Chương 218: 34. Buried Truth 2

Visiting a brothel district twice in one day, and neither time for any enjoyable reason—both times to dig imperial plants out of the ground for a fire-breathing dragon. If word of this ever reached Eckhaus, our foreign ministry would observe three seconds of silence on my behalf, then immediately strike the position of Harbor Envoy from the official staffing table. While we were still outside the district's boundary, I rolled my aching shoulder and glanced at Jessi.

"Everyone at the delegation is still accounted for, right?"

"Relax, young master." Jessi finished the last bite of her bread and dusted her hands, smiling in the particular way that always meant someone's day was about to get worse.

"With old Hans in charge, it can't go too far wrong. By the schedule, they should be nearing the Dragon Nation's capital by now." She paused, then made a sound like she'd just remembered something delightful, and elbowed me in the ribs.

"Speaking of which, young master—" Every alarm I possessed went off simultaneously. Jessi drew the syllables out with the reverence of a priest about to read someone's private correspondence aloud in a temple.

"During those nearly two weeks you and Princess Ignicia were… missing together…" Her eyes were shining in a way that boded extremely poorly.

"Did anything interesting happen?" An emergency crash-landing. A scale touched by accident. The heat of her body running too high. Breath too close in the dark. And one night—one specific night I refused to think about too directly, yet somehow remembered with an accuracy that was deeply inconvenient—two people with nowhere else to go, pressed together against one small, pitiful pocket of warmth, sleeping that way until dawn. The images swept through me all at once, fast as a torch passed across a page.

I cleared my throat with considerable force and pushed something off my face that had no business being there.

"Ahem. No."

"Come off it." Jessi poked my ribs, wearing the expression of someone who'd just caught the suspect at the scene.

"That face. Something happened. For about a full second, your expression was practically broadcasting 'I have a story and the story is extremely dangerous.'""Could you direct that observational capacity toward the actual investigation?"

"I am investigating," she said, with complete conviction.

"I'm investigating exactly what young master got up to without telling us."

"Jessi." Alvira's voice came from behind us—not loud, carrying the specific quality of someone is about to get hit.

"Stop playing around."

"Aww—" Jessi dragged the syllable out with theatrical disappointment.

"No fun at all." Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"If you're that desperate to know," Alvira said, with a sideways glance, "go ask Ignicia herself." Jessi went quiet for exactly one beat. Then waved her hand decisively.

"Actually, never mind. I'd like to survive past dinner." I nearly laughed out loud. The fact that Jessi—Jessi, who would cheerfully poke a sleeping bear for entertainment—had just voluntarily backed down half a step said everything about what kind of person Ignicia was: standing like a drawn blade, looking at you like she was signing an execution order. Just before we crossed into the red-light district proper, Yozora stopped.

She wore a darker outer coat today, muting her normally eye-catching silhouette—but whatever quality was native to her hadn't gone anywhere. Not seduction. More like the cold, clean light left behind after something has been through fire and water and still refused to go out. She turned back to look at us, her tone easy.

"A moment, please, everyone." I raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"If we're to speak at length with the Vixenfolk today, a precaution would be wise." She reached into the inner lining of her sash and drew out several narrow slips of yellow paper—thin enough to be nearly translucent, covered in faint, fine characters and traced lines. Nothing like the spell-forms I'd seen in the principalities. They looked more like something that had drifted in from the East and been quietly revised by someone who understood both systems.

Holding the slips between her fingers, Yozora murmured a short sequence of sounds I couldn't quite catch—not quite a chant, not quite a prayer. More like exchanging a countersign with something only she could hear. The paper caught fire without a flame, burning silently to ash between her fingers. The ash never hit the ground. It dissolved into a few threads of very faint light, drifting past each of us in turn, settling like a veil so thin it was barely there at all. I blinked.

"…That's it?"

"It only suppresses the first layer," Yozora said, brushing away the last trace of ash, her voice unchanged.

"If the other party relies only on ordinary minor techniques, this should keep your minds your own the moment you make eye contact. But if it's a Vixenfolk practitioner who genuinely excels at this—or if you hand over your wine, your gaze, and your hands yourselves—then not even the gods can help you." Jessi tilted her head.

"So this isn't a get-out-of-death-free token?"

"No," Yozora said, with complete honesty.

"It simply ensures that when you walk through the door, your mind still belongs to you."

"That's enough," I said, nodding, then added with admirable self-awareness: "Mainly it's for my sake." Alvira finally looked at Yozora directly, a slight furrow between her brows.

"Miss Yozora… are you an elven cantor?"

"Mm… something like that, but not quite." Yozora shook her head.

"This one has no talent for combat, nor anything that could light up half a street. What this one is better suited to is support, warding, dispelling confusion, and…" She paused. The corner of her mouth moved, barely.

"…not dying too quickly." I thought that suited Yozora perfectly. Beautiful. Not remotely romantic.

"If you'd prefer a term you're more familiar with," she added, "something close to a hex-caster, perhaps. Only what this one learned isn't entirely of elven origin." It was a light sentence. It left more than enough room to wonder. The cool scrutiny in Alvira's eyes softened by one small degree. I, meanwhile, took a very deliberate half-step sideways.

"Excellent. Remind me never to get on your bad side," I said.

"I'd rather not wake up one morning dangling from the rafters, dancing like a puppet on strings." Alvira blinked—and then, completely without warning, laughed. A short sound. Like a hairline crack opening in ice, then sealing shut again almost immediately. But I heard it clearly. She laughed. Given today's working hours, that qualified as a certified harbor miracle.

"Cedric." She was visibly fighting to hold her expression together.

"That's a puppeteer. Not a hex-caster. Idiot." I looked at her in complete silence.

"… Shut up." Jessi's shoulders were shaking. Yozora turned her face slightly away, the way someone does when they also want to laugh but are too polite to make it obvious. Honestly, for that one moment, the air between us genuinely lightened. Not the kind of ease that makes you forget how dangerous the next hour will be—more the kind that comes when everyone walking toward a battlefield knows it's going to be bad, so they make one small joke first, just to keep their own bones from snapping under the weight of it.

Then we crossed the line into the street.