The Crown Prince would likely never forgive us. Perhaps the North was not in a position to be forgiven by anyone, nor to grant forgiveness to the imperial family. But the Crown Prince would never forget what I had done. That petty, shallow vessel of his was exactly that size and no more.
Of course, I had no certainty. Who could say — the Crown Prince might not give it a second thought. But that girl from House de Bosch, forever clinging to his side, would never forgive it. Never.
The Emperor would be no different. No noble would be pleased to receive such terms. Even if the southern nobles found them acceptable, there was nothing in it for the North. Yet if one thought a little further, it might yet become something more tolerable.
"There's also the direction of permanently leasing the road to the Barth estate."
"Would that not draw other nobles into the matter, Your Grace?"
Lending a road was easy enough, but what came after could not be guaranteed. The North's army was strong. Should it march south along that road, the nobles' estates would be reduced to ash. And since the Emperor had made the decision, there was no one to appeal to. Another means of payment would simply have to be found.
But this proposal had been a kind of Zen riddle from the start. Whatever was offered, all that needed to be shown was the intent to refuse the existing terms.
"The Emperor wouldn't have had many options. Looking at what he's done, I can only think someone is whispering in his ear."
"Indeed, Your Grace. From what we have learned, several of the imperial ministers put forward this proposal."
"They suspect us, then?"
"If I may venture to say, Your Grace — it appears they have noticed not so much suspicion, but that the Grand Duke's anger is not as great as it might seem."
The legitimacy of my anger had always rested partly on the North's long-standing disregard, but the rumors surrounding Daniela had also played a part. The reason it was not easy to act decisively, even when the matter was openly discussed, was simple. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have either crushed the problem outright or offered some treasure to soothe it. But this time, the Crown Prince was entangled in it as well.
When a butterfly beats its wings in a distant land, that wind can grow into a typhoon. They seemed to fear the butterfly effect. A few ministers appeared to have noticed that my anger was feigned — but a little prodding of the nobles would change that soon enough.
"It should be House Barth that moves. Nothing too excessive — what would be best?"
"What of convening a council of houses ranked Marquess and above within the imperial palace?"
"A fine approach, but there's no need to actually hold it. Just have them request that it be convened. We'll judge from there."
"It shall be done."
Dorgon departed from the Hall of Winter. I sat alone in the Hall, turning it over in my mind. The Emperor would never have offered money on his own — someone had stirred the pot. They likely hadn't read my thoughts, but the concern was whether all this needless prodding had simply raised the level of wariness toward the North.
The more I deliberated, the more the option of military threat floated to the surface. Should I tell Leo or James to try crossing the mountain range once? No. Let's not do that.
War is won by those who are prepared. The North had not yet reached that level. Then the other option — let House Barth shake things loose, and drive in from there.
"Your Grace, the Grand Duchess requests your presence."
"Daniela?"
I rose from my seat. The moment Alfredo finished speaking, I was already heading toward the study. Behind me, Alfredo repeated something about not running, but whether he said it or not, I did not hear. For now, at least, I trusted that Jackson and Roy would do their utmost on the southern matter.
Inside the study, a violet dress was on display. I had assumed it was hanging somewhere, but as it turned out, James was holding it spread wide open in both arms.
"What is this dress?"
"Ah — Your Grace!"
James called out loudly, the dress still in his hands. I was utterly baffled.
"What is this dress?"
"Since the Grand Duchess has formally taken the Wintergard name, we had a dress made that is hers alone."
"That's why she came?"
"It — it was not meant to be a secret, but, that is..."
Had she come to show me this? Daniela couldn't quite meet my eyes, as though embarrassed. Had the message been garbled somewhere? I glanced toward Alfredo — a look that said I had no idea either. Apparently James had sent the dress ahead to Winter Castle, and then shown it to Daniela.
A banquet, to welcome the new arrival to Wintergard and introduce her to the vassals and noble ladies who served the house. The dress had been prepared for that occasion. James had received the order and arranged it without my knowledge. When I asked why it had been done in secret, no one offered an answer.
"Did you deceive me, James?"
"Y-Your Grace! I have committed a mortal offense!"
"Hey — don't kneel. You'll crease the dress."
I pulled James up quickly. It had been a jest, but he had been about to drop to his knees, so I hauled him back up. What fault could James possibly have? It must have been Daniela asking him to keep it secret. I understood. But still —
"So this is why you had me leave."
I looked at the dress carefully. Daniela had her head bowed low. Was this what romance in those pulp novels was like? She fidgeted.
"I wanted to surprise you. Grand Duke. If the dress were made here at Winter Castle, you would know right away..."
Hmm. That was true enough. Everything would be reported to me without fail. And didn't those pulp novels have exactly this — the hero's jaw dropping at a sight he'd never seen before? In that case —
"I'd like to see you wearing it."
"I — I can wear it the day after tomorrow. Grand Duke."
"That's too far away. I want to see you in it now."
Alfredo's expression became unreadable. James looked much the same. What was the matter with everyone?
"You only have to wait a little."
"What a shame."
Why not? I simply wanted to see it. That was all.
—
"Absolutely not. This is unacceptable."
Jackson refused the proposal outright. Even a cursory glance made clear it was unacceptable. Even if they recovered the full outstanding sum with interest, new debts would continue to accumulate. But the proposal on the table amounted to nothing more than wiping the slate clean on what had already been owed.
"We have already been informed this is the maximum the imperial palace can pay."
"Then tell them to reconsider."
"Paying any amount beyond this is difficult, and frankly, I'm not even sure the accounting is sound."
"That figure is what we have determined. Would meeting somewhere in the middle be acceptable?"
Even the middle ground was an enormous sum. Nearly fifteen years' worth. And for the period before that, the support had been virtually nonexistent. Jackson refused without hesitation. In a private chamber of the imperial palace, Jackson and Roy sat rigidly upright. Across from them, centered around the imperial Finance Minister, Lord Wilson, sat the other ministers.
"That is equally impossible."
"This won't do, that won't do — and on top of that, you want to write off everything owed until now. Why should we agree to that?"
Roy gave the table a sharp kick beneath the surface. It rattled. Roy raised a hand briefly and said it was an accident, but everyone in the room knew exactly what it meant. Don't talk nonsense. When the Emperor had appeared, they had thought they'd achieved roughly half their objective. But everything after that had gone differently.
The ministers had challenged the proposal at every turn. The result of calculating their own interests to the last decimal.
"Then can you offer something else in lieu?"
"That is a matter requiring discussion."
"Are we not in the middle of a discussion right now?"
When Jackson spoke, the ministers paid no heed. A war of attrition. Classic stalling. In that case, there was nothing for it but to dig in and fight dirty.
"I will speak plainly. We are ministers, and so are you — are we not?"
"We are."
"Then let us be precise. What can your side actually offer? Is this truly all there is?"
The answer that came back was hollow. The limits of what the Empire could repay were clear. In truth, calling it a limit was generous — it was obvious they simply had no intention of paying. Drag it out long enough and the North would have no choice but to go home, and if they came south again, they could simply be handled the same way. The psychological distance between North and South was that vast.
"You seem to think we'll eventually turn around and leave. We will not."
"Even so, this is the best we can offer."
"This meeting will reconvene before long."
Jackson rose from his seat. Roy stood as well, and spat on the floor. They might think the stalling had succeeded — but that was a grave miscalculation. Word had come from the North. House Barth had agreed to move.
As they stepped outside, Jackson quietly informed Roy.
"When House Barth moves, the tide will shift again."
"The Emperor won't come out a second time."
"If we make enough noise, won't he have to come back?"
"Don't worry about that. I brought an axe on purpose."
"Save one for me as well."
The day after they left the private chamber, an urgent letter arrived from House Barth. A letter from Dorgon. Having received word that the Emperor needed to be pressured, and with the thread already cut, Marquess Roland wrote immediately — resolved to see it through properly.
The contents were simple. The terms regarding the gold vein had changed, and the North was now included as a principal party. Boundless congratulations were also extended on Daniela's marriage.
Finally, should there be any objection or dispute regarding the matter, a council of the Marquess houses would be convened in the imperial capital at once.
The Chief Minister reading House Barth's letter felt the blood vessels in his head ready to burst. It was pressure. And the one directing that pressure was —
"Bring the Emperor back out, or pay us properly!"
Roy, axe in hand. Jackson, head held high and unyielding. The master those two served.