Chapter 129
Vincent Ashley, Marquis of Haione, was considered by those around him to be a serious and stern man, but he had never once thought of himself that way.
In a word, he was selfish. He wasn’t particularly stern or serious.
As his friend, Baron Maywood, put it:
“You’re simply good at getting your way. Your words carry the weight of knowledge, and you don’t waste them. I imagine the title of 〈House of Scholars〉 also gives those around you the impression that you’re stern and serious.”
The Marquis of Haione was impressed that a mediator could read people so well. Baron Maywood grinned and added, as if joking:
“And, well… perhaps your mustache suits you, which is another reason you look so stern.”
“Is that important?”
“Yes, it is. With a face like mine, I’m a long way from looking dignified… I once thought I’d grow a mustache, but everyone around me stopped me.”
Baron Maywood let his shoulders droop with a woeful sigh. He looked considerably younger than his actual age, apparently a trait of his family.
When Baron Maywood’s son became the man Claudia, the Marquis’s only daughter, wanted to marry, it was a moment when both the Marquis of Haione and Claudia got their way with all their might.
It was hardly common for the daughter of a marquis, a high-ranking noble, to marry into the family of a baron, a lower-ranking noble.
The match could easily have become a scandal, but the Marquis of Haione deftly made it presentable.
Specifically, he worked with Baron Maywood on the issue of legalizing medical magic, which was troubling the nobility at the time. By highlighting the importance of ties between the 〈House of Scholars〉 and the 〈House of Mediators〉, he persuaded those around them to accept the match.
In short, he raised Baron Maywood’s standing so high that everyone could accept a daughter of the Marquis of Haione marrying into even a baron’s family, when that family belonged to the 〈House of Mediators〉.
The next issue was the question of an heir.
Normally, the Marquis of Haione’s younger brother or nephew would have been the obvious choice, but the Marquis had a somewhat unusual role, so the title could not be passed on based on bloodline alone.
Under the Kingdom of Ridill’s succession system, families of mages, priests, and the like sometimes required their heirs to possess some aptitude, such as for magic, in addition to the right bloodline. The Marquis of Haione was one such case.
This aptitude was a troublesome thing. It couldn’t be quantified, nor was it easy to put into words.
To make matters worse, the Marquis of Haione’s younger brother and nephews had very little of it.
More than anything, they lacked the drive to say, “I’ll work hard and succeed to the title of Marquis of Haione!” It seemed selfishness ran in the family.
And so the Marquis of Haione decided to adopt an heir.
He had three requirements for his successor: aptitude, bloodline, and personality.
Aptitude came first, followed by bloodline. The blood connection could be somewhat distant. As long as the candidate had some of the Marquis of Haione’s blood, there were plenty of ways to silence any objections.
As for personality, he ideally wanted someone serious and diligent. There were far too many selfish and carefree people in the Ashley family as it was.
After weighing all these factors, he chose a boy named Cyril Wayne.
Cyril had the Marquis of Haione’s blood, but his father held no title, and he was a serious, hardworking boy who lived among commoners.
But when the Marquis finally took him in, he discovered that Cyril was… so serious it came as quite a shock.
＊ ＊ ＊
A few months after he took Cyril in, the Marquis heard something strange from one of the servants.
Apparently, Cyril had been secretly collecting old sheets of paper with mistakes on them and the like.
Curious what Cyril could possibly want them for, the Marquis visited his room between tasks.
He knocked, and heard a rustling sound from inside. It was the sound of someone hiding a stack of papers. The Marquis knew it well; when he was young, he’d secretly hidden doodles and hastily scribbled poems from the adults, too.
“Sorry to interrupt your reading.”
When the Marquis opened the door and spoke, Cyril straightened up. His eyes darted uneasily.
“Were you writing something?”
“No, I was reading…”
“Your right hand. There’s a trace of ink on it that hasn’t dried yet.”
Cyril glanced down at his right hand in alarm. And it wasn’t the only clue: the inkpot was uncapped. It was obvious he’d been writing something.
“What were you writing?”
The Marquis of Haione asked in a gentle voice.
He was genuinely curious, and wanted to share a small moment with his adopted son.
Cyril was so serious that the Marquis would actually feel more at ease if he took breaks like a boy his age.
So even if Cyril had been hiding doodles or poems, the Marquis had no intention of scolding him. If he’d been secretly drawing or writing poetry, the Marquis planned to tell him he could enjoy it as much as he liked without hiding it.
“I’m sorry, Father. I…”
Cyril faltered, his head bowed.
Could he have been drafting a love letter to someone?
If so, the Marquis had been a little cruel. He’d have to offer his adopted son some advice about love… As the Marquis of Haione was giving this serious thought, Cyril mumbled as though confessing to a crime:
“I can’t memorize the contents of a book just by reading it, the way Claudia can…”
“Hm?”
“So I write things down, hoping I’ll remember them…”
Cyril took a stack of papers from a drawer. They were all the backs of discarded sheets with mistakes on them and the like.
They contained summaries of the books Cyril was reading.
The Marquis of Haione was stunned.
“Is this how you always study when you read?”
“I-I’m sorry!”
Though he hadn’t meant to scold him, Cyril had turned so pale and was trembling so badly that it hurt to see.
What on earth did he have to apologize for? As the Marquis wondered, Cyril spoke in a faint voice:
“You adopted me, and yet… I’m sorry I can’t do more than Claudia.”
Only then did the Marquis notice that ink had seeped beneath the nails of Cyril’s right hand, and that he had a callus on his writing finger far too hard for a boy his age.
The Marquis of Haione and Claudia could remember most things after reading them once, but they knew there were people who had to write things over and over to remember them. Cyril was probably one of those people.
But Cyril had hidden that from the Marquis of Haione. He must have thought he’d be abandoned if he couldn’t do the same things Claudia could.
The Marquis checked the notebooks Cyril used for studying to see how he was progressing.
So Cyril had secretly gathered old papers and made a record of his own, one no one else would see.
As soon as the Marquis understood, he found himself speaking.
“You don’t have to study the same way Claudia does. Everyone has their own way of studying and remembering things.”
The Marquis of Haione had always believed that showing off one’s hard work served no purpose.
And yet, he felt this boy’s efforts were something an adult ought to notice.
After all, weren’t they worthy of praise?
The words on the crumpled papers had been written with care, and showed signs of having been revised many times.
Cyril had neatly picked out the key points and summarized them well enough to explain the books in his own words.
“It must have been difficult to finish this book at your age… You’ve worked hard.”
Cyril’s brows drew tightly together at those words, and he looked as though he might cry. That expression left a striking impression on the Marquis.
＊ ＊ ＊
After a meeting at the headquarters of the Ascald Library Society, the Marquis of Haione returned to the inn and saw Cyril for the first time in a while.
They had both been busy lately, and even when they returned home, they often missed each other.
Cyril handled correspondence for the joint research project with the 〈Thorn Witch〉 and the 〈Silent Witch〉, along with various minor tasks on the estate. At the same time, the Marquis of Haione had gradually begun involving Cyril in his work with the Library Society.
The Marquis of Haione was a standing board member of the Ascald Library Society, and held the important post of managing the restricted books at the Ascald Grand Library. He intended to teach Cyril the work in time.
“It’s been a while, Father.”
Cyril said this and bowed politely. He seemed gentler than before. He was still prone to putting too much pressure on himself, but no longer seemed as precarious as a tightly stretched thread.
Last autumn, when the 〈Thorn Witch〉 and the 〈Silent Witch〉 stayed at the estate, the Marquis had been glad to catch a glimpse of the youthful side of Cyril.
(He’s made a good friend.)
Now, Cyril had come to the room where the Marquis of Haione was staying. Looking tense, he said, “There’s something I’d like to report to you, Father.”
The Marquis of Haione thought that at last Cyril had found a woman he wanted to introduce to him.
But, contrary to his expectations, Cyril took the weasel fur he had wrapped around his neck and held it in his arms. Only then did the Marquis notice that the two weasels, one golden and one white, were both alive.
(I see. He wanted to keep a pet.)
The Marquis of Haione knew that Cyril liked small animals.
Come to think of it, Cyril had never been a child who asked for things.
Once, when the Marquis gave Cyril a brand-new notebook because he used so many drafts and revisions, Cyril had looked downcast and said he couldn’t scribble in such fine paper. Even when the Marquis bought him clothes or shoes, Cyril always shrank back apologetically.
The Marquis was moved that his son had finally come to ask for a pet… As he dwelled on the thought, Cyril lifted the weasels slightly and said:
“I’d like your permission to keep these two.”
Should he tell Cyril, “You must take responsibility for them”?
No, no. He knew how responsible Cyril was. It would be better to say, “Make sure to give them lots of love.”
As the Marquis considered this, the golden weasel tapped Cyril’s arm and spoke.
“Cyril. ‘Keeping’ us isn’t right.”
The white weasel swished its soft-looking tail from side to side as it spoke, too.
“Not keeping us. Living together? Cohabiting? Human words are hard.”
The weasels were speaking fluent human language.
The Marquis of Haione kept his expression unchanged, but inside he was utterly astonished.
But the surprises didn’t end there. The two weasels slipped out of Cyril’s arms and changed their forms.
Golden and white motes of light scattered in a flash, and a pale-blond woman and a silver-haired young man appeared in their place.
“Cyril’s contracted spirit, the ice spirit Asherpike.”
“And his contracted dragon, the white dragon Ture.”
The silver-haired young man, now in human form, bowed mildly to the Marquis of Haione, who stood frozen in wordless astonishment.
“I’ll be in your care, Dad.”
The Marquis of Haione might have been the first human ever to be called Dad by a white dragon.
As the Marquis of Haione pondered that, Cyril glared at the ice spirit and white dragon and shouted at them.
“Pike! Ture! I told you not to take human form without permission!”
“We’re inside an inn, so it’s fine. You’re too nervous, Cyril.”
“I thought it would be better to greet a human in human form. Was that wrong? Would you have preferred a dragon?”
“That would be even worse! Father, I sincerely apologize. There are circumstances…”
As he watched his flustered son, the Marquis of Haione sighed inwardly.
(So the boy really did have the aptitude.)
Still, this might turn out to be a bit of a problem.