"Have they departed?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Dorgon departed with them as well."
"Good, good. If any reports come in from the Empire, bring them to me directly. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
It happened in the middle of paperwork.
I was slacking off, but who was going to say anything to me sitting here in my own study?
I had recommended a novel to Daniela.
The title was ⟨The Love of Count Mantova⟩.
It was a fairly popular novel even in the North.
"I didn't think you were much for popular fiction."
"I, I do read it occasionally."
"There are plenty of good books here, so read whenever you like. Daniela."
She seemed a little more at ease. She's glowing.
I wasn't entirely sure what I meant by that.
I supposed it was simply that she'd seen something moving.
Hmm. I scribbled away at something and quietly observed Daniela's habits.
It might have looked like something a stalker would do, but it wasn't like that — we were sharing the same room. I decided to call it unavoidable.
"Novels like this were banned at the Academy. Something about them being unbecoming of noble dignity."
"Dull. I'm glad I never attended."
"Even so, we used to sneak copies in and read them in secret."
"Hmm, such as?"
Daniela set her book aside for a moment and began listing the novels she'd read.
She had read quite a few.
The titles she named were far more than one or two.
Think, Theo. Have I read any of the works Daniela has?
"And... ⟨Atlas⟩. That one was truly wonderful."
"Atlas? That novel is excellent. I believe I have a copy somewhere."
"Really?"
"Let me show you something interesting. Come over here for a moment."
The content of Atlas was quite complex, but it all came down to one thing.
When Atlas gained popularity, the Empire had it banned.
The reason: it contained criticism of Imperial society.
On such an absurd pretext, the author sued under Imperial law. But it was no use.
So the author left the Empire and wandered in search of a new place to write.
That search eventually brought him to the North, where he wrote new works.
He was said to be staying at the far edge of the North now.
His reason was thoroughly that of a writer — he wanted to write a novel about the nomads.
"Oh — Atlas has a second volume?"
"Of course. Only people in the North can read it, you know."
"But I heard it was banned in the Empire, so Imperial citizens can't access it."
"This is the North. Part of the Empire, and yet not. We have no need to follow such hollow policies."
I handed Daniela the second volume of Atlas.
If this had been the Empire proper, possessing Atlas would have meant a fine — but who exactly was going to fine me?
Besides, a place that fines people for reading books is the strange one.
Daniela took the book carefully in both hands. She opened the cover with reverence, and there was the story that continued from where she had left off.
"May I really read this?"
"Of course. Plenty of people in the North have already read Atlas through the third volume."
"A third volume..."
She's glowing!
Daniela thought she had said it quietly, but she hadn't.
What on earth did it mean, that she was glowing?
I made no effort to ask her. I simply watched in silence as Daniela read through the second volume of Atlas with quiet absorption.
"I'm going to step out to the washroom for a moment. Keep reading."
"Oh — yes, Your Highness."
I stepped out of the study.
The personal guard was still posted around the room as always.
Alfredo approached me from his position by the door.
"Your Highness, I have a question."
"Yes, what is it?"
"Regarding the order to prepare the guest room for Lady Daniela — what should be done? The maids have been continuously heating the room."
"Hmm, that... consider it... cancelled."
"As I expected. I will have them stop at once."
Alfredo gave a nod.
The expression of a man who had anticipated exactly this. He could have stopped it earlier. What a waste of heating costs. Ah — well, perhaps that's beside the point.
A rather good idea suddenly came to me.
Something Daniela could do. Something she could refuse, if she wished — but still.
"Prepare some paper for me. A few hundred sheets or so?"
"That many sheets?"
"The quality doesn't need to be fine — just a good quantity. I'm thinking of having someone write."
"You, Your Highness?"
"No, not me. The guest in the room."
A very fine plan had taken shape.
I would have her write a book.
Daniela would have something to occupy herself with — something to focus on.
And it would give us a reason to spend time together. Heh heh...
"A most excellent idea, Your Highness."
"You think you can guess what I'm thinking? How presumptuous."
"Understanding the heart of a man in love, Your Highness — for old men of our age, it is a rather simple matter."
Me, in love? Honestly.
Tch. He always manages to leave me without a word to say.
===
A different story. Central, the Imperial capital.
Zamuchin, the Foreign Minister, was considerably unsettled.
Every time he glanced out the window of the carriage, his expression creased with distaste. Dorgon, seemingly accustomed to it, kept his head bowed.
Zamuchin bore the title of Foreign Minister, but he was a man optimized for managing the nomadic peoples.
He had confidence in matters like this as well, of course — but there was a problem he hadn't anticipated.
The smell.
The streets were filled with filth, and the poorly maintained roads kept the carriage jolting and rattling without end.
Perhaps it was too familiar. The North used to be like this too, Zamuchin thought.
"In any case, Dorgon."
"Yes, Minister Zamuchin."
"I still can't quite believe it. This is truly where the Emperor resides?"
"It is. Though this is still where the common people live, so it differs from the Emperor's palace itself."
"It's quite unlike us. How do the people here even survive the winter."
Outside the carriage, the streets were full of people in rags.
Those who had managed to make clothing from linen were actually few.
Most wore garments that were torn and ill-fitting.
There were many beggars as well. There had been beggars in the old North too, but after the current Grand Duke of the North assumed his title, appropriate measures had been taken for all of them. They were put to work in the mastone mines or given plots of land so they could sustain themselves.
The portion claimed by the state was considerable, of course — but even so, there had been none of this.
"This is not the North, Minister. It is too early to be unsettled."
"I can't adapt to this no matter how I try. I want to go back to Winter Castle."
"Bear with it a little longer. The palace will be something else entirely."
The carriage came to a brief stop, and the gatekeepers who checked those entering the Imperial palace opened the carriage door.
Zamuchin knew he shouldn't have, but he ended up covering his nose anyway. A strange, rotten stench.
And beneath it, the sharp reek of perfume.
"Welcome, envoys from the North. We bid you welcome to the Imperial Palace."
The gatekeepers finished their final greeting and closed the carriage door. The carriage began to move into the palace grounds.
Now the overpowering scent of perfume hung in the air.
The palace that greeted Zamuchin and Dorgon was something altogether alien.
Only moments ago they had been on streets crowded with people starving to death — and now a vast garden spread before them.
The carriage crossed past a fountain and arrived at the palace's main entrance.
Armored guards stood holding spears, though they inspired no sense of threat whatsoever.
Gold — nothing but gold and marble adorned the palace, a pinnacle of ostentation. From the windows to the carpets underfoot, there was not a single thing that was not of the finest quality.
"This is the Emperor's palace?"
"It is. What do you make of it, Minister?"
"Magnificent. Truly magnificent. How much time and money must have gone into building this."
"Beyond words."
The moment Zamuchin and Dorgon took their first step toward the entrance, the palace doors swung open.
Peals of high, tinkling laughter echoed through the corridor. They stepped onto the red carpet and were startled by the unfamiliar sensation beneath their feet.
The chamber where the Emperor received guests. As Zamuchin slowly entered, he squinted against the blinding blaze of gold and the white gleam of marble.
Zamuchin and Dorgon looked toward the Emperor's throne at the far end — toward a height that was barely visible.
No one was seated upon it. Only a single figure stood in the Emperor's stead.
The Empire's Chief Minister — a body nearly twice the size of an ordinary man.
Flesh that had swollen in a most unpleasant fashion, and with every exhaled breath, a wave of sharp perfume.
"Is that the Empire's Chief Minister? Like our Hexon?"
"It is."
"Damn. What in the world is going on in this place?"
"I've always wondered myself. It doesn't seem to be functioning properly, does it?"
"A single flake of gold from these walls, and the North could have fed itself far sooner."
Zamuchin and Dorgon, who had been exchanging quiet whispers, bowed their heads toward the Empire's Chief Minister as he slowly descended.
Dorgon received the Chief Minister on one knee.
"And where have you come from?"
What is he on about. Zamuchin thought it inwardly, but said nothing aloud.
He changed his expression. With a stiffened face, Zamuchin performed his role with practiced ease — the act of a country bumpkin.
"We are envoys sent by the Grand Duke of the North. We have come on account of the oath of fealty His Majesty the Emperor received."
"Hmph. You've come from the kingdom of exiles, have you?"
"That is correct."
Zamuchin smiled pleasantly at the Chief Minister, who was busy picking at his ear.
Patience is the profitable course. He could not afford to bungle this.
In truth, an envoy of the Grand Duke ought not to be received by a mere Chief Minister — and yet the Emperor was nowhere to be found.
"There should be no issue with the oath of fealty. Why have you come?"
"There was a passage that had been written in error. We have come only to correct that."
"Is that so? Hmm. I wouldn't know anything about that."
"If His Majesty the Emperor has not yet read it, that is all the better."
As Zamuchin bowed his head, he was beginning to understand — gradually, the meaning of it all. Why the Grand Duke had sent them here.