PBGS 37

chapter 37

The sound of church bells echoed faintly in the distance. As always, the morning in the capital was calm, and sunlight gently poured down over the marble fountain.

Rinka carried, as usual, a small paper pouch filled with herbal tea leaves. She sat down on the bench beside the fountain, pausing for a breath.

Since their last conversation, Ananta had worn a deeply displeased expression, but in the end they had agreed that instead of secretly assigning guards, he would simply refrain from receiving reports about her every movement.

Whether he was truly keeping that promise or not, she couldn’t say—but at least, he hadn’t made it obvious to her.

It had been such a troublesome and exhausting argument.

“You know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you, Ananta.”
“Then I’ll tell you about mine, too.”
“That’s not the point.”
“When we were on the ship, I knew where you were all the time. Now that I don’t, it feels uncomfortable. What if something dangerous happens?”

He wasn’t a child, and yet he’d whined endlessly. Only after she promised to wear again the necklace she’d worn in Lavanto did he finally stop his complaints.

“Rinka, we meet again.”

At that moment, a familiar and most unwelcome voice came from behind her.

Her fingertips instinctively tensed.

The capital wasn’t all that large, it seemed—since they could cross paths again like this.

As expected, when she turned, the man standing there was Mecard Cather.

Bathed in the sunlight of the cathedral square, he still looked every bit the courteous nobleman—neat coat, gentle eyes, and a face that pretended nothing had ever happened.
But Rinka’s heart sank quietly, as if submerged in cold water.

“They say if you meet someone twice, it’s no coincidence. Aren’t you going to greet me?”

Mecard smiled warmly, stepping closer as though genuinely pleased to see her.

“I was just thinking how unlucky today must be, seeing you again.”

“What kind of thought is that?”

She almost said the kind where I call Ananta and have him erase a pest like you…
But she bit back the words, pretending to lower her head as her fingers brushed the necklace to awaken the pearl’s magic.

Don’t come out—but if that man in front of me tries anything strange, knock him unconscious right away.

Mecard was the only one who knew she could use spell-speech.
That meant he might try to silence her immediately.

Rinka rose from the bench, stepping back.

“What’s it to you?”

Short answer, firm gaze—no trace of a smile on her face.

“I thought you’d at least be a little happy to see me again.”

Mecard’s easy grin didn’t falter. Her cold reaction didn’t seem to bother him at all, as if there were no reason for her to be wary of him.

“The only reason we ever got along,” Rinka said, “was before you ordered your damned knights to take me alive.”

She took another step back, widening the distance between them.

“So unless you’ve got business, don’t talk to me. I won’t be in the capital long.”

At that, Mecard’s smile wavered—just slightly—but he quickly covered it with a gentle expression.

“Still the same as ever. Rinka, I told you last time—it was all a misunderstanding. But if I made you misunderstand me, then… that’s my fault.”

“If you really think it’s your fault, then move.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You must have been frightened.”

He really doesn’t listen.

Even as Rinka’s expression hardened, Mecard continued to talk as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

“More than that, I’m curious. I asked you before too—it’s strange, isn’t it? How you’re dressed like this, coming out of an herbal tea shop in the capital. Did you find yourself a generous patron?”

Rinka’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, come on. I’d really like to know how you escaped from Cather. Did someone in the knight order cover for you?”

“Enough. Don’t spout nonsense.”

“Rinka, don’t be so cold.”

Mecard’s gaze slid to the paper pouch of herbs in her hand.

“What if, out of curiosity, I happened to visit the Duke’s mansion and asked about you?”

His voice carried an insinuating sweetness as he slowly turned away.

“Next time, let’s have a cup of tea together.”

With those parting words, Mecard strolled casually across the fountain plaza, as if their meeting had been nothing more than chance.

But Rinka felt cold down to her toes.

He knew.

He’d found out where she was staying and waited—pretending it was coincidence.
He’d been looking for her all along.

But why? Magicians were rare, yes, but hardly unique. There was no reason to go through the trouble of finding her specifically.

Rinka’s mood remained sour all the way back to the mansion.
The herb pouch in her hand had gone damp, almost as if soaked with sweat, and every step up the sun-warmed marble stairs seemed to bring back the unpleasant chill of the plaza.

* * *

Sunlight streamed softly through the window.

“Young Lady?”

“Oh—Lena.”

“Are you going out again?”

“I’m just heading to the market out front for a bit. I’ve already told the Duke… sir.”

After several days of avoiding outings because of Mecard, she was starting to feel suffocated in the mansion’s small garden.

Having grown up running freely by the seaside, Rinka found such a tiny space only made her restlessness worse.

Ananta was surely being informed of her movements anyway, so there was no need to say much. They spoke often enough at meals.

This time, she went the opposite direction from the herb shop.
The small street market buzzed with life.

With a light black cloak draped around her shoulders and her hair neatly braided, she looked every bit like the pampered daughter of a well-off household.

Rinka’s eyes drifted slowly among the displays of fruit, flowers, and jewelry.

Then, in an instant, the peaceful air of the market twisted.

A sharp clatter of hooves rang out—a white horse charging forward with a shrill neigh.

“Kyah!”
“Get out of the way!”
“Watch out!”

People screamed and scattered in panic. Rinka’s head snapped toward the sound.

“Child!”

A small boy had fallen, unable to move away in time.
His clothes were of fine fabric—clearly from a noble house. His nurse, far behind, was screaming helplessly while the horse thundered toward him.

Rinka’s body moved before she could think.
Moisture shimmered in the air at her fingertips as she leapt forward, scooping the boy into her arms and rolling hard to the side of the street.

The impact jarred her body, but she shielded the boy’s head with one hand.
The horse’s hooves narrowly missed them, pounding past in a blur.

The child was too shocked even to cry properly, just hiccupping in silence. Rinka held him close, gently patting his back.

“It’s all right now.”

Moments later, maids and guards came running in confusion.
When one guard drew his weapon, another voice shouted urgently:

“Stop! That lady saved the child!”

“Belion!”

A man—presumably the boy’s father—rushed over at the call.
Dressed in an embroidered coat, he quickly checked that his son was safe, then turned to Rinka.

“I don’t know who you are, but… I owe you a great debt.”

“Father!”

At last the boy burst into tears, running into his father’s arms.
Rinka smiled faintly, brushing a hand through the child’s hair.

Then someone among the gathering crowd murmured:

“Isn’t that young lady from the Belzert Duke’s mansion?”

“Oh—that one? The Duke’s fiancée?”

The whispers spread rapidly through the onlookers.

Rinka’s eyes widened, but she had no chance to explain.
Murmuring hurried reassurances that she was fine, she slipped away from the scene as quickly as she could.

And so, quite unintentionally, Rinka found herself proclaimed the Duke’s fiancée—right in the middle of the capital.