Funeral Flowers

That night, Airi went down to Lower III to look for Feldspar. There were no inspectors on this floor, no signs that ten mages had died. Everything was meticulously clean, and if it weren't for the eerie silence in the Sunroom, Airi could almost pretend that nothing had happened.

As she passed the pond, her eyes lingered on the spot beneath the glimmering purple tree, where Esther used to sit. In the moonlit pond, the fish circled desperately.

She entered the East Wing and found the moth-covered door to Feldspar's gallery. When she knocked, no one answered. She knocked again. “I have data for you!”

The door opened. Feldspar was standing at a cabinet, examining a statue.

Fishing the crystalwing from her pocket, Airi held it out to him. Its clear wings were stained with color. It had captured the last moment before Gold dissolved into mana. She could see Gold impaled on the ceiling, Mildred holding Tale of Flight, and herself half-conscious on the ground. The explosion of mana had made the image strikingly clear.

“Thank you,” Feldspar said quietly. Airi had never seen him look so defeated. It was unnerving, like seeing your teacher cry. He took the crystalwing. “I wondered who Marianne would assign to Gold. It seems like she chose correctly, as always.”

“You didn't get an assignment?” Airi asked, looking around the gallery. Every shelf was covered in porcelain monsters. There was an entire cabinet dedicated to slimes.

Feldspar was quiet for another moment. “I... declined.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

Instead of replying, Feldspar said, “Marianne and I have never gotten along. I try to keep out of her way, and she, in turn, avoids Lower III. In all her years at the palace, she's never come down here.”

“Does she hate you that much?”

“Oh, no. It’s Esther she hates.” There was a pause. “My assignment was to kill Esther.”

Now Airi understood why Feldspar had declined. Still...

“Didn't Esther kill—”

“Ten mages. I am well aware.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I think Marianne gave me the assignment out of kindness, as a way for me to atone for their deaths. It might stop the flow of hate, at least.”

He gestured to the pile of complaint letters Airi had seen last time. It had tripled in height, spilling onto the floor. She caught the words ‘saw this coming’ and ‘blood on your hands’ on the top letter.

"...She's evil.”

Feldspar’s orange pupils flared. “She’s a monster. A mindless force of disorder. Is a flame evil for destroying a piece of parchment? No, destruction is in its nature. A flame can’t extinguish itself. It only knows how to burn.”

“Are you saying we should just let her kill people?" Airi said.

Feldspar picked up the porcelain figure of Esther, turning it over in his hands. "Have you ever wondered how a monster with a soul came to exist?"

This was the moment where Jade was supposed to step in and say, Get to the point. But the chair next to Feldspar was empty. A half-carved jade tree lay on the table, as if Jade had left in a hurry.

"Monsters are formed in the interaction between mana and disorder. Ordinarily, they are incompatible, but under rare circumstances, they form a symbiotic relationship. The mana wraps around the disorder, preventing it from being destroyed by the manasphere. Thus, a monster is born. But Esther was not created that way. The original Esther—before she died—was human."

Human?

"By reading the notes of my predecessors, I know a little about the human Esther. Three hundred years ago, the world was far more disordered than it is now. People were regularly attacked by monsters, and Esther was one such person. She was only a child."

As Feldspar spoke, Airi could picture the scene: a child with long, pastel-blue hair, bleeding out while her village burned in the background. Her eyes were nearly closed—

"Before she could die, a trace of disorder must have infected her body. When mana came into contact with her body, she became a monster, and her soul was trapped. It slumbers somewhere within her monstrous shell."

"...But that doesn't change the fact that she's a monster," Airi said.

Feldspar set down the figure with a loud clink. "...You're right. I was wrong to assume that having a soul would make her fundamentally different. At most, it delayed her from attacking. We should have killed her two hundred years ago.” The blue of his eyes swallowed his orange pupils. "I cannot do it myself."

"...I understand." On her way out, Airi remembered the green-haired woman who usually sat at Feldspar’s side. “Where’s Jade?”

“...Unlike me, she did not decline her assignment."

In the dead of night, a cloaked figure cracked open the door to Marianne's office. How odd; there was no barrier spell on it.

In the Lower Palace, for diplomacy's sake, the man was an "inspector." In the Upper Palace, he was a guard. But behind closed doors in the Throne Room, he was one of the nameless operatives that served the king. His expert hands rifled through the drawers on the desk, searching for the file the king had requested.

He flashed back to the king's words: "The Registry of Mages. Allegedly, it is a booklet that contains information on all the mages in the Lower Palace. Retrieve it for me."

He arranged the objects on the desk into their original positions and turned to search the cabinet. His heart jumped frantically. There was someone standing in his way. His hand darted for his knife, before he realized it was just a girl, wide-eyed in a frilly nightgown, her pink hair bound with red ribbons that crossed like Xs. From the description the king had given, she must be the Head Mage, Marianne. She looked far less threatening than he'd expected.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Marianne exclaimed, brushing a stray curl from her eyes. "Aren't you one of the king's inspectors?" For the Head Mage, she was awfully clueless. Perhaps His Majesty was being too cautious regarding the mages.

"His Majesty has reason to believe that there are treasonous articles hidden in this office. I've been sent to inspect it," said the inspector, hand creeping to his knife. She was a first-class mage, even if she did wear ribbons in her hair.

"Treason?" Marianne giggled, as if she thought it was all a joke. "Goodness, I can barely remember where I've put my teacup, let alone secret plots."

"Then you won't mind if I search every corner," the inspector said, keeping his hand on his knife.

"Not at all!" Marianne sat down on an armchair covered in flower-shaped pillows. "Shall I turn on the lamp? It's awfully dark in here; you won't be able to find a thing." She switched on the flower-shaped lamp, filling the room with soft pink light.

The inspector opened drawers and pulled out books on the bookshelves. Marianne watched him, her ruffled nightgown draped over the couch.

"You must be dreadfully bored," she said sympathetically.

"I do what I'm ordered."

"If only all mages were the same way!" Marianne laughed. She seemed to have no idea that she was giving the inspector valuable information.

"What quantities of flowers there are in this office," the inspector grumbled, lifting a vase of red roses to peek underneath.

"Oh, yes, I adore flowers," Marianne said happily. "Tell me your favorite kind, and I'll send you a bouquet from time to time."

"...That won't be necessary."

"Oh, but it would be my pleasure!" Marianne said. She rose suddenly to her feet, and the inspector whirled to face her. "How nervous you are! First day on the job?" She smiled knowingly.

"Don't try anything," he warned, heart pounding. "You're at a disadvantage here. You won't have the time to cast a spell. And if you do, all of these pretty little butterflies will capture the act." He waved his hand at the pink crystalwings pinned to the walls of the office.

"So they would," Marianne said. "May I ask you a question, Inspector? The king sent you to find something, didn't he?"

"...Nonsense."

"How disappointing. You are not as good of a liar as Airi," Marianne said playfully.

"What was that?" He looked sharply at her.

“Only nonsense. Do you know why I like flowers?” the pink-haired girl asked, moving around her desk. He tensed, then saw that she held no spellbook. She was just a clueless young lady, after all.

There was a flash of steel as the girl pulled a flower from the vase—the inspector saw, too late, that the flower was the hilt of a dagger. She planted the dagger in his chest, burying it deep between his ribs until only the flower poked out.

Marianne's smile vanished. “Because they cover up the smell of blood.”