Chapter 102

Like a sugar cube dropped into a glass of absinthe, a pale glimmer began to unravel from the edge of the ashen sky. The white light, mingling slowly with the leaden shadows as if to dilute the darkness, was so faint it left an almost illusory impression. But that tenuous light was nonetheless a clear herald of dawn’s arrival.

It was the hour when even the crickets that had sung through the night had grown weary and fallen silent. The world lay at the furthest extreme of night, suspended in perfect stillness, and there was one who still had not found sleep.

Perhaps from remaining awake too long, his weary body now cried out for rest. Even so, the thoughts crowding his mind continued to swell relentlessly, disturbing his peace.

Eugène stared into the shadowed dark with eyes so dry they ached. From behind, there came the steady sound of deep, even breathing. It belonged to the Emperor, who, rather than return to his own chamber, had fallen asleep in Eugène’s bed.

Eugène closed his eyes and listened. He knew he would ache from head to toe if he remained like this, and so, albeit belatedly, he made an effort to rest. But behind his closed lids, one memory rose again and again: the unfinished business of the night before.

Last night, he had confessed everything to the Emperor.

‘Your Majesty, are you aware of why so many of the eastern nobility managed to avoid harm during the Second Landrienne Campaign?’

He remembered the expression on the Emperor’s face in response to that sudden question. At first, Ebroin V looked at him with an unreadable gaze and then asked somewhat skeptically.

‘Is this about the Night of the Fallen Chandelier?’

‘It is, Your Majesty.’

‘This grows more perplexing by the moment.’

Though he had replied without hesitation, in truth, Eugène had only learned of that event for the first time during this inquiry. His father, who should have instructed him, had been neither a good teacher nor a good parent. All of Eugène’s knowledge had been earned through self-study, practical, perhaps, but lacking structure. As a result, he had very little grounding in the humanities, including history and the arts.

‘It is true that the eastern nobles responded abominably at the outset of the war. The campaign was one of the most disgracefully conducted in the empire’s history. Yet did they not already pay the price for it?’

But the Emperor had never known hardship like Eugène’s. Ebroin had been educated in the traditional arts of governance, and thanks to the scholarly passion of his mother, he had studied every field of learning to the highest degree. He spoke of things Eugène had never known as though they were common knowledge, tilting his head.

‘It may well be that the price they paid was not commensurate with their crimes.’

‘They lost their estates, their wealth, their titles, and some even their reputations. Is that not punishment enough? We would like to know what has led you to think otherwise.’

‘Then I shall speak plainly.’

Eugène had wasted no more time and confessed everything without reserve. He spoke of whom he had met in the Imperial Library days earlier, what hints he had received from him over time, and what form the warnings had taken once he chose to disregard them…

He carefully laid out the full history involving the Duke of La Mer, then turned to the old map to illustrate a particular suspicion that had arisen in consequence. The map, dating back three decades, clearly marked the two marches and the borders that defined the empire’s eastern frontier.

‘This region is known as the first crossing point of the Shaak Army.’

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The narrowness of the banks had long hindered the development of any significant towns or villages, yet that very constraint had been a boon in establishing a formidable line of defense.

‘However, during the initial invasion, the Shaark Army consisted of thirty thousand infantry, five thousand artillery, and fifteen thousand cavalry, a total force of fifty thousand. Do you believe it feasible for such an army to cross this terrain?’

The Emperor furrowed his brow, having caught the thrust of Eugène’s question. Indeed, the alleged first crossing point lay where the upper and middle courses of the river converged, an entangled topography of cliffs and meanders. Even a glance at the map revealed that not only was the river narrow there, but the banks were hemmed in by sheer rock. At best, only a few thousand infantry could line up at once.

‘Considering the number of field guns, warhorses, and supply convoys that would have accompanied such a force, the strategy is implausible. If fifty thousand men had attempted to breach this narrow passage, the crossing alone would have taken days. And the Renault March’s forces, famed for their mountain reconnaissance, would not have missed such movement. There were two scouting posts overlooking this very area.’

From a strategic standpoint, a river crossing was best avoided altogether. If one had to be undertaken, it must be executed as a blitzkrieg. While fording, an army would be at its most vulnerable. If spotted by the enemy, the vanguard could be isolated and destroyed piecemeal.

‘But did the Shaak forces not first engage the Renault March’s troops at what was known as the ‘Final Gate’?’

Hearing a theory so contrary to the accepted record, the Emperor posed a logical counterpoint. According to official accounts, the first reported sighting of the Shaak Army had come from the frontier post at the mouth of the Renault March, infamously dubbed the ‘Final Gate.’ That same post had been obliterated shortly after sending its warning, making its message the first surviving report of the Second Landrienne Campaign.

‘Conventional theory holds that the Shaak Army crossed the Andolyn River and proceeded along a hidden trail to reach the first border outpost. If they had, indeed, invaded directly through the Renault March, this would have been the most direct route. But as Your Majesty can see here, there are in fact two roads that lead to the Final Gate.’

Eugène, his voice composed, gestured to one of the forks. It was a loop road, an extension of the imperial highway system known as the Alpenz Route. More significantly, it connected directly to the Amieux March.

‘Do you suppose advancing through imperial territory is easier than launching a rear ambush?’

‘If that road is the ‘Prince’s Road,’ then it might well be.’

‘The Prince’s Road…’

‘The original name of the Valdern Route. After the Amieux March was annexed into imperial territory, it was repaved and renamed. But once, I am told, it went by that name.’

The Emperor recognized the term at once, though Eugène had only learned of it from General Breuter’s writings. The ‘Prince’s Road’ referred to the path taken by Prince Germanic, the last legitimate heir of Austrassie, who had ridden to the aid of his countrymen after they were driven to the Valdern Mountains by rebels. The route allowed him to evade enemy scouts and reach the first border fortress of the Renault March.

According to records, the prince had led his men from the river delta of the formerostmark, now the Amieux March, and crossed over using ferries reserved for lumbermen. From there, they ascended a hidden pass through the Valdern Range. In only five days, he reached the rear flank of the Duchy of D’Estuaire’s forces, who had laid siege to the Renault March.

According to his own account, General Breuter had secretly kept this road in mind when devising his plan to reclaim the Renault March. The road’s primary route threaded through a series of narrow ravines, rendering it nearly invisible to observers from the outside, and that geographical advantage meant enemy reconnaissance would be all but impossible.

However, in a war that began under the crushing weight of a surprise attack, there was never a chance for reversal. Neither General Breuter nor the Estinian Imperial Army was able to regain the upper hand. Instead, they were driven back as far as the Bern River basin, humiliated, having lost even their Emperor, Armand III, in the process.

‘But for that to be feasible, one condition must first be met.’

In executing a diversionary maneuver, the difference between six days and two is vast. The former is near impossible; the latter, just within reach. The problem was that, in the official records, there was no indication that even a two-day attempt had ever been made.

To reiterate, Eugène knew next to nothing about the Second Landrienne Campaign, the event that had spelled ruin for his family. This was not only due to his lack of formal education, but also a result of his deliberate disinterest in family affairs, born of longstanding resentment toward his late father. He had gone out of his way to avoid learning anything connected to House Amieux.

Given such a foundation, it was little wonder that even when he was finally compelled to investigate, he found himself unable to arrive at any clear conclusion. Worse still, the time afforded to him had been but a few days. Though he had scoured dozens of books, the only knowledge he could gather was piecemeal and superficial, facts so well-known that they were hardly worth uncovering.

And yet.

For that very reason, there had also been a kind of advantage.

‘So this is what you meant when you said you were investigating the Night of the Fallen Chandelier?’

He had approached the matter with no prior bias whatsoever. As a result, he could analyze past events from a completely different angle than most and had managed to extract a surprisingly coherent context. From facts known to all, he had unearthed a wholly different truth. The Emperor, inwardly, conceded that Eugène’s deductions were far from unfounded.

Now that he held the map from thirty years ago in his hands, the Emperor, too, could see the link between Shaak’s invasion route and the so-called Night of the Fallen Chandelier more clearly. He found himself wondering why it had never once occurred to him to consider the two in conjunction.

‘They say the banquet that night was truly resplendent. Nearly every noble of the eastern aristocratic faction, which was then at the height of its power, had attended. All but one house, whose allegiances lay elsewhere.’

However, the Emperor had also discerned the critical flaw embedded within Eugène’s line of reasoning.

‘But House Renault was not the only one destroyed by the Shaak Army. Save for differences in timing, the nobility of the east all met ruin in the end.’

‘Do you not find the smoothness of their downfall rather too convenient?’

‘They were breathtakingly stupid.’

The Emperor’s reply, like a sigh, was curt and final.

‘Let Us be perfectly clear. Is that all you have to present?’

‘At present, yes.’

‘No witnesses, no material evidence, nothing beyond deduction and circumstantial conjecture?’

‘I have not progressed that far in the investigation.’

‘Then why report it to Us now?’

Eugène’s theory, grounded in military analysis, had its own internal logic. But it lacked tangible proof. In other words, circumstantial evidence, by definition, only suggests that surrounding factors allow for a certain interpretation. It proves nothing.

I know. Why did I do that?Confronted by the rebuke, Eugène found himself unable to answer. He had known from the start that his theory was too speculative to report, even to a superior, let alone the sovereign himself. Eugène was a former soldier. For a man who had risen to the rank of Vice Admiral solely on merit to forget the basics of reporting protocol was, frankly, absurd.

Worse still, the very suspicion that had driven him may well have originated from a calculated ploy, a piece of misinformation deliberately planted by someone with an agenda. If he had indeed been manipulated, then he had unwittingly placed that falsehood into the Emperor’s own ears. And the blame for that would be inescapable.

As Eugène stood silent, the Emperor let out a breath that sounded more like disbelief. Running a dry hand over his face, he looked inexplicably exhausted.

‘…You are incorrigible.’

He rubbed his forehead as if nursing a headache, then asked quietly,

‘Have you spoken of this to anyone else?’

‘No one, Your Majesty. I have shared this with no one but you.’

‘At least you have not lost your wits entirely.’

Muttering to himself, the Emperor flicked his fingers, beckoning Eugène closer. A foreboding feeling stirred in Eugène, but he did not dare disobey the imperial command.

‘Ugh-.’

As he approached, the Emperor reached out and seized him by the nape. Eugène, caught off guard, nearly stumbled, only to find himself pulled close to the point their foreheads pressed against each other. Before he realized it, their faces were so close that their breaths mingled.

The Emperor’s forehead, as finely shaped as if carved from ivory, felt warm and dry, quite unlike the cold impression his features gave. Though they were alone, the Emperor lowered his voice as if someone might be eavesdropping, moving only his lips as he chastised Eugène.

‘If you have a brain in that head of yours, you must know what your suspicion implies. Listen carefully. You are to keep these thoughts to yourself. Do not so much as breathe a word of them to anyone but Us. Do not even let them show on your face. Understood?’

Eugène had expected a scolding from the moment he was first called out, but he had not imagined he would be silenced outright. And so, he could only stare at the Emperor, unable to respond at once.

‘What does Your Majesty intend to do, then? Will you bury it?’

‘That is not your concern.’

‘Your Majesty!’

‘What may come later remains unknown, but for now, no. Do you not understand? At present, we have neither the means nor the margin to stir up old matters and let them fester into something greater.’

The Emperor’s dry hand closed firmly around the back of his neck. From that grip, Eugène could sense a resolute will to let the matter go no further, and he felt his mouth go dry. He could not comprehend the Emperor’s passive stance.

In his mind, this was not an affair that should be buried so easily. He was just about to open his mouth in protest when the Emperor tightened his grasp once more, silencing him. Then, tilting his head slightly, he leaned in and whispered into Eugène’s ear.

‘Let Us offer you one more piece of advice.. Even before Us, you bare your weaknesses far too readily. It is a dangerous habit. You would do well to take care. Power, after all, is never certain of tomorrow.’

The Emperor spoke in a calm voice, but the truth he uttered was sharp as a blade. Those few words, shaped by the tongue, were as much a sincere warning as they were a finely honed weapon. Like a dagger drawn and poised, his warning pierced deep into Eugène’s heart, so much so that he could almost hear a nonexistent blade slicing through the air.

From that moment on, he could say nothing more.