Chapter 84

10 – The person known as Soleil Van Nortis in this lifetime – 4

 

I gazed at Silvia, half-dazed—my eyes wide, unblinking. Or rather, I simply couldn’t look away. It was as if my own will had ceased to exist, leaving me completely captivated by my fiancée’s younger sister.

 

*Clink.*

 

Just then, came the faint sound of porcelain striking against something. Instantly, my thoughts—which had been drifting aimlessly, as if bobbing upon the waves—snapped back into focus. I glanced toward the sound and saw Ilya, staring intently at her teacup.

She had her hand on the saucer, trying to steady the cup, which had tilted to one side. Perhaps her hand had slipped—a rare lapse for someone who, under any other circumstance, would never let her guard down.

 

“Ilya, is there a problem?”

 

When I asked, she looked up, startled, and gave a soft shake of her head. “No, nothing,” she said. Her lips, though curved in what should have been a smile, somehow appeared to be trembling. I instinctively started to reach out, but caught myself just in time—it would be entirely inappropriate to touch her without permission.

A true gentleman would show more tact, reading the expression on a person’s face before ever attempting to make contact. Realizing this, I let out a breath, careful to ensure no one noticed. Then, for some reason, Ilya’s eyes widened slightly as she glanced from me to Silvia—and back again. She shifted her chair, pulling it just a little further away.

It might have been a coincidence, but it felt as though she were trying to create distance—striving to widen a gap that was already far from small.

Once more, I felt the urge to reach out, and once more, I held myself back.

“Ilya?”

“?”

Her face wore that familiar, fixed smile—it looked exactly as it always did.

And yet—something, somewhere, was different.

 

However, I could not say exactly how or in what way things were different.

 

“Ilya.”

 

I called her name again, though I found no words to follow it. Being quick-witted, she replied just as she did before: “It is nothing.” Yet, perhaps sensing that this was not enough, she added, “It is just that... I am feeling slightly unwell.”

Instinctively, my mind flashed back to our most recent tea gathering.

“What—again?” I muttered, only to realize too late that the words I had meant to keep to myself had slipped out.

It was too late to undo my blunder; once spoken, words could not be taken back.

Had I hurt her?

“……”

I tried to peer at my fiancée’s face—she had lowered her gaze slightly and fallen silent—but my attention was drawn away when Silvia spoke up.

In that brief moment, Ilya rose—smoothly and without a sound—and curtsied, asking, “Yes. That is why, would it be alright with you if I took my leave first?”

Not waiting for an answer, she added, “I apologize. Silvia. Please, take care of your big brother,” and turned to leave.

Silvia nodded, looking a bit bewildered, then cast a fleeting, questioning glance in my direction.

“Wait, Ilya. I’ll escort you back to your room.”

My own voice sounded somewhat hollow.

Perhaps she had seen right through my attempt to make amends for my recent blunder; she declined, ever so gently.

“No, there is no need to. It is the long-awaited tea party. Please, take your time and enjoy it.”

“No, but...”

“I have an escort, you do not need to worry.”

Though her tone was not sharp, the rejection was unmistakable.

It seemed it was already too late; I was not even granted a chance to explain myself. A sense of dejection threatened to take hold, but more than that, anger welled up within me.

Not at Ilya, of course. It was directed at myself—for being so focused on salvaging my own reputation, rather than showing any genuine concern for her.

“Pardon me.”

A guard stepped into my line of sight, obscuring her slender figure as she turned her back on me completely.

If she was truly unwell, I could not press the matter any further. Left with no choice but to remain silent, I watched as Ilya—accompanied by her guard—headed back inside.

 

“……Did I do something wrong?”

 

Silvia murmured, quite suddenly. Though phrased as a question, it didn’t seem directed at anyone in particular—it was more of a self-inquiry.

 

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

 

Unable to simply ignore the note of profound distress in her voice, I offered a standard, reassuring reply.

Silvia looked up abruptly, our gazes meeting. “Are you certain?” she asked again. Feeling a slight sense of unease, I could only nod in response. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her eyes clear and bright; her well-defined lips trembled.

“Has my sister truly fallen ill? If so, I am really worried about her.”

“I suppose so.”

“But……”

When I asked if perhaps something else came to mind, she pressed her lips firmly together, then gave a small, audible swallow.

 

“It may be that my sister… simply does not wish to be with me.”

 

I tilted my head, taken aback by her words. She squeezed her eyes shut—it looked as though she was holding back her tears.

Her demeanor suggested she felt a sense of guilt over Ilya’s departure. Yet, whether she could not pinpoint a specific reason, or simply chose not to voice it, remained unclear. She made no move to continue the conversation, instead casting her gaze toward the teacup—still untouched—before her.

“...Are you not going to drink it?”

I spoke up to bridge the silence, and my future stepsister let out a soft sigh, offering a bitter smile.

“This tea... well, I’ve had something else prepared instead.”

A maid—likely one of Silvia’s personal attendants—arrived, carrying a fresh teapot. The tea that was just taken away happens to be a blend that Ilya was particularly fond of. Lately, it had become a favorite in our household, and we even served it to guests. It especially appealed to my mother, delighting both her palate and her sense of smell.

 

My fiancée got along remarkably well with the Marchioness—a woman often described as both lively and, at times, rather difficult.

That was surely due, in no small part, to Ilya’s own efforts.

 

“This is a tea brewed by my mother. Would you care for some, Soleil?”

“No, I’ll pass. It’s a special tea, after all.”

 

As the tea—which carried the distinct, medicinal aroma typical of herbal brews—was poured, I watched as her slender, pale fingers reached toward the plate of sweets.

Following an incident from my childhood, every item of food or drink placed before me was subjected to a safety check. There was no cause for alarm—and yet, I could not afford to let my guard down. Even the academy’s kitchens were under surveillance.

One never knew when—or what—might happen.

 

I was especially vigilant during these private tea sessions with Ilya; the circumstances bore a striking resemblance to those surrounding the murder of Sicilia.

The fact that I had never once encountered any danger was neither a coincidence nor a miracle.

It was simply the result of the immense care taken to ensure my safety.

“Is it delicious?”

Given that both she and I had already partaken of these sweets, excessive worry was, at this point, unnecessary. Still, seeing her smile as she nibbled on a treat—producing a light, crisp sound—I finally allowed myself to relax.

 

“Would you like some as well, Soleil?”

“Very well. I believe I shall.”

 

It was a scene so much like one from the past. A girl who bears a striking resemblance to Sicilia—Ilya’s younger sister. She helps herself to the sweets, paying no mind to matters of rank or the need for permission. A table and chairs set out in the garden, with teacups and treats laid out. The tablecloth flutters in the breeze, and patches of sunlight dapple the ground. It was so uncannily similar to the scenery I once knew that, for a fleeting moment, I was almost deceived—as if my fiancée, who passed away in our youth, were still alive today.

What foolish thoughts I harbored.

 

—Memories that never surfaced when I was with Ilya somehow came rushing back when Silvia was around.

 

“I do not believe you are the cause.”

“…Pardon?”

“Even if it were true that Ilya was never actually unwell… it is surely not because of you.”

 

This was because Ilya had also left the previous tea party early. Only about half an hour after we had met, she claimed to feel dizzy and rose from her seat. Under normal circumstances, such an action might well have been condemned as a breach of etiquette. But because we knew each other so well, I did not try to stop her—I simply let her go, and she, for her part, felt no need to hold back.

Besides, I had assumed we would see each other again soon, and that any lost time could always be made up for later.

 

That is usually how it goes.

 

“These seats were prepared for Ilya and me. If there is a reason for this, then it lies with me—the responsibility is mine. It has nothing to do with you.”

“…Y-yes…”

 

I addressed Silvia, who appeared visibly dejected.

 

“What made you think that you might be the cause of this?”

 

She looked up at me with eyes of such pure, intense violet that they seemed almost translucent. Catching the sunlight, they shimmered like amethysts—a feature that, in itself, bore a striking resemblance to Sicilia.

 

“I get the feeling… that I’m being avoided.”

 

After taking a sip of the medicinal tea, Silvia rubbed the area around her eyes with her left hand. No tears spilled down her cheeks—perhaps she had managed to hold them back.

Although I’ve heard she wasn’t particularly robust, her complexion didn’t look bad. In fact, Ilya—who always seemed to carry an air of exhaustion—looked less healthy by comparison; or rather, it felt as though her well-being had truly been compromised.

Lately, her expression has been somber, too. That, perhaps, only casts an even deeper shadow over her.

 

“To begin with, we rarely even cross paths within the estate. Still, there were times in the past when I’d run into her in the hallways, and we’d exchange a word or two. She would always ask after my health—but lately, even that has stopped.”

“I see...”

I recalled how desperate Ilya looked back at the academy. Perhaps she simply had no room left to spare for her younger sister.

“Today was the first time in a long while that I’ve seen my sister’s face—if only for a fleeting moment.”

“I suppose so.”

“Yes.”

A gentle breeze drifted by, the cloying scent of tea leaves tickling my nose. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it was not to my taste.

 

“I’ve spent much of my life bedridden due to illness, so I never really had the chance to connect with my sister... It’s only natural, I suppose, that trying to bridge the distance between us now wouldn't go very well, isn't it?”

 

She looked like a withered flower bud. Seeing Silvia’s shoulders slumped so openly stirred a sense of sympathy in me—perhaps because it mirrored my own current situation.

At the same time, however, her willingness to lay bare her unsettled inner thoughts filled me with a growing sense of alarm. Revealing one’s vulnerabilities to someone one has just met was hardly a wise move.

Unless, of course, it’s all an act—a calculated ploy to catch others off guard—but it seemed more likely that this was simply her natural disposition.

If that was the case, it was quite dangerous. I didn’t mean to imply that she herself was a threat, of course.

Rather, her words and actions could easily put those around her in harm’s way.

Left unchecked, couldn’t she end up being exploited by someone with malicious intent?

 

“Ilya talks about you, sometimes.”

“…Huh?”

“She says that while your body may be frail, you’re always looking forward—that you possess a strong spirit.”

A long time ago—back when we were children—Ilya had been a bit more talkative than she was now. That was how she used to describe her younger sister. I had once thought them to be complete opposites, but seeing her here in person, that didn't quite seem to be the case.

 

In some ways they were alike; in others, they differed. That was all there was to it.

 

“…Is that… really true?”

 

Upon learning that she was the subject of conversation when she wasn't around, Silvia’s eyes widened. Her expression—hard to pin down with a single word—suggested not so much suspicion as a sense of bewilderment at the sudden, welling joy she felt.

Though the sisters may not have much interaction, it is clear that there was no animosity between them.

 

“I’ve been feeling a bit uneasy, wondering if perhaps she has no interest in me.”

“No interest...?”

 

What a strange thing for her to say. In truth, Ilya’s interest was directed exclusively toward her own kin.

 

“She is always so kind to me. In fact, I’ve never even seen my sister get angry. Perhaps that is why... I feel uneasy; I can’t seem to see what’s truly in her heart.”

 

As the shadows of her eyelashes fell across her cheeks, Silvia’s expression brought to mind someone else I once knew. A strange sensation washed over me—as if I had held this very same conversation with her before.

 

It was a peculiar thought, considering we were meeting for the first time. It must have been a case of déjà vu.

 

“No matter how close you are to someone, you can never truly see what’s in their heart—not even with your own family. So... well, I suppose I get anxious about it, too.”

“Even you, Soleil?”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve decided not to worry about it—about whether or not someone actually likes me.”

“Is that so?”

“Though, I wouldn’t tell you to do the same. You and I are different people, after all. Besides... I find it rather endearing—the way you think about Ilya like that.”

“...Endearing?”

“Yes.”

 

Seeing her blush—a hand raised to her lips, a soft, amused laugh escaping—I found a smile spreading across my own face, quite unbidden.

Silvia possessed a quality that neither I nor Ilya shared. She was entirely guileless, speaking her mind exactly as it was; the notion of putting on a facade simply never crossed her mind.

As a noble, she would likely be considered a failure. Yet, as a human being, she was truly admirable.

 

Yes—precisely because she was such a precarious presence, she was, in a sense, someone worthy of high regard.

 

“Ilya likely needs someone like you by her side.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. So, please—stay with her.”

“Yes...”

 

In my sister-in-law’s nod—accompanied by a smile so radiant it seemed to overflow—I caught a glimpse of something that Ilya and I had lost long ago. It was, in all likelihood, something that could never be reclaimed.

 

“...Lord Soleil?”

“Hmm?”

“What about you, Lord Soleil?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you... have a need for me, too?”

 

I responded with a nod, meeting a gaze that held a desperate, almost pleading intensity. *Of course I do* I signaled.

After all, she was Ilya’s sister—and by extension, connected to my own household. In other words, she was my sister, too.

 

When Silvia clasped her hands before her chest—looking, to all appearances, genuinely relieved—it seemed as though she were incapable of harboring any devious thoughts. And, in truth, she likely wasn’t. With her innocent heart laid bare, unshielded by armor or even clothing, she simply existed—a being in whom malice could surely find no place.

Even her question about whether she was “needed” held no trace of deep-seated passion or emotion; it was merely a binary choice—a matter of being either required or superfluous.

It was, quite simply, a question of whether she was something useful or something unnecessary.

 

In short, she was not the sort of person who would ever bring harm to others.

That is what I believed.

 

At the time.

Chapter 83