Chapter 502 — Memorial Day

"The Fogmonth Rebellion a hundred years ago taught us a great lesson. That rebellion began as a contest for the throne, but it was the last king of the First Dynasty—his dissolute life and his various misrule—that truly let the situation spiral out of control. From that day on, we understood: the throne must have a lock.

"The king is supreme, but the king cannot be unchecked. For the sake of lasting stability, someone must be able to seize control of the situation in time when royal authority runs wild. So in the Second Dynasty we established the institution of the Regent Duke. Royal authority would be watched and checked—but in turn, the king likewise balances the power of the dukes. This you know.

"No one may hold absolute power in his hands, and every power must have a contingency. These two points are the lessons the Wilde family drew from the Fogmonth Rebellion."

Welsh Moen finally broke the silence: "And did you foresee the variables that were Edmund and the Duke of the Eastern Marches?"

"...Human hearts always lie beyond any plan," the Duchess said after two seconds of silence. "But that does not mean the lessons we drew are meaningless. In fact, what carried Ansu through the Fogmonth Rebellion was indeed the institution of the Regent Duke. It may need perfecting, but it is far from the point of being discarded."

Welsh fell silent. After a long silence, he raised his head and looked at the Duchess before him. "...Why tell me all this now?"

"My father said these same words to your father before he took the throne," the Duchess said evenly. "On the Memorial Day three years ago, I had meant to say them to Edmund as well."

Welsh's breathing paused for a moment.

"The throne has stood empty for a long time. This kingdom has run for more than half a year without a king, but it cannot run that way forever—the nobles need someone to swear fealty to, the Royal Army needs a banner, and the people need to know who is legitimate," Duchess Victoria turned and fixed her eyes on Welsh's once more. "At first we believed this war would end quickly, for the Royal Army had two or three times the troops and supplies of the Eastern Marches rebels. But we miscalculated. We are already locked in a stalemate, and so we must be prepared for that stalemate to continue."

Welsh opened his mouth. "I..."

"We cannot wait for a coronation after the war, Your Highness the Crown Prince," the Duchess said, laying heavy stress on the words "Your Highness the Crown Prince." "Edmund will soon realize that he cannot enter Saint Sunil within the coming year. He will crown himself at any moment, and the Duke of the Eastern Marches will use his influence to make the nobles of the entire Eastern Marches and half the Holy Spirit Plain swear fealty to the new king, while the blind common folk will acknowledge it soon enough. Therefore, you must become king before Edmund is crowned."

Welsh Moen's eyes widened slightly, but a man who had already missed the throne once forced himself back to composure in a very short time. He looked at the Duchess and spoke plainly and directly: "How many will acknowledge me as king? How many nobles will be willing to swear fealty to me?"

"The Wilde family will support you with all its strength, and so will the Franklin family. We can bring half the nobles of this kingdom to swear fealty to you—at least openly."

Welsh pondered, and several seconds later spoke again: "Then have you considered the greatest variable of all?"

As he said this, Welsh Moen raised his hand and pointed to the death's-herald chrysanthemum on his breast.

"I have already prepared for the journey south. I will speak with the founding duke myself," Victoria said gravely. Even this northern ruler known as the Queen of Ice and Snow could not help but take on an especially solemn tone as she spoke these words. "I will do everything in my power."

"What do you think the odds are that he'll support me?"

Victoria drew a deep breath. "...I only hope he won't oppose it."

After those words, the two of them fell silent together.

They gazed at the great pyre in the courtyard, at the straw rings and death-daisies adorning every corner, at the mages and masters of ceremony making their preparations for the rite.

The sky was gradually dimming; the failing light meant the hour for lighting the bonfire was near.

The truly important part of the Memorial Day was about to begin.

It was a day for honoring one's forebears, for seeking blessings from the ancient dead.

Yet the ancestor this festival had first been meant to commemorate... had now himself returned from the far shore where the death-daisies bloom.

Victoria Wilde walked silently into the courtyard, took up one of the oak branches laid on the stone table, cast it onto the pyre, and then gave the order to light the bonfire.

Watching the flames rise little by little, the ruler of the North let out a sigh.

If only it took nothing more than throwing a single stick into the bonfire for one's ancestor to bless you... how wonderful that would be.

:. :