Chapter 41
He took out a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his coat.
The envelope was dyed a pale watery blue, sealed with wax mixed with gold powder.
A clear imprint of a whale.
It was the same kind of envelope Hera had often used when she exchanged penpal letters during her lifetime.
“I didn’t read it, but I believe it was meant for you, Lady Emilia. That’s why I brought it.”
It was the last letter Hera had written before she died.
It was a letter she had intended to send to her anonymous friend with whom she had frequently exchanged correspondence.
“And also, the letters Hera received.”
Larry then produced a silver box he had been keeping by his side.
Inside, neatly stacked, were all the letters Hera had received.
The familiar scent of ink filled the air.
In a flash, Hera remembered her own room in the Winetail estate—her little hideout in the corner, where she had dragged chairs and carpets together just to open and read those letters.
Letters that always began with: “Hello, whale friend.”
Her anonymous friend would write about trivial, everyday things.
For Hera, who had lived confined, they were her only joy.
Larry passed the box to her with a small laugh.
“I don’t know why I didn’t realize sooner. The mark of the Tolin family was right there, plain as day, on the stationery.”
“What?”
Larry pulled out one of the letters from the box.
At the bottom corner of the plain white envelope was a simple red-inked drawing—two lines branching outward.
Pointing at it with his finger, Larry explained:
“Now that I look at it, it’s a phoenix.”
Looking closely, the branching lines indeed resembled wings spread wide.
The Tolins’ crest was a phoenix engulfed in flames.
The family motto: “The Eternal Flame That Never Dies.”
Most noble crests traditionally featured real animals or plants; occasionally, a family would use a dragon, justified by some ancient record of slaying one.
So when Ober Tolin chose a phoenix as his crest, the noble circles of the Empire roared with laughter.
That was also why neither Hera nor Larry had ever thought of connecting those red lines with the Tolin family—it was not a creature the old nobility ever regarded as a proper family symbol.
If the person exchanging letters was from the Tolin family, then it must have been either Julian or Cecilia. But which one?
A new question gnawed at her.
As Hera traced the edges of a letter and drifted into thought, Larry bowed his head slightly, offering thanks in place of his late daughter.
“Lady Emilia, thank you for sharing your heart with Hera for such a long time.”
“No… not at all.”
Seeing the grieving father bow to her, Hera also returned the bow.
But whenever she was treated so formally—like an outsider—her heart ached with a sharp sting.
“And…”
Larry hesitated, his expression darkening.
He struggled as though deciding whether to say the next words at all.
“It’s about the rumors I’ve heard concerning you, Lady Emilia.”
“…Ah.”
Hera immediately realized—this was the true reason Larry had come today.
Once he opened the subject, he spoke firmly, without further hesitation.
“I know it’s not my place to interfere in the private affairs of the young, but I believe it would be wise to reconsider your involvement with His Grace, Duke Marriott Lorant.”
“Count, that is…”
Hera tried to stop him, embarrassed, but for once his voice carried unusual strength.
“You deserve a much sounder partner, Lady Emilia. If status is a hindrance, I would gladly act as your guardian. Please, broaden your view of the world.”
A gentle, soft-spoken father—
That was the kind of man Larry Winetail had always been, and why Hera had loved him.
For him to push this insistently was rare.
So why was he so opposed to Marriott?
Perhaps… because of Hera herself.
Because of the daughter he believed dead.
“Count, are you saying this because your daughter and the Duke were once betrothed?”
Hera did not bother to veil the question.
If Larry was opposing her relationship with Marriott solely for the sake of his daughter, then Hera could only feel tangled in complicated, bittersweet emotions.
Her feelings were too messy already—her question did not need to be.
“How could you…? Even Hera herself never knew that….”
Larry was clearly flustered.
He hadn’t expected the Tolins’ daughter to know something so specific.
“His Grace told me.”
“I see… so he told you himself. Then the two of you are… already closer than I had imagined.”
Because of her honesty, Larry’s misunderstanding only deepened.
He remembered the day, ten years ago, during the wolf hunt, when Marriott had suddenly appeared at his doorstep.
The thought alone made his temples throb, and he rubbed his forehead at the memory.
That day, the Winetail estate had nearly become another battlefield of Arista’s family feuds.
He had been stunned to discover the young Marriott, drenched in blood, entering his daughter’s bedroom.
Cowardly though it was, Larry had thought the boy would not survive such wounds, and so he had left him there, in Hera’s room.
But by the next day, Marriott had walked away from the estate as though nothing had happened, perfectly whole.
It was still a mystery.
The bed where he had lain had been soaked in blood.
Larry had replaced every pillow, sheet, blanket—even the canopy—before Hera could wake, unwilling to ever see those stains again.
“I won’t deny it, but it was never important. Hera’s illness worsened each year; she could hardly have cared for a proposal from a Duke confined at the southern end of the realm.”
Larry’s voice was weary, his brow still furrowed.
“If Hera had been healthy… perhaps then. Perhaps they might have wed.”
“I don’t understand. You thought him worthy enough to wed your daughter, yet I am unworthy? Why is that?”
Hera knew it was a bold, even impolite question, but she wanted to press deeper into his thoughts.
If not for his daughter, what reason could he have to oppose Marriott so vehemently?
Maybe… she wanted his answer to become her own.
She wanted a reason—one she could accept—for why she must stay away from Marriott.
Before her feelings grew any deeper.
Larry looked straight at the young lady before him.
Had it not been for the memorial service, he might never have remembered her name or face.
A girl of the same age as Hera, yet with no resemblance at all.
No common traits—and yet, when he looked into her eyes, he felt an ache of longing.
What am I thinking, seeing Hera in this girl? Am I only trying to play a father’s part again?
He gave a bitter laugh at himself.
The Count of Winetail was achingly lonely—so lonely that he searched for traces of his daughter in the eyes of a stranger.
He inhaled, his face twisting with sadness.
“Hera had me and Bellina. But you, Lady Emilia—you have no one.”
Though he knew full well that the first Tolin daughter had family, he spoke as though she were an orphan.
Because he knew Ober Tolin well enough.
The sad truth was that the girl might as well have no father at all.
And if she still harbored hopes for paternal affection from Ober, she should give them up.
“I cannot say more, but remember this. If marriage is usually about enduring the thorny path of life together, then marriage with Duke Lorant is like leaping into the very flames of hell. Unless you are prepared for that, do not take his hand.”
For the Tolin heiress—whose own family was no support—Marriott Lorant was the worst possible husband.
He lived a life like walking a tightrope, where one misstep meant ruin.
Standing at his side would mean choosing hardship as her fate.
“Thank you for your precious advice.”
Hera smiled faintly and nodded.
To Larry, it didn’t seem like she had truly taken his words to heart.
But what could he do?
It was her choice.
With some regret, he reached for the last gift he had brought.
“Oh, and…”
From his pocket he pulled out a brooch, wrapped in a silk handkerchief.
“This belonged to Bellina.”
A round, ornate brooch made of bright turquoise.
“If you ever have occasion to visit the Kingdom of Karen, please find Bellina and give her my regards. It would make her happy.”
In truth, this was Larry’s greatest reason for seeking out the Tolin heiress.
He wanted to introduce Bellina to Hera’s friend.
Something told him Lady Emilia Tolin would, one day, go all the way to Karen just to meet her.
Hera accepted the brooch, forcing back the tears that threatened to rise.
“I certainly will.”
