Chaptre 41
Mark felt a sourness in his gut, as if what had to happen had finally arrived.
Even when the request for assistance had come, even when trade had been refused, Baslui had kept calling Baberi “the lord of Rondar.”
It wasn’t literally wrong. But he could equally have called her the ruler of Baberania. Mark had found the phrasing odd — it felt like he was trying to belittle her by saying it that way.
“So this is how it turned out.” Mark muttered with a frown. He wanted to see how Baberi would take it, to read her expression, but her head was turned so he couldn’t.
“Baslui.” Medo, standing beside Mark, called in a very low, rough voice. He was furious, but he was trying not to shout.
“Mind your manners before His Majesty.”
Baslui glanced at Medo and curled his lips into a mocking smile.
“Absurd.” He said it softly, but loud enough for Medo to hear. As if nothing had happened, Baslui smiled and continued in that tone.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Lord Medo. You look positively well — maybe all those potatoes are doing you good.”
Lavender looked at her father with worried eyes. Baslui paid no mind and sharpened his teasing.
“You like potatoes so much you even take the lord’s share for yourself.” Baslui snickered. Medo’s face flushed and he clenched his fist, unable to answer.
The atmosphere froze; everyone was staring at Medo when, suddenly, Baberi burst into laughter.
“Ahahahaha!”
She laughed with tears in her eyes as if she found it truly hilarious.
Everyone looked at her in shock. Even Baslui — who had just insulted Medo — stared at her as if she were mad.
“You asked for help and I came, right? Then you made us wait more than ten days — I was wondering how you’d apologize. This is unexpected.” Baberi clapped her hands and nodded broadly toward Baslui.
“I didn’t expect you to tell it as an amusing tale.”
Baslui pressed his lips together and twitched the corner of his mouth.
“Huh? Why do you have that face?” Baberi grinned and cocked her head.
“You’re not really angry that the future lord took a few potatoes, are you?”
Baslui and Baberi stared at one another. Neither of them was joking or laughing for fun; both knew the other’s words had a sharper edge.
A killing glance contest continued between them. Then a steward approached Baslui and whispered in his ear; Baslui bared his teeth and chuckled.
“I think our senses of humor match a little.”
Delighted to have met someone he could finally get along with, Baslui raised his glass. The others followed and raised theirs too.
“To the alliance of Martu and Rondar—”
“Baberania.” Baberi cut him off with a sly smile. Baslui, as a token of apology, winked and raised his glass higher.
“To the alliance of Martu and Baberania.”
The banquet went on late into the night. Baslui fell silent after that and listened while sipping his drink.
“When you took Rondar, I heard you rode a dragon. Didn’t you bring it on this campaign?” Lavender asked Baberi, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Baberi glanced at Kur. Although Kur had been staying in Martu for more than ten days, they still didn’t know who — or what — he really was. He hadn’t transformed into a dragon, nor had he been introduced as one.
Baberi looked at Kur, who remained detached from the conversation, cutting his food into small pieces and eating slowly.
“The dragon is guarding Rondar.”
“I see.” Lavender’s face fell slightly — she’d wanted to see a dragon. Then she glanced at her father, watching his reaction.
Baslui smiled faintly, observing the scene, then spoke.
“I hope my daughter has been treated well in my absence.”
At the mention of himself, Lavender tensed and stiffened.
“She’s been spoiled rotten as my only child; she doesn’t know how to do anything for herself.”
Though his words sounded fond, there was no softness in his look as he regarded his daughter.
“Lavender has treated me very comfortably.” Baberi said, and Lavender visibly relaxed. She thanked Baberi and bowed.
“That’s a relief to hear.” Baslui said, still giving his daughter a disapproving look. Baberi nodded as if it were true.
“If I finish my revenge, I might just be born a man again and propose.” Baberi joked slyly; Lavender laughed tinklingly. Baslui’s mouth twitched.
“You two seem to have grown very close. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you laugh like this at dinner.” Baslui said, astonished. Lavender stopped laughing and opened her mouth, suddenly looking afraid of something.
Is he pleased that I’m laughing? Why is he acting like that? Baberi wondered, puzzled. The answer came soon enough.
“Unlike when you’re with me, your heart seems glad when you’re with her. I don’t know who your real family is anymore.”
“Father, I—!”
“When you’re with me you can’t even speak or laugh, can you blame me? It’s because I’m a lacking father, isn’t it?” Baslui snapped, already hurt and not listening to her protest.
The warm atmosphere of the dinner instantly curdled. Nobody even made the sound of cutting meat; everyone fell silent.
Only then did Baberi understand what Medo had meant when he’d said Baslui was jealous.
Jealous of what, though? Baberi wondered. Medo and Sabo sighed and answered.
“He’s jealous of everything. Truly, everything.”
Baberi realized their words were not exaggeration.
“This kid will like his rebellious friend more than his own father, probably. Wasn’t the name Carrot?”
“…It’s Carrot. But she’s no longer his friend.” Medo replied.
Apparently there had been a woman among the rebels named Carrot. Why she was called “Carrot” was a mystery to Baberi; she popped a cooked carrot into her mouth as she thought about it.
“She was the daughter of a man named Pumpkin. The two were very close,” Baslui said, smiling. He sounded as if he were joking, but the suspicion in his eyes suggested he meant it.
“The daughter’s name was Carrot and the father’s name was Pumpkin.” Baberi asked Kur for confirmation.
“Names are fruits, aren’t they — His Majesty’s name is a fruit too.” Kur replied, and Baberi blinked.
“Oh, true.” She agreed and speared some pumpkin with her fork.
“Pumpkin’s a nasty man. He had four children but didn’t take care of any of them.” Baslui laughed and badmouthed Pumpkin. His wife had suffered and died early, he said.
The banquet had become very uncomfortable. Whenever Lavender tried to speak, Baslui shot her a look.
“The lord— ah, pardon me. His Majesty—” Lavender stammered, trying to lower Baberi.
Baslui pretended to belittle Baberi as if by accident, then launched into an oration about how monstrous Pumpkin’s betrayal had been.
“You would be shocked by how many times I spared his life. There were more than twenty times when I could have sentenced him to death and didn’t.”
Despite that mercy, he betrayed them, fled to the Kock Mountain and staged a rebellion. Ungrateful, Baslui said, so this time there would be no mercy.
He rattled off all sorts of cruel tortures he imagined: killing him in brutal ways and causing excruciating pain; what to do with his sons and his daughters. Listening made even Baberi — who liked free treats — lose her appetite and leave food on her plate.
“He lasted quite a while under that man. If it were me, I wouldn’t have lasted three days.” Kur remarked as they came out after the banquet. Medo laughed.
“Why pick on me? If it were you, it would be two days.” Baberi bristled; she didn’t deny the three days.
“So what did that Pumpkin do to make you so furious?” Baberi asked. Baslui had complained about Pumpkin throughout the meal; eighty percent of his grudge seemed against Pumpkin. Baberi grew curious about the root of it.
Medo searched his memory for a way to explain.
“He’s a very stubborn man. Back when I stayed here, his nickname was—”
“You mean when you served Baslui?” Baberi cut in.
Medo groaned.
“His nickname was ‘the man who takes imprisonment as a hobby.’”
A puzzled expression appeared on Baberi’s face. How could imprisonment and hobby be on the same level?
“Does he have strange tastes?” she asked.
“Um— I’m not sure about that.” Medo shrugged.
“Wait.” Baberi suddenly remembered something. “Wasn’t the name of the person who sent you a letter asking for help with the rebellion Pumpkin?” She’d forgotten names, but the delicious-sounding name had popped back into her mind.
Medo nodded that it was so.
“Given that he’s friendly with someone of strange tastes… are you into that sort of thing too?” Baslui teased.
“No. He didn’t like imprisonment as a sexual preference.” Medo quickly denied it.
“He just annoyed Baslui so often that he ended up in prison.”
Pumpkin was the kind of person who never retreated if he thought he was right; he never learned to beg forgiveness. Some admired that stubbornness like fandom. But being headstrong and unwilling to obey made him a thorn in Baslui’s side—and with Baslui’s jealousy, intolerable.
“He worked as a diplomat under Baslui for thirty years. But he probably spent more time in prison than at his desk.” Medo explained, and that seemed why Baslui claimed Pumpkin didn’t care for his children.
Baberi imagined Pumpkin’s face — a man in prison who staunchly declared it wasn’t his fault.
“Isn’t that about the worst sinner in Martu?” Baberi mused, feeling an odd kinship as someone who’d once been the worst prisoner in Tiris.
Late into the night after the banquet, Baslui summoned masked men. They were assassins the Menmi King had lent from Yasgo.
“Make it look like it was the rebels hiding within the castle.” He ordered, and they slipped out without a sound.
Then he thought of Baberi, eating obliviously at dinner.
“Just because she holds Rondar, she thinks herself a queen.” He’d endured holding his laughter all through the banquet; now he let himself snipe freely at her while she slept unaware.
“She was even more outrageous in person.” Baslui clicked his tongue in annoyance.
He disliked that she had taken Medo into her service — despite his own friendly warnings about the man’s character. Baslui stretched his legs out on the bed and waited for the assassins to finish Baberi off quickly.
