"So that's how it is. The Central Furnace must never be overworked. That said, we can't stop burning fuel either — I know that. But we can't suddenly increase mastone production. You understand?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Use the roads to balance the load. I'll leave that to Berdo, our Minister of Roads."
I'd nearly gotten worked up. After putting Daniela to sleep, I'd managed to get some rest myself. The moment I woke, I convened a meeting — one I'd called myself. No set agenda; a surprise session. The stated purpose was road utilization and preparation for winter-like conditions, but the real intent lay elsewhere.
One could call it personal unease, but what mattered now was the gaze turning southward. The North's security? Secured. The North could now withstand its own winters. What came next was the problem.
Under ordinary circumstances, the nomad question would have been raised — but it wasn't.
"Your Grace, regarding the water and sewage systems..."
"Report."
Hexon, the Minister of the Interior, began his presentation. I wondered if I was working the older men too hard, but there was no helping it. If such problems weakened the North's national strength, that too was a loss. The water and sewage situation was showing positive signs of resolution. As always, one starts from the basics.
"As I've always said, water is everything. The supply and drainage systems must be kept strictly separate, and even if we have to rebuild the drainage infrastructure from scratch, it must be done properly. Right now we're working with lead or wood pipes and underground channels — is there no way to build something better?"
"Your Grace, I looked into copper piping. It would seem that a thorough understanding of mages and alchemy is an absolute prerequisite."
"Then we recruit from the South, or we train our own — either way, we proceed gradually."
"In that case, the budget..."
"Of course."
Money was not infinite. I'd even considered ceramic pipes at one point, but the cost would have been staggering. The roads had been the same, and the maintenance costs on top of that would be enormous. The conclusion, in short: there wasn't much left in the coffers.
"For now, draft basic sanitation ordinances. Dumping waste outside the roads — refuse, filth, whatever — strictly prohibited. It goes to fertilizer or into the drainage system."
"It shall be done, Your Grace."
Becoming Grand Duke of the North had come with no shortage of problems. Many had been resolved by now, but money troubles and new complications kept arising.
Still, the water and sewage issue wasn't the pressing matter at hand. The Foreign Minister — the title was something of a formality; he'd mostly managed the nomads until now. But that was changing.
"There's a new task I need handled. Foreign Minister."
"Yes! Your Grace."
"Go to the Empire."
"...Pardon? Your Grace?"
"Go to the Empire. Meet with the Emperor. And bring back a pledge of loyalty from the North."
"Hmm, the significance of that is, by my understanding..."
"Simply put — go to the Empire and make a lasting impression. That's what I'm saying."
"Ah, understood. It shall be done."
He would grasp the meaning well enough. If Dorgon's reports were accurate, the Empire was on the verge of fracturing. The novel's plot pointed that way, and above all, it seemed this could be an opportunity to expand the North's influence.
That would open a path forward.
"Then depart as soon as preparations are complete."
"Yes, Your Grace."
When the meeting ended, the ministers dispersed at once. They would be the busiest of all, so I too retreated directly to my study. It was nearly midday already. Daniela was still sleeping soundly in the bed. I placed my hand on her forehead.
There was still a fever, but it was manageable. Yesterday it had seemed like the heat might spiral out of control, but now it felt as though it could be kept in check.
Purr, purr —
Right, that snoring — what kind of snoring sounds like a purr? It was quiet as a cat's murmur. Probably just the sounds of someone taken suddenly ill.
I stood there for a long while, watching Daniela. A strange feeling. I found myself wondering — had I ever been this considerate toward anyone?
Oh, enough. Just stop.
I pulled the blanket properly over her and returned to my study. Deliberately ignoring the two-word thought that kept surfacing in my mind.
===
A dream.
A very complicated dream.
Daniela von Barth — daughter of a Southern marquess. A child with the blue eyes of House Barth. Before she had ever known anyone's love, Daniela had been designated as the Crown Princess. Once she reached the age of marriage permitted by Imperial law, she would surely have become the Crown Princess.
But the Crown Prince had not chosen Daniela.
Why? Because Daniela had loved him too much? In truth, she had never truly loved him at all. She had simply been born, and been told she would become the Crown Princess — it had all happened without any choice of her own. Kartina's scheming? That woman's schemes hardly mattered in the end. There was no shortage of daughters from baron houses.
So why did Daniela hurt so much?
Who was Daniela? That is to say — you, the one watching this pain right now. You, Daniela. Daniela von Barth.
If you stripped away the 'von Barth,' what was left? That's what you're asking, isn't it — having come all the way to the North. If you died here in the end, could you remain Daniela von Barth?
===
"Hah—!"
With a sharp intake of breath, Daniela bolted upright. Nearly a full day had passed. She had slept the entire time — hadn't eaten a proper meal. There had been no waking her. I hadn't tried to force it. But now she was awake. And like this —
"Are you all right?"
Her breath came in ragged gasps. I moved quickly to her side. I poured a cup of water from the glass left at the bedside and carefully tipped it to her lips. She gripped my forearm and let the water flow into her mouth. A few drops ran down her chin and dampened the blanket, but the cold sweat she'd soaked through was far worse.
"Alfredo, bring a cup of tea."
"Understood."
I sat at the edge of the bed and placed my hand on her forehead again. The fever had largely broken, but the illness still had its grip on her.
"Was it a bad dream?"
"Hah... hah... I can't quite remember. But it wasn't a pleasant one."
"Strangely enough, people who come from the South always seem to have at least one nightmare when they sleep in the North. I've never understood why."
Alfredo brought the tea. I took a sip of the steaming cup. Daniela brought the rim lightly to her lips. I drank my tea and returned to my desk. There was work to be done.
"Once you're feeling better, we'll have you take a look around outside."
"Thank you, Your Grace... but I..."
"Hmm."
I couldn't focus on the documents. There was something hesitant in her manner. Was she worried?
"I wonder what will become of me here..."
"Hard to say."
I had nothing to offer on that. House Barth appeared to be trying to dispose of Daniela. The reasons could be roughly inferred from what Dorgon and the Foreign Minister had observed of the Empire's state of affairs — but not yet. More than anything, I felt like indulging a certain stubbornness of mine.
"Am I... to die here?"
That, too, I had no answer for. By the original course of events, she should have died. But I didn't want that. The North's honor aside — how could one harm a guest?
I wanted to say that, but I knew all too well there was another reason. Something that went beyond political calculation or any hidden agenda.
A person's heart? Not quite yet. But unexpectedly, far too —
"I'd rather ask you. Did you come here to die?"
"N-no, Your Grace. But—"
"The North was your final destination. Coming all this way without a single escort — there could only have been one thought in your mind. That you were ready to die. Isn't that right? Daniela von Barth."
She said nothing. Had I struck a nerve? It was the same with any noble who fled to the North. An escort was always necessary. Proper preparations had to be made. But arriving with nothing but a letter and a patched linen dress — that was no different from walking to one's death.
"After meeting with Your Grace, I intended to deliver the letter my family sent, and then act accordingly..."
"Forget all that. From now on."
I turned back to the documents. She said nothing and sipped her tea. She was watching me carefully, gauging the room. Alfredo stood precisely at the midpoint between the study and the bedchamber.
"There's a saying in the North."
"Yes?"
"A proverb. 'Forgive the man who freezes to death, but call the man who tries to freeze a fool.'"
Alfredo gave a small nod. Freezing to death in the North was forgivable — the winters were that brutal. But a person who sought to freeze to death was no better than a fool. Why would anyone choose to die of cold? There was meaning buried in that proverb.
"It means that someone who tries to die by their own hand is being foolish. It's neither sacrifice nor courage."
The North's understanding of sacrifice and courage was of a different order than the South's. I'd never truly seen Southerners up close, but the reports had given me that impression. Especially — at least in the North, there was no one who would drive their own daughter out to die.
"Well, from the letter, it seems they intend to strip you of the Barth name. No surname now — so something will have to be attached."
"Why not give her Wintergard, Your Grace?"
"Since when do you make jokes, Alfredo?"
"I don't know what manner of house House Barth is, but she is a guest, and you've been treating her with such particular courtesy — I assumed she had taken your fancy."
"Don't be ridiculous."
Even amid the banter between Alfredo and me, Daniela sat watching carefully. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come easily — like young Leo, Lord Riward's son, the one with the stammer.
"In any case, what matters is this: you are in the North now. Whatever happened to you in the South is of no consequence here. Southern titles lose their meaning the moment you live here. So —"
Make yourself at home.