These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

"It's time for bed, papa…" Bea said, pulling him by the arm with both of hers.

It was Bea's first night with both her mother and father. And her body was bouncing with excitement. She clambered onto the bed with all three of her stuffed friends in tow.

As she waited to be tucked in by her mother, Bea tilted her head and squinted at the pig appraisingly. "I think you lost weight, Bent Ham… You must have exercised while we were gone."

She gave his soft head a few approving pats.

Ciel knelt beside the bed, tucking the blanket up to Bea's chin. She took her time carefully arranging her stuffed animals all around her—Bent Ham under one arm, Aristurtle by her shoulder, Cant perched protectively atop the quilt—each placed just so.

Then she rose and crossed the room toward the shelf, to retrieve the book of fairy tales for that night's bedtime story.

Sigurd, meanwhile, stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, one hand resting on the bedpost. After a moment, realizing Bea was watching him, he sat down somewhat stiffly at the edge of the mattress.

"You can come closer, papa…" Bea said, peeking shyly from underneath the covers.

Sigurd hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he rose and stepped around to her side, settling down again—this time right beside her. Bea scooted even closer to him, beneath the quilt, grabbing his hand with both of hers.

Ciel returned with the book to the other side of the bed, yawning as she eased herself under the covers beside Bea.

"...Do you intend to sleep tonight while sitting up?" Ciel asked dryly.

Sigurd didn't respond. And to Bea, the way his eyes narrowed…

"Are you… angry, papa?" Bea asked quietly.

"Angry?" Sigurd blinked. "No, I…" His gaze drifted away, and his hand came to rest at the nape of his neck, almost sheepishly. "I'm merely worried. That in the middle of the night, you might be smothered… by me. That I might somehow crush you in my sleep."

"But… I'm already big, papa…" Bea said, confused.

"Do you toss and turn terribly when you sleep on the stone floors of the northern wall?" Ciel asked.

"No."

"Then I suspect we shall survive," Ciel sighed. She grabbed his shoulder firmly, with more irritation than Bea had ever seen from her mother. "I have gone three days without proper rest, Sigurd. Climb in, won't you?"

Reluctantly, he did.

He slid underneath the covers, slowly and cautiously, attempting to give as much space for his daughter as possible. Yet she nuzzled closer herself, her head laying against the crook of his neck, such that he could hear the rise and fall of every fragile breath.

The book of fairy tales appeared gently in front of him, held open.

"Won't you read for us tonight?" Ciel asked. She already sounded as if she were on the verge of falling asleep. "Bea would very much like to hear it."

Sigurd took the book and lightly cleared his throat.

"There was once a queen of fairies, so beautiful none save those who saw her believed her to exist.

"She loved to swim with the oceans and rivers, to sing with the winds. She frolicked among the prettiest flowers, yet there was never a doubt she was the most gorgeous in the meadow.

"But one day, the emperor of all dragons thought to himself that he must have her. For as enchanting as the fairy queen was, he was fearsome in equal proportion.

"'None have desired, none have dreamed, none have loved as I have,' the dragon roared. 'And every night, the skies will burn with the flames of my pain—the agony of her absence.'

"The oceans and rivers curled in whirlpools so aghast that the tides pulled away from the shores. The winds howled sadly by moonlight. And the flowers, which once danced with joy, wilted and stilled. For every night burned, just as the dragon emperor had decreed.

"The queen of fairies had no choice but to take his hand. She joined him in the dragon's roost. She wept because she missed her friends. Her tears, as powerful as any roar, tortured the dragon emperor's heart, feeding its flames.

"'I shall build you a home,' the dragon emperor whispered to the weeping fairy queen. 'As grand as any mountain. With flowers in every nook. Where the rivers flow from its peak, into lakes like oceans. And where the wind will sing for you every night and morning…'"

Hearing Bea's slowing breaths, Sigurd realized she'd already fallen asleep.

"Then… we'll finish it when I'm next in Venlind," Sigurd murmured.

"Venlind…?" Ciel mumbled. "What are you saying, Sigurd? Bea and I will be moving to Varant."

Sigurd stilled.

"...What?" Sigurd asked, somewhat baffled.

"What exactly do you find unclear?" Ciel asked, her tone soft yet unyielding.

"You and Bea live a peaceful life in Venlind. Why in the world would you wish to—" Sigurd started.

"—To move where her father is? Whom she loves desperately?" Ciel interrupted, sighing. "Truly, Sigurd… There are times I've read these stories to Bea, pondering if you might benefit more."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Varant is bitingly cold," Sigurd said quietly. "Colder than you are imagining. It isn't easy to live there."

"Then we must buy thick clothes and blankets," Ciel murmured.

"It's a dangerous place to live," Sigurd said. His voice was edged with an anxious note.

"In the castle?" Ciel asked, eyes half-lidded, voice drowsy."If even that falls, Sigurd… then is the empire itself not forfeit?"

For the longest time, Sigurd didn't respond, his hopes and fears clashing so fiercely he couldn't tell what was selfless or selfish.

"Are you certain about this, Ciel…?" Sigurd finally asked.

But she didn't answer. She was already asleep.

He lay there in silence, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of their breaths.

Truth be told, it was difficult to sleep, in spite of his exhaustion. A man, woman, and child—and three stuffed animals—made for a bed far warmer than Sigurd was used to. To say nothing of how crowded it was.

It took time for sleep to settle in.

And just before it did, he leaned in and placed a kiss on the forehead of the woman he loved and then their daughter.

"Then, if your heart remains unchanged by morning," Sigurd said softly, almost to himself. "I'll make a place… both of you can call home."

He closed his eyes. And he finally drifted to sleep.

The next day, before heading on to Varant, they all made the trip to Venlind. Ciel and Bea had to gather their belongings—Ciel her apothecary tools, and Bea, of course, the rest of her stuffed companions.

They also had to say their goodbyes.

To the villagers who'd been sick with worry, the mother and daughter's return was met with heartfelt relief and joy. They hadn't known what became of them. And it had been three entire days since anyone had seen little Bea.

But the ache of parting also lingered in the air.

"Thank you for everything, Mayor Gorwin," Ciel said, with a bow.

The mayor waved his hand, as if embarrassed to see her bow. Then he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Well it's all come on mighty sudden, ye know," Gorwin said, with a sad smile. "But I'm truly happy for the both of ye. All of us were shakin' in our prayers every night for ye, Bea! And it seems God answered."

"I'm sorry I scared everyone," Bea said quietly.

Gorwin's eyes misted. Then he knelt down and hugged her.

"We were scared because we love ye, Bea. And we'll be happy if we ever see ye 'round these parts," Gorwin said, his voice gentle. "Now if only that clot son o' mine'd hurry in 'fore he ends up kickin' himself for not sayin' goodbye proper."

"Iain!" Katalin's voice came from outside the shop, loud and fed up. "Iain get in there! Yer actin' like a baby!"

"Ye always get real high and mighty when yer agreein' with my dad!" Iain blustered.

"Iain, now ain't the time, ye know…" Johann chided him.

After a minute of fussing, Iain was finally dragged in by both of his friends. Bea pattered up to them.

"I heard you're headin' off with your papa," Katalin said, kneeling down with a grin. "None of us could believe yer the daughter of a duke! That makes ye a lady, doesn't it? All those times this daft goat acted rude to ye, and ye could've said off with his head!"

Iain gave her a swift kick. She kicked him right back.

"Then, it's goodbye for now, Bea," Johann said, with a soft smile. "I assume ye'll be takin' your stuffies… to… to…"

Johann cleared his throat, looking away. Whatever he'd meant to say got stuck as a lump in his throat.

"Everyone looks so sad…" Bea said, her voice getting small.

At that, Katalin's grin began to wobble. "Well, ye see… All of us jes' took for granted that we'd get to watch ye grow up, ye know." She swiped at her eyes. "And only now are we realizin' how much we wanted to see it."

"Don't cause trouble over in Varant, ye hear?" Iain said gruffly. "Yer a noble now. Ye can't be runnin' off like a stray puppy."

"Iain!" Gorwin balked. "Just when are ye gonna learn to discern time and place?!"

But Iain didn't budge. "And if ye run off in a place like that, ye might not make it back home…" he muttered, keeping his arm over his eyes.

Then the boy stiffened. Bea had hugged him tight around the waist, her small cheek pressing against his tunic.

"Mama said you helped her find me," Bea whispered. "Thank you… for watching me always, Iain."

Iain was fighting a desperate battle against his tears, his arm still over his face like a shield. A hitching breath threatened to turn into something more—but he didn't let it.

"Mama says we'll come back every winter, when it gets too cold…" Bea said softly. "I wanna play with you all then…"

"Will ye really?!" Katalin exclaimed happily.

"We'll see ye then, Bea," Johann said, giving her a pat on the head.

Iain took a bit to respond. And after a few moments of clearing his throat…

"Ye better," he choked out.

Somewhere else in the Singing Mountains, in the quiet village of Kor, Dame Alera walked through a decaying mansion. She'd just delivered painful news to an innkeeper's daughter named Mavis, who'd loved a certain Sir Voltus since they were children.

As Alera told it, Voltus had been slain in the midst of battle, saving the lives of innocent civilians from a horde of bandits, cutting down a dozen of them before succumbing to his wounds.

It was an ending the man himself didn't deserve. But perhaps the woman who loved him did.

Alera made her way deeper into the mansion, wrinkling her nose at the putrid scent and shuddering at the way the floorboards softly sagged underfoot. The angels' weathered stares seemed to be accusing her, for leaving a young girl to cage herself in all this rot.

As Alera neared the study, she heard the soft murmur of a female voice.

"Puh…Perhaps I s-s-should try the b-blue ink today…" the voice drifted out hesitantly. "T-t-that m-might look pruh…prettier."

Anxious about intruding on the girl's private world, Alera softened her steps as she approached. All the same, Astrid heard her. The murmuring stopped and was soon followed by the sounds of cautious shuffling behind the curtain.

"M-M-Mikhael…? T-that's not you, is it…?" Astrid called out.

"...You may not recall me, Lady Astrid," Alera said. "But I was once a knight of the Argent Guard."

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by the sound of the rustling, twisting, trembling of her curtain. When Astrid spoke again, her voice was brittle. "Wuh… One of f-f-father's knights. M-merely s-seven years tar—tardy—…"

"Why now…?" Astrid asked quietly.

Why now, indeed? Since she'd returned from Amière, Voltus's panic-stricken face wouldn't leave her mind.

"My heart stirred with unrest, Lady Astrid," Alera said. "I listened to its ache. And it led me here."

"Suh…so, i-it's p-p-pity, t-then…" Astrid said. The sounds of sniffling followed.

"To say there is none would be a falsehood," Alera admitted. "Yet if shame were all that moved me, I would have come to Kor long ago."

Though the only thing before her was a drawn curtain, creased and clutched by unseen fingers, Alera lowered herself to one knee.

"On the darkest night I have ever known," Alera said softly, "the stars pierced the veil. Their quiet light called to mind the young lady of the house I once served, still shining though the world around her had gone dim."

There came the soft, muffled sounds of someone trying their best not to cry from behind the curtain.

"My heart ached to know," Alera said with a faint smile, "how bright that light might yet become."