Chapter 502 — Memorial Day
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
Such scenes were not confined to the commoners' districts; even within the magnificent Silverhold, a similar sight could be seen.
Servants were preparing a great bonfire in the courtyard; knights polished their spears and blades and arranged them along the corridor leading to the courtyard. Victoria Wilde, in a long white gown with silver hair falling over her shoulders, stood before the courtyard entrance, a white death's-herald chrysanthemum in her hand, which she pinned carefully to Welsh Moen's breast.
"Your Highness, may you keep the glory of your forebears ever in mind," the Duchess said to the heir of the Moen bloodline before her, in a calm, detached tone.
Welsh Moen glanced down at the small white flower on his breast, smiled faintly, a little self-mockingly, then lowered his head. "I will keep it in mind."
Looking at Welsh Moen's expressionless face, Duchess Victoria suddenly said, "Your Highness, do you know why, every year on the Memorial Day, it is the head of the Wilde family who pins the death's-herald chrysanthemum on the heir of the Moen bloodline?"
Something seemed to flicker in Welsh Moen's eyes, but he spoke in an even tone nonetheless: "Because the Wilde family sheltered the Moen bloodline at the kingdom's most perilous hour—just as our forebears deserve remembrance, so does this bond."
Victoria gazed into Welsh's eyes. There was no coercion in that look, yet the Duchess's seemingly innate wintry air still exerted an indescribable pressure; under ordinary circumstances, no one could hold her gaze for more than ten seconds—yet the middle-aged man opposite her held firm. Through a stare lasting more than a dozen seconds, Welsh Moen never shifted his eyes away, meeting the Duchess's gaze openly and without evasion.
Victoria seemed to smile faintly. She withdrew her gaze and looked toward the great pyre in the courtyard, which had begun to take shape. "...I once asked Prince Edmund the same question. Can you guess how he answered?"
"...I don't know."
"'It is so that every descendant of Moen knows that it is because the Wilde family exists that they have the right to honor their ancestors here in Silverhold, and not in a stable in North Mountain County.' Those were his exact words," Victoria said calmly. "That was three years ago, when our great founding hero had not yet walked out of his tomb."
Welsh Moen said nothing, only stood there without a word.
"He should be wearing a death's-herald chrysanthemum now too, in some fortress in the eastern Holy Spirit Plain, with a bonfire lit to commemorate the father he very likely killed with his own hands. At last he need not suffer the humiliation of accepting the flower I pinned on him in Silverhold, of honoring the dead at my bidding," Victoria tilted her head slightly toward the crown prince, now well into middle age. "Now that role has fallen to you. Once again, it has fallen to you."
"I do not consider it a humiliation."
"Perhaps not. But it doesn't matter," Victoria said lightly, as though she truly did not care. "Your father was a good king. Frankly, I respected him—though he may not have been willing to accept my respect."
Welsh looked at the Duchess before him with some bewilderment, as though he could not understand why this northern ruler, ever cold and aloof in temperament and seldom given to long speeches, should suddenly say so much to him. Victoria paid his confusion no mind and simply went on:
"This kingdom has stood for several hundred years. Several dozen men have sat upon that throne, but not all of them truly cared about this kingdom. Your father did... Believe it or not, the Wilde family has always supported him in earnest."
Welsh opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing.