the drawing had blond hairs, just by seeing her people wouldhave understood she was a different person. But that woman who was drawn withonly dark ink was simply smiling cheerfully like she was gazing at somethingoutside a window.

“This is, Silvia’s real… mother.”

            Adate anterior to Silvia’s birth. A face that was similar to hers. The fact thatfather drew it. From all these, it wasn’t that hard to deduce the answer.

“… Silvisama’s mother?”

            Thequestion was why was it drawn “in this book”? The “me” of that life whodiscovered this book took it out of father’s study and brought it back to theestate I was living with Soleil. Then, I hided it in the dresser in my room. Itwas after this that I began to act in order to sweep away the doubts that hadarisen in my heart.

            Ihad to meet the author, to meet them, and talk with them.

            Itwasn’t like I was threatened by someone, yet I still had the sensation I waspractically being coerced. For me who already had become “the next marquis’wife” and possessed several connections, I had a few means of tracking down theauthor who was living somewhere in this country, so I didn’t think setting ameeting would be difficult. Then some time pa.s.sed, and it happened likeexpected. It fell on the palm of my hands, like a raindrop falling from acloudy sky. The end which was exactly like I had imagined was lying in wait.

“She is a beautiful person, isn’tshe? She looked almost the same as Silvia…”

“This person…”

            Alheave a sigh of admiration and astonishment, his gaze fixed on the portrait ofthe woman. His blue eyes clearly displayed his curiosity. I couldn’t see anyother emotion apart from this one. It made me feel relieved. If Soleil had beenthe one looking at that picture, surely, he would have searched for Silvia’sfeatures in that woman drawn in ink. Then, these thin iced eyes of him wouldslightly loosened and he would smile broadly while his fingers would gentlytrace the lines of the portrait. Tenderly, as if they were touching Silvia.Because I could imagine this scene quite clearly, something was wrong with metoo. Or else, had I seen this scene somewhere in one of my lost lives?

“But still, it’s mysterious, isn’tit?”

            Alremoved his line of sight from Silvia’s mother and looked at me with a bittersmile. Then he tilted his head and said,

“It’s natural that Silvisama’smother had existed… no, of course it’s natural, but…”

            It’s somewhat hard to believe, said Alwithout any ill will nor deeper meaning. He was simply stating a fact. Therewere some who were convinced that Silvia, with her weak const.i.tution and whoseexistence itself was fleeting and ephemeral, wasn’t a real person. Theywouldn’t be surprised if they were told she was born from a flower seed. Itcertainly felt strange and mysterious that a woman who gave birth to such aSilvia existed. The first time the “past me” was confronted with this fact, Ihad also thought the same thing as Al. For that reason, I secretly tried toimagine the person that no one knew about. The hair color of the person who wasSilvia’s mother. Her eyes, her voice. I wonder if she spoke with that tone, ifshe made such gestures, with what kind of expression did she embrace Silvia… …Silvia’s weak const.i.tution, did it come from her blood lineage? There weremany, many things I wanted to ask and to know. But I won’t get those answers.Because I will never meet Silvia’s mother.

            Onthe other hand, there was something I understood without having to do anyresearch. This book was “father’s book”, but this didn’t indicate who its ownerwas. Exactly as stated, I meant this in the literal sense.

            Insidethe book, a certain knight was drawn. A man belonging to a middle ranked n.o.blefamily who fell in love with the princess of the neighboring country… herescort knight. That was exactly… …

            Myfather.

            WhenI reach that truth, rather than feeling a shock run through my body, it feltmore like both a sudden realization and a feeling of resignation. Ah, I see. I simply understood. For oursociety, it was only a common, morganatic (cross-cla.s.s) love. But for theinvolved persons, it was the greatest romance of the century. It was such adramatic story that it became a book. Although it was presented as a “work offiction” for the rest of the world, but the characters weren’t completelyfictional. However, my mother wasn’t the princess of a neighboring country. It wassomething I was sure of as her real daughter. And if she wasn’t, it meant theprotagonist of this book wasn’t mother.

            But,it was also true that my mother wasn’t born in this country.

“… Lady?”

            AsI was completely immersed in my thoughts, Al called out to me with hesitation.I continued to think while looking at his face. If I wanted to tell himeverything, then I had to do it now. However, by doing so there was apossibility the road ahead would divert greatly.

            “Alfred is so pitiable. Because he had youas his master, he died.”

            Thewords I heard in one of my lives emerged in my mind. While I hesitated overwhat I should say, at the moment I slowly opened my mouth…

            …… Knock, knock.

            Someone knocked at the door of myroom.

Nocta’s thought:

Tadadada! And destiny crushes yetanother big event for Ilya and Al. But who could that possibly be?