CHAPTER 285: THE INHERITED HEART

The Inherited Heart

Canardia Castle

The white glow of a gemstone of light fell from a silver desk lamp capped with a conical hood, casting a clean downward beam across the scrolls and parchments on the table. Lansius had ordered this lamp in his first week of rule in Canardia, and after several changes, it had only just been finished. Beneath its pale radiance, still wearing the silken tunic from Lady Ella’s banquet, he pored over the reports his senior scribe had compiled. They had not come by the new Morse code, for they were not deemed urgent. These reports had been gathered over weeks before the rebellion consumed all his attention. Now, with the harvest underway, he judged it proper to finally give them his time.

Sifting through report after report, Lansius studied the documents they called Harvest Prediction. It was meant to forecast whether his realm faced the risk of famine or could expect a decent yield. To achieve this, his House had demanded estimates from its land surveyors. Such work had never been done before, and so they devised new procedures to make educated guesses about crop yield. Nevertheless, his officials and surveyors had been eager to comply, knowing the results would be vital for the region’s future.

Now, after reading the records, Lansius had at least a rough measure of what to expect from each region in South Midlandia. The numbers were certain to be off by a wide margin, as the method was unproven and would undoubtedly need revision, but it was a good start. His officials could only improve through trials and errors. At least now he was not completely blind or forced to rely on last year’s record. He even had some certainty from the general reports, whether it would be a case of poor harvest or the hope of a plentiful yield for each region, and he could base his plans around them.

Moreover, even if they made many mistakes, the effort would still be useful for taxation and future land grants. Most important of all was to equip his officials and surveyors with the means to make proper assessments of the land under them and its actual yield and productivity, rather than merely relying on the records of previous years.

Lansius made his own calculation based on his worst assumption, and as he wrote the final number in tonnes, he stopped and pondered over it. He then took out last year’s record and the one before that, and frowned.

Why is the yield still better now than before? Where did I make the mistake?

He worked through his calculations and assumptions again, but found them faultless. Lansius began to doubt the reports. Then another thought came to him, that the yield had been embezzled and hidden from the old administration. Only now, with so many nobles defeated, was the true yield laid bare.

He quickly checked whether the difference came from the manors he had confiscated, and he did find huge discrepancies, lending some credence to his suspicions. While it would take a great deal of searching through old records, he wagered the land-use figures had been tampered with by bribed officials. It was likely a similar issue his bailiff had uncovered in one manor, where the land under cultivation was thirty times greater than what the owner declared, meaning he paid only one-thirtieth of the tax.

Lansius nodded and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders.

If his calculations were right, then there would be no shortage of crops. However, he remained worried. Unlike the previous year, Midlandia had endured two mass armed conflicts. The first was the succession wars that culminated in his rise to power, and the second was the recent rebellion. In both, the monastery and its fanatics had played a major part, fighting stubbornly despite staggering losses and causing casualties in the tens of thousands. That meant tens of thousands missing from the workforce, aside from the wider upheaval inflicted on the communities.

Thus, there were real worries among the council members that the harvest would be greatly affected.

However, not all were pessimists. Several, including Sir Omin, were confident the realm would bear it. He reckoned the spare hands in the towns, villages, and hamlets would make up the shortfall. After all, Midlandia held millions of lives, unlike the sparsely populated Lowlandia.

Still, when dealing with the risk of famine, Lansius chose to have another layer of safeguards. Thus, to mitigate this risk, he committed to a backup plan. With renewed spirit, he wrote several drafts of letters to finalize them.

It was not completely new. He had first designed it to support his troops during the wars, and this was simply the natural extension of that earlier design.

The hours slipped by in the scratch of the quill and the soft drip of the water clock.

As he penned the last draft, Lansius glanced at the water clock and found it nearing eleven. He wiped the quill’s nib on a scrap of wet linen, set it in its stand, and felt the weariness settle in his shoulders. As he put the scrolls and parchments into his drawer, he noticed again the wider spacing between twelve and one on the clock’s face. At first, he had thought it a flaw of design, but later he became convinced it served another purpose. He told himself he would look into it later, when he had time to indulge such curiosity.

For now, he was thankful the clock used twelve hours rather than ten or sixteen, which would have felt far more awkward. Whoever had devised hours and clocks had also settled on a similar system, much like how both the Western and Eastern worlds on Earth had arrived at the same idea. It was likely because twelve was easy to count and divide, the same reason a dozen was used for almost everything.

He touched the silver lamp, and the gemstone of light dimmed at once, leaving only the orange glow of a bronze lantern fixed on the wall.

Without needing instruction, Margo, who had been sitting in the corner near the door, rose and lit his own silver lantern powered by a gemstone of light. This one had been confiscated from a rebel House. It was exquisitely made, its frame etched with fine patterns and its edges gilded, the metalwork showing reliefs of elves and dwarves holding up crystal-clear glass.

“Let’s head out. It’s getting late,” Lansius said.

Margo readily used a candle snuffer on the wall lantern. Afterward, with Margo holding the silver lantern before him, they left the chamber. As the door swung open, the night guards, already familiar with the routine, fell into step without a word and flanked them along the short corridor that connected the lord’s study to his private quarter. ᚱÀNÓ𝖇ĘṦ

...

As they rounded a corner, the sound of a baby crying reached them. Lansius snorted softly, knowing the evacuation order had likely left his son restless. At the entrance to the private hall, Carla and another guard on duty looked weary, yet they forced thin, respectful smiles.

"It is going to be a long night," Lansius said, half in jest, half in sympathy for the man and woman he knew well.

The pair could not help but smile more warmly. "I hope you will have a pleasant sleep, My Lord," said the Korelian guard, while Carla allowed herself a quiet grin.

Lansius chuckled briefly and tapped the guard twice on the arm, a small gesture of respect.

"My Lord," Margo called from behind.

"Yes?" Lansius turned.

"If you wish, I could summon the nursemaid," Margo offered.

“No, we'll manage. It is time for me to do some parenting,” Lansius replied lightly, holding out a hand for the silver lantern.

"But you have a long day tomorrow," Margo argued gently as he placed the lamp in his lord’s hand.

"I know, but I will manage somehow," Lansius said and stepped into the chamber, leaving Margo to bow and remain behind with Carla and the rest of the guards.

The door closed, and Lansius walked toward the bedchamber with his silver lantern in hand. Its glow overpowered the feeble light of the common bronze lanterns set along the walls. He had considered equipping the chamber with a permanent gemstone of light but decided it would be wasteful to fix such a versatile object to the ceiling when it had so many other uses. In a world without electricity, even a simple light, brighter than several candles, was a life-changer.

With the gemstone inside the lantern tuned to its lowest setting at his touch and command, Lansius opened the door and entered. Inside, he saw a figure draped in black silk, trimmed with delicate frills, the fabric so sheer in places that pale skin gleamed through the lace. The garment clung close, its cut suggestive and dangerously low. She swayed gently as she rocked the baby. The contrast of tenderness and allure struck him so sharply that he froze in the doorway.

Still swaying with the fussy baby who refused her milk, Audrey glanced up, met his eyes, and flushed red. "This is not what it looks like," she blurted, flustered.

"Should I wait outside?" he asked, still shocked. He had never expected to see her in such lingerie.

Where did she even get that? No—who would make modern lingerie in this era? Valerie?

"No, stop. Take Gill. I need to change." She approached and carefully passed the baby into his arms.

Lansius began rocking Galahad, whom everyone shortened to Gill, gently, but to no avail. The baby wailed and cried harder. "Oh, why are you crying? Daddy is here," he cooed in baby talk while touching the boy’s temple to check for fever. Finding none, he flexed the tiny arms and legs, just in case there had been a fall. Nothing seemed wrong.

Fighting the instinct to panic, he tried again, rocking the child in different rhythms—faster, then slower. "Daddy is here, don’t cry anymore, Gill, or you will tire yourself out."

At his words, the baby wailed even harder.

I'm bad at this, even with my own son...

He sighed, forcing a smile that felt more like pain than joy. He had always imagined it would be somehow different with his own child, but it was not to be. Judging from the wailing, the boy hated him, and that left him grinning awkwardly as he rocked in vain.

"Is it a tummy ache?" he muttered, gently rubbing the little belly despite the incessant cries. Again, no result. He checked for bite marks on the skin, but found none.

Audrey had already changed into her Centurian nightgown, which to him looked like a kimono. She crossed to the table, drank a cup of water in a single gulp, then came toward him and offered to take back the baby.

"Aren't you tired?" he asked.

"Well, it seems he wants me more than you," she replied with a weary smugness.

Lansius kept trying for several more minutes, whispering lullabies and several other tricks, before at last he waved the white flag and surrendered his son to the mother. She took him with practiced ease, and as the boy felt her arms and recognized her scent, he gradually calmed.

She turned to him and whispered, "Good job wearing him down."

Lansius simply nodded, without asking why the baby had refused to quiet in her arms before, yet now settled the instant she held him again. Caring for a child was like unlearning logic. A baby would do as it pleased, without reason.

Without wasting time, since it was already late, he washed at a copper basin. Several stood ready, for a household with a baby always needed water close at hand. Raising a child in an age without diapers was a constant struggle. At least they had the light of gemstones, for it would have been miserable to manage with only the dim glow of candles. And when they grew too weary, they could summon the nursemaid. Yet Audrey had insisted on raising Gill as much as she could. She often said that aside from Omin, the boy was her only blood in this world.

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And more than that, she believed that in the time ahead, when conflict would surely come, she would stand beside Lansius to lead armies. For that reason, she wished to spend every moment she could with her son.

With that in mind, Lansius brushed his teeth with a salt-and-clover paste, rubbing it in with the fine fibers of a chewed twig, as was customary. Then he changed into a simple tunic. By the time he finished, the baby was half asleep in Audrey’s embrace.

He stepped closer and looked at little Gill, while Audrey glanced up at him. They did not need words to share the moment.

Lansius studied the baby’s tender features, the tiny nose, and the small lips. For now, Gill looked like an innocent angel. He longed to cuddle him, but he knew too well the wrath and wailing that would follow.

"How is he?" he asked after a while.

"Hard to please. Like you," Audrey replied with a teasing grin.

"I, hard to please?" He snorted.

She only smiled and rocked the baby again to see if Gill was truly asleep. Then she walked in slow circles before carefully lowering him into his little wooden crib. It was a meticulous operation, for even the slightest discomfort might rouse the wailing little monster, and then they would have to begin all over again. Even Lansius, a veteran of many nerve-wracking wars, watched with slight unease.

Audrey stilled once the baby was settled on the soft mattress. The air turned tense. The child did not stir, and only then did she dare to pull back her hands, straighten her posture, and breathe a sigh of relief. She turned to Lansius, who gave her a thumbs-up.

She approached him and, with a flick, cast a transparent barrier close about them before pushing him onto the bed.

"Why the pushing and the magic?" Lansius asked playfully, sinking into the bounce of the spring mattress.

"There’s no need to hide it," she said.

"I’m serious," he stifled a chuckle, fearing that even with the barrier, some sound might slip through.

"You saw the embarrassing outfit, yes?" Audrey asked as she crawled on all fours over him.

Lansius nodded, gazing into his wife’s hazel eyes and at her matching brunette hair, now silken and smooth. The days when it had been rough, dry, and tangled from their life in tents and barns in Arvena were long behind them.

"It’s new, and I just wanted to see if it even fit," she explained.

"I see," he mumbled, unwilling to press her.

"Do you like it...? Val said you would."

As he had suspected, it was the French girl’s doing. Not that he was going to complain. "I need to see it clearly first before I make any judgment," he quipped.

She turned smug and said, "Roll over."

It was a little odd, but he trusted her enough not to question it. Lansius did as she asked, and Audrey loosened his tunic. The cloth slid from his shoulders, and a moment later, he felt the cool smear of oil followed by her warm hands pressing against his back. Her fingers spread wide, dragging slowly across the hardened muscle.

"A massage?" he asked, already enjoying the touch.

"Tell me if it’s good," she said, pouring a little more scented oil onto his skin before kneading in earnest. Her hands worked firmly over his shoulders and down along the upper spine, thumbs digging into the tight knots from overworking.

"It’s good," he mumbled. The pressure was spot on, her thumbs driving into his rhomboid muscles until a low sound slipped from him, half sigh, half moan.

Audrey snorted, as if amused by his helpless reaction, which threw Lansius into suspicion. "Where did you learn all this? I didn’t know you had any practice."

She only tilted her head and smiled faintly. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah."

Audrey inhaled and said. "Anyone close to you can see you do not really have anything you enjoy."

"That doesn't sound right..."

"Lans, you don't care much for eating, ballad, or dancing. You also don't like hunting or training either."

"I like riding," he replied, then added with a grin, "horses and you."

Audrey pressed harder, her thumbs working into the tense cords at the back of his neck, and Lansius groaned. She had found a sore spot.

"As I said, aside from that, you enjoy nothing else, except a massage."

"True," he admitted, drawing a long breath as her fingers worked.

"So I decided to learn from your masseur, and I practiced on Val."

He frowned. "On her? Why did she not tell me?"

"Of course. It is supposed to be a secret."

"But why spend your time on this?" Lansius asked. "I can always ask the masseur for a massage."

"Because you are always busy, and it is not as if you are going to bring your masseur into battle."

Lansius chuckled, already knowing where this was going. "I promised to take you," he reminded her again.

"I know," Audrey replied with a soft sigh. "It’s just that, aside from becoming a mother, I fear I am not making myself useful anymore."

It was rare to hear her speak so openly. "Go on," he urged. "Tell me what’s on your mind."

"Like it or not, you stand equal to a king now," she said. "No baron commands other barons and viscounts. And certainly no baron holds lands to rival an earl, or keeps a castle guarded by hundreds of men day and night."

"You have a point."

She dipped her fingers in the oil again and began to work lower, pressing into his waist as she spoke. "A jewel untended loses its shine, and the hand that wears it will seek another. A wife who ceases to be useful dims her own light, and a man will chase whatever glitters brighter."

Lansius let out a low chuckle. "That is a beautiful proverb."

"I read a lot too, you know."

"You will be a perfect baroness," he commended proudly.

"That is the plan," she replied playfully. "Even if you find another, at least I can still be at your side."

"That will not happen," he reassured her, his voice firm. "To be with you is the greatest honor I could ever have. You are not only my wife, you are my knight commander and my cavalry leader."

He did not need to see her to know she was smiling.

"Earlier, when you went to work, I spent time chatting with Tanya and Sir Michael," Audrey said, changing the subject. "Both said that Lady Astrid truly wishes to care for our son, since the wet nurse is having complications."

Lansius was skeptical. "I have never heard of a noble doing that. Will this cause problems?"

"On the contrary. Her House wants to bind itself to us. Caring for our son would seal a lasting bond. Even if Astrid stops tending Gill, he and her daughter would still be milk-siblings."

"House Robert’s influence over us will be greater," he warned.

"I know. I’m aware that some already whisper how House Robert lost a war against you, yet emerged greater, gaining more prestige and influence as your strongest ally."

Lansius found the notion amusing. "What can I say? I needed allies, and the Lion is a shrewd lord."

She snorted softly and let her hands work lower, kneading into his thigh. "This will benefit us as well. Like it or not, we were both raised as commoners until recently. If Astrid tends to our son, then Gill will grow with a noble House as his backer."

Lansius mulled for an answer. "Practically, I do not mind. I would rather my son be cared for by someone I know than nursed by a complete stranger. I doubt I need the Shogunate’s approval for this, but since it could get complicated, try to consult with Omin and Ingrid first."

"Of course," she replied. "It isn’t urgent. Unless a war starts tomorrow."

"Don't say that," Lansius protested, which earned him a soft chuckle from her.

The massage continued for several more minutes until she wiped him clean with a cloth. "Done."

"I feel rejuvenated," he said, rolling onto his back on the mattress with a sigh of relief, his muscles all relaxed.

Audrey sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "Do you want to sleep, or…?" she asked, averting her eyes shyly.

Lansius pushed himself up and sat close. He reached for her and quietly loosened her kimono. The black Centurian linen slid open, and beneath it he caught a glimpse of black frills and that daring garment again. The glossy fabric was so sheer that the pale glow of her skin showed through its weave.

He swallowed, his voice rough with restraint. "I thought you weren’t in a hurry for another child."

"Val taught me," Audrey whispered, her breath warm against him, "that a woman cannot get pregnant so long as she still breastfeeds. It only happens after my moon returns, and that is not likely until next autumn."

"Then?" Lansius asked, heart pounding. He had abstained for too long, and the sight of her made him ache.

She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. "Take the lead."

With tenderness, yet in haste, he drew her down against the mattress, urgency pressing him on. Both knew the baby might stir at any moment.

***

Lansius

The golden light of dawn spread over Canardia, softening the chill and crisp air that drifted from the western Targe Mountains. From the countryside came the fragrance of cut grain, bruised stalks, and the faint sweetness of ripening fruit from the orchards. It was the smell of harvest week, when everyone rose early. There were crops to reap, haul, and store. Trade quickened, and talk of celebration spread through the air. Lansius too, began his day earlier. Instead of retreating to his study, he and Audrey shared breakfast with their guest, Lady Ella and Petra.

Afterward, he asked her to show him the airship. Normally, he would have waited until she offered, but he was not the sort to act timid before such an engineering marvel, especially one that might slip from his grasp.

Audrey had a private meeting with Lady Astrid, so Lansius was accompanied only by Sir Sterling, Claire, and Francisca. The carriage ride north to the landing ground was short, and Lansius kept his talk with Lady Ella and Petra light, steering clear of heavier matters or anything touching on the Shogunate.

At the site, guards and patrols moved smartly to greet them as Lansius and Lady Ella stepped down from the carriage.

The morning air was crisp, the grass still heavy with dew that glistened like glass beads beneath the rising sun. Overhead, a hawk wheeled in wide circles above the airship. Lansius’ gaze lingered on it. The Hunter indeed used hawks for communication, confirming his suspicion that the telegram-like messages had been relayed by the vessel. That meant Avery had a way to speak with the Hunter at a great distance, even in the air.

He pushed the thought aside. To press the matter here would only make Lady Ella or Petra defensive. For now, all he wanted was to see the airship with his own eyes.

Unlike usual, Francisca took the lead, her eyes sharp and watchful. She carried the great axe that had hewn down more than a hundred rebels in the battle of the Hill Path. She knew, as did Lansius, that the pilot, a Hunter and likely an assassin, remained a danger. Sterling, Claire, and Petra followed behind as they advanced toward the gargantuan vessel.

The Hunter and a crewman saluted them from a distance, remaining close to the airship, likely out of caution while the vessel stayed inflated.

Lansius noticed his maintenance crew standing in line, hats pressed to their chests. Their eyes met his, and they bowed their heads. He gave them an acknowledging nod before turning his gaze to the ivory leviathan. Bathed in the morning sun, its skin gleamed with a golden sheen.

Lady Ella, catching his expression, said, "The skin is made of Elven sail."

Lansius’ eyes widened briefly before he turned toward the red-haired girl with twin tails. "Elven, you said?"

"Indeed," she answered with the pride and innocence of a fifteen-year-old. "Lord, you might also be interested to know that…"

Lady Ella proved an able speaker, her knowledge flowing easily as she continued the explanation. Lansius listened as they walked slowly around the airship, marveling at its size and craftsmanship. Though it looked sleeker and narrower than he expected, it was in fact longer, with a far greater ratio of balloon to gondola.

What Lansius had learned from her was that the hull concealed vast compartments filled with hundreds of loose gasbags, each the size of a grown buffalo. These too were made from Elven sail, a rare fabric both light and remarkably resistant to wind and weather, and evidently airtight. If the Pride of Korimor stayed aloft by constantly burning hot air, this vessel relied on an enriched and purified lifting gas, produced on land and siphoned into the compartments before flight.

Because most of the lift was provided by sealed bags of purified gas, there was little need to burn large amounts of fuel to stay aloft. Far more buoyant than hot air, the gas allowed the balloon to be built smaller and slimmer. More importantly, these qualities gave the vessel a greater range and far more carrying capacity.

Still, Lady Ella explained that leaks were inevitable, especially from the large control chambers that regulated ascent, descent, and roll. For that reason, volatile oil and a burner were still essential. Yet since the burner also served as propulsion, its presence was no burden.

Lansius moved toward the forward section and laid a hand upon the fabric. There was no visible weave. It was smooth, seamless, and strange to the touch.

This is more like rubber or some form of resin?

"You may be surprised to hear," Lady Ella said lightly, "that the burner is also used to drive the airship itself."

"Drive? What sort of mechanism do you use?" Lansius asked.

"It is like a windmill, only very small," she replied, explaining as they walked toward the gondola.

At her words, Lansius’ chest tightened, his breathing turned shallow, and sweat gathered at his brow. His mind raced with the implications.

It can’t be…

They approached the gondola, and he noticed Francisca and the others growing tense behind him. Likely sensing this, Petra waved her hand, and the pilot withdrew farther off, leaving only a lone crewman standing nearby.

Lansius, however, was too captivated to care. His eyes caught on a pylon jutting from the gondola, built to mount the so-called windmill. It reminded him of the canard wings he had once devised, yet it was set higher, like the placement of older high-winged aircraft. His nerves tightened as they passed it, and he was careful not to outpace Lady Ella.

"Here, the little windmill I mentioned," she said proudly.

Lansius recognized it at once. Cold sweat trickled down his back. It was indeed a propeller, wooden and three-bladed. Judging by the strut that supported it, there was likely another mounted on the opposite side. Suppressing the tremor in his fingers, he reached out and touched the solid blade, tracing the subtle curvature. It was no crude work; the surface bore the faint marks of having been honed again and again.

Cold certainty gripped him. Questions crowded his mind, but another curiosity pressed first. "Mind if I look closer?"

"Be my guest, Lord," the red-haired girl replied easily.

He leaned in. Without needing to study it long, he spotted a rod of forged metal, thicker than his thumb, fixed to the propeller hub by a geared pulley like those used in waterwheels. Its teeth were caked with black grease that reeked of tallow. On the far side, the rod, scarred with dents and hammer marks yet kept remarkably straight, pierced the stout wooden pylon and carried its length inward toward the gondola.

He walked toward the rear of the gondola, where the entrance waited.

"My Lord," the lone crewman saluted.

Lansius turned to Lady Ella. "May I enter?"

"Of course. My father will be pleased."

Lansius missed the subtle shift in her tone and climbed aboard. The gondola was narrow yet enclosed, fitted with a ladder of lightwood leading to the upper deck. He ascended and came before an asymmetrical burner unlike any he had ever seen, crowded with thick rope rigging, bronze pipes, and two iron rods. It looked organic, more like a mechanical heart than a man-made device. His gaze followed the thick forged rod to where the gears meshed with a great wheel, its teeth slick with tallow.

The whole contraption was braced upon blocks of natural rubber, the same material Dawn had once used to coat her airship. He understood at once that it was meant to dampen vibration. The frame itself was fashioned from lightwood, its joints bound with iron plates for strength, and its surfaces lined with treated hide and ragged linen to soak up the dripping grease and catch any trace of leaking fuel.

The crewman who had followed him up spoke with quiet pride. "The oldest heirloom of Lady Ella’s House."

"What do they call this?" Lansius asked.

The crewman hesitated, as though weighing the word, before replying, "It is one of a kind. Their great-great-grandfather named it machina pneumatica."

***