Chapter 27
. The Old Wind (2)
When he seemed to be seriously considering it, Otter quickly drove the wedge in.
“This is all for the sake of our kingdom.”
Again.
His repertoire—His late Majesty must be weeping in his grave… our proud, historic Lihue Kingdom will fall…—
Whenever that came out, Iago had no choice but to give in.
“I-I’ll… think about it for now.”
“So you’re saying that glasses—no, Deputy Otter—said that?”
“Mm-hmm. Otter said it.”
The moment Otter, who had been nagging him for a while, left the office, Iago scurried over to Ilena and spilled everything.
“What should I do now?” Iago muttered gloomily, hugging a cushion to his chest.
“If I refuse that plan, I don’t know what extreme measures Otter might take. And…”
“And?” Ilena asked calmly, sipping the black tea he had brewed for her.
“I don’t want to disappoint Otter anymore. He’s always suffering because of my shortcomings.”
Iago buried his face deep into the cushion.
Ilena stared at the back of his round head.
Just a moment ago, he had been chattering like an excited puppy wagging its tail, but now he’d turned sullen again.
He really was like a big retriever.
The color of his coat—well, hair—was different from the golden retrievers she often saw, but…
Ilena felt a sudden urge to run her hand through that smooth black hair.
I’ve wanted to raise a retriever since I was a child.
When the sound of her parents fighting would echo through the house,
or when she came home to an empty house and turned on the lights alone—
at those times, she always wished she had one large, gentle, warm living being who would look only at her.
“You’ve got yourself a very loyal vassal,” Ilena said as she tilted her teacup.
The round head buried in the cushion peeked up.
“…Yeah. He goes astray sometimes, but he’s a good person.”
Iago smiled softly, cheek still pressed to the cushion.
“A good vassal stays by a good leader.”
“Y-you think so?”
“Of course.”
She spoke evenly, taking another sip of tea.
Watching her cautiously, Iago asked in a hesitant voice,
“Ilena… you don’t hate Otter? Even though he’s done such cruel things?”
“No, not at all. He’s just playing his role.” Ilena’s tone was even.
People who do their best in their given role aren’t hateful.
What’s truly unpleasant are the ones who freeload on others’ efforts.
She lifted her teacup, lost in thought for a moment, before suddenly speaking.
“What about you, Iago?”
“Hm? What about me?”
Her praise had put him in a good mood, and he was nibbling on a cookie when his ears perked up.
Setting her cup down, Ilena spoke slowly.
“Do you… not dislike me?”
Iago’s mouth fell open.
At the same time, the cookie in his hand dropped to the floor with a small thunk.
“W-what are you talking about?”
Had she just said something that shocking?
He looked as if to say, What kind of nonsense is that?
“You brought the Priestess here, only for her to end up broken.”
Ilena’s gaze lowered to the floor.
“I’m sorry. You must have wanted to bring rain to this desert as soon as possible.”
“Ilena, why are you apologizing to me?”
The unexpectedly firm voice in her ear made her lift her head in surprise.
Gone was the cookie-munching rabbit; in his place sat the Black King of the desert, his face filled with dignity.
“That’s….” The sudden change left Ilena uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
Looking at her with calm violet eyes, Iago said gently,
“Catching a cold isn’t the fault of the one who caught it.”
“…”
“Ilena being sick isn’t Ilena’s fault either.”
Ah—again.
Something rose from deep inside her chest, pressing against her throat. She swallowed the surge of emotion in silence.
Right. This is what I wanted to hear back then.
She realized it clearly now.
When she had confessed to someone about her depression,
what she’d wanted to hear was: It’s okay.
That this darkness wouldn’t last forever.
And most of all, she’d wanted to hear: It’s not your fault.
“But…” Ilena said with a shadowed expression,
“What about the ‘Make the Priestess Cry Grand Plan’? I have to cry for it to rain in the desert, don’t I?”
“Hmm. Actually, I was thinking about this on my own yesterday,” Iago said, folding his arms with a serious face. Then he asked something unexpected:
“Are you sure the Priestess’s powers are really affected by your emotions?”
“Eh? …What do you mean?” Ilena blinked, stunned by the sudden question.
“The Priestess suddenly appeared ten years ago with the abnormal weather. We don’t actually know much about the Priestess. The little we do know came from the North or through spies… but what if the assumption itself was wrong?”
He looked straight at her blank expression and continued.
“You said you don’t have many memories because of your amnesia, right?”
“Yes, but…”
Well, it was just written that way in the novel…
Come to think of it, nothing in this world—from the male lead to the hidden villain—matched the novel. Why had she assumed the settings would?
While she was still reeling from the thought, Iago dropped another bomb.
“What if it’s not every emotion you feel that affects the weather, but only when you can’t control your emotions?”
“Eh?”
Ilena, who was hopelessly slow when it came to emotional matters, blinked cluelessly.
Iago patiently explained,
“People’s moods change several times a day, right? Sometimes in just a few minutes. But the weather doesn’t change every time.”
“…Now that you mention it.”
The only times her emotions had been reflected in the weather were:
the lightning strike in the underground torture chamber,
the sandstorm in the desert,
and the dark clouds blanketing the sky now—
all moments when she couldn’t control her rage, loneliness, or depression.
On the other hand, when talking to Regulus, she hadn’t been that angry, yet she’d been able to summon and control thunder at will.
“…Maybe you’re right.”
Unlike the bewildered Ilena, Iago’s expression grew more certain.
“Exactly. So if you learn to control your emotions, you’ll be able to make it rain with your Priestess powers without having to cry!”
“But… it’s still just a hypothesis. We can’t be sure.”
“Then we’ll just have to try it!”
Iago looked utterly refreshed, as if a weight had been lifted. In a firm voice filled with gentle conviction, he declared,
“It was wrong from the start—someone shouldn’t have to suffer just for someone else to be happy.”
“But… but—”
“You said you didn’t want to go back to the North, right? Then let’s treat your depression here, together.”
“But how…?” Ilena asked anxiously.
There were no medicines here, no doctors. She’d given up on curing her depression long ago.
But Iago spread his arms wide, speaking passionately,
“I’ve even thought of a way! It’s the ‘Happiness Grand Plan’!”
“…What?”
Happiness.
A word that had felt foreign to her for so long.
“Every day, you and I will do one enjoyable thing together. It’s hard to be happy every single day, but it’s easy to create one happy moment each day.”
He held out a large hand toward her, eyes brimming with confidence.
“You can do it, Ilena. Let’s be happy—together.”
For a moment, she was at a loss for words, staring at his hand.
It seemed to hold everything she had longed for: warmth, comfort, recognition, acceptance, peace.
Drawn like a magnet to the sun-like warmth radiating from him, Ilena reached out her hand—
but just before touching him, she froze and lowered her head.
…Thread?
Thick spider-silk, like steel wire, was coiling tightly around her hands and feet.
What is this?
She stared blankly, about to reach again, when the thread suddenly vibrated with a buzzing voice:
“Always be cold and composed. Never show others an opening!”
Her grandfather’s voice.
“When is she going to stop bothering me? Go ask your aunt to play with you,”
—her mother’s cold voice whenever she tried to cuddle up to her, calling “Mom, Mom.”
“You’re just a girl trying to act out. Always so greedy.”
“Such a pushy brat.”
—her two older brothers, mocking and belittling her.
“Honestly, you don’t know how good you have it…”
“President, after the failure of the last global launch, the company’s debts are…”
“Even with her grandfather gone, how can she be so heartless?”
“…Ilena?”
“…Huh?”
The gentle, low voice calling her name snapped her back to reality.
She hurriedly brushed her hands over her arms—of course, there was no spider-silk.
It had been an illusion.
Just the sticky hallucination of the past binding her.
“Ah…”
She let out a hollow sigh, eyes vacant.
Seeing this, Iago’s face crumpled, and he immediately pulled her into his arms.
“It’s okay. Whether you cry or not.”
“…”
“It’s not your fault.”
It’s okay, it’s okay.
He repeated the words like a chant.
His strong embrace, the whispered comfort in her ear—both were warm.
That warmth melted something inside her that had long been frozen.
