Chapter Text
He was in a melancholy sort of mood today. And it was on days like this that he felt particularly drawn to remove the glove from his left hand and examine his soulmark in detail. He had no idea why he did this. Obviously to add to his own unhappy thoughts.
With a sad smile, Wriothesley ran his fingertips over the intricate ancient runes. It was a good thing that he was the only one in the office at the moment and could afford to do that.
Soulmark. A strange thing, no matter how you look at it. All humans were born with a soulmark on their left wrist. A few runes that were arranged in a row in a random order. And everyone had a different set of runes, usually between three and nine symbols. Perhaps it was an ancient language, but no one had yet been able to decipher it, and no similar symbols had been found in books. So maybe it was not an ancient language, but just a code to find a soulmate. After all, a soulmate would have an identical set of runes in the same order. Also, these runes would light up the first time they met. Until that moment, the runes on the skin remained colourless. They were almost invisible. But the moment a person's eyes met those of their soulmate, the runes would change colour.
Wriothesley's five runes glowed sky-blue.
And then there was black. Runes were coloured black when the soulmate died or rejected the relationship. And if a person recognised this connection for themselves at that moment, if they believed in it, they were doomed. For it is impossible to survive without the other half of your soul.
A person who lost a soulmate experienced such intense mental anguish that it almost always ended in either severe depression, madness or death. This condition was known as the Dead Soul Syndrome.
And it was because of the Dead Soul Syndrome that soulmarks became taboo in the world. They were hidden under clothes and never talked about again.
Soulmarks were a mockery from Heaven. A great good was promised to the wretched humans. They bought it, rejoiced, and began to praise Heaven for this blessing. But only at first. Then it became clear what the catch was.
There were hardly any happy stories about the reunion of soulmates. Almost all the soulmarks led people to their soulmates, who they lost almost immediately. The Dead Soul Syndrome was a very common occurrence.
And then, about twenty years ago, people finally realised that one happy couple wasn't worth the suffering of hundreds of others. And soulmarks were declared obscene. They stopped publishing books about finding a soulmate, removed plays with references to soulmarks from theatres, forbade bards to sing songs about the reunion of two halves.
The fashion for "blind" relationships began to spread among people. People stopped waiting for and searching for their soulmates. Parents taught their children to ignore their runes to protect them from possible suffering.
And all this was right, of course. Wriothesley supported it all.
But as the Duke was more than twenty years old, he still remembered what it was like to know that somewhere out there, ahead of him, was a meeting with his soulmate. To know it, to wait for it, to imagine what his soulmate would look like.
The Duke remembered that thrill, that anticipation of a miracle, and now that his soulmark was blue... And now, now that his soulmark was glowing blue, he fully realised how right the policy on soulmarks had been. For his mark had fooled him too. It had led him to someone who would never respond to it.
Oh, Wriothesley did of course know who his supposed soulmate had been. Or rather, who made the runes on his wrist glow. Wriothesley didn't want to call the Chief Justice his soulmate, not even his supposed soulmate. Because that couldn't happen. Not ever.
Of course, when they'd first met, Wriothesley had immediately felt the burning sensation on his arm and realised what it meant. But in keeping with the current fashion, he hadn't moved a muscle. Nor, when their eyes met, did the Chief Justice react as if anything unusual had happened. So Wriothesley tried to put the incident completely out of his mind and go about his normal life, ignoring the now bright blue runes on his wrist. And then Wriothesley found out who Neuvillette was, and was finally convinced of the correctness of his actions. A person like Neuvillette probably didn't even have a soulmark.
Wriothesley was in the wrong one-in-a-thousand happy couple. Which was to be expected. The Duke wasn't exactly the luckiest guy in town. But that wasn't all bad. He managed to avoid the Dead Soul Syndrome because he didn't get emotionally involved. And then he'd realised how meaningless his soulmark was and had finally rid himself of any illusions.
Someone knocked at the door. Wriothesley quickly put his glove back on and answered, "Yes?"
Sigewinne poked her head through the door, "Your Grace, do you remember you have a meeting with the Chief Justice at seven this evening?"
"Erm, yes?"
Sigewinne sighed heavily but continued, "Anyway, His Honour sent a message. He missed his lunch, so he's asking you to meet him today, not in his office, but at the Marlin Restaurant."
"Oh. OK. No problem," the Duke replied.
Sigewinne sighed again and looked at him critically, "I hope, Your Grace, you at least know the reason for your meeting with the Chief Justice today?"
"Yes, I do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Sigewinne, who do you think I am?"
"Very well," his assistant suddenly smiled broadly. "Because I don't know. You didn't inform me," she added, just before closing the door. "Have fun on your date!"
"What? What date?" the Duke tried to object, but Sigewinne had already left and didn't hear him.
Wriothesley shook his head. That girl. What kind of a date could they have with the Chief Justice? No, that was out of the question.
He and Neuvillette had formed a good working relationship, perhaps even a friendship. But dating was out of the question. Not even if Neuvillette had actually asked him out. Which, by the way, he hadn't. And he'd never shown that he was attracted to the Duke. They had a purely professional relationship. And a little friendship. That's all.
Wriothesley didn't want to be left with the Dead Soul Syndrome because he'd carelessly fallen in love with his soulmate. Oh, that sounded even more confused.
The Duke arrived at the Marlin Restaurant, which was a little off the beaten tourist track, ten minutes ahead of the agreed time. Wriothesley had been to the restaurant before, but a long time ago. Still, he could remember the pleasant atmosphere and the good food.
And the maitre d' seemed to remember that the Duke had been here before. A fair-haired young man in an elegant suit smiled warmly at the Duke's greeting, "Your Grace! I'm so glad you haven't forgotten us! Do you have a reservation? Or shall I find you a table?"
"Oh, that won't be necessary. We have a reservation. I suppose so. I think so," Wriothesley was a little embarrassed at the realisation that he really hadn't thought this through. He scratched his neck awkwardly. "But it's probably not booked in my name. And that person hasn't arrived yet. Because I'm a bit early..."
The maitre d', seeing his confusion, rushed to his aid, "It's nothing, Your Grace! Just tell me whose name is on the reservation and I'll take you there. And there you can wait for your date!"
"It's not..." Wriothesley started to say, but stopped himself. Seriously, it was just a common phrase. And the maitre d' was not interested in the details of the Duke's private life. He sighed, "Monsieur Neuvillette."
"Ah, His Honour is here!" the young man smiled brightly. "Please, Your Grace, follow me."
Well, Wriothesley shouldn't have been surprised. The Chief Justice was the most punctual and responsible man Wriothesley knew. It made sense for him to arrive a little early for work meetings.
The maitre d' led Wriothesley to a side table, half hidden by the high backs of the sofas. Neuvillette was indeed already there, rising from his chair as they approached.
"Your Grace," the Chief Justice greeted him with a nod.
"Your Honour," Wriothesley replied.
And then a strange thing happened.
The maitre d' kindly pulled back a chair for him and Wriothesley sat down. Then Wriothesley looked up and noticed the look Neuvillette, still standing, gave the maitre d'. There was something about that look that sent icy shivers down his spine. The young man obviously noticed the cold, unblinking eyes that were fixed on him as well, he bowed and left in a hurry. Wriothesley really hoped they hadn't broken any strange etiquette. To be honest, Wriothesley was already so far removed from all those social niceties.
"Neuvillette?"
At the sound of his voice, the Chief Justice woke from his trance. He smiled slightly, looked at Wriothesley with more welcoming eyes, and finally sat down, "I took the liberty of ordering wine and cheese. The rest is up to you. My treat."
"Ah," Wriothesley took the menu hesitantly. "Actually, I'd rather trust your choice."
"As you wish," Neuvillette agreed easily, as if he hadn't noticed his friend's awkwardness. "What do you think of the crab meat?"
Neuvillette finally ordered, asking Wriothesley leading questions and following his answers. And while they waited for their hors d'oeuvres, he handed him a folder of documents. That's what this meeting was about. And of course Wriothesley remembered. He remembered this meeting with Neuvillette as well. It was just that he sometimes teased Sigewinne by imitating his confusion and forgetfulness. Sigewinne had been very sweet when she tried to scold him for it.
Wriothesley opened the file. He certainly hadn't expected the Chief Justice to make a mistake and give him the wrong case. The Chief Justice was too responsible to make such mistakes. But the Duke just needed something to keep his hands busy while they waited for their dinner. And suddenly, right on the front page, he found... a flower? Yes, it was a dried purple flower in a folder.
Wriothesley picked it up by the stem and looked at Neuvillette in question.
Neuvillette stared at him for a few seconds, as if assessing his expression, and then sighed, "I'm sorry. That must be my secretary. Lately she has taken it upon herself to revitalise my office. Or so she calls it. I now have vases of fresh flowers in my office on a regular basis. And, apparently, a herbarium in secret documents".
Wriothesley smiled. Now that the mystery of the flower's sudden appearance had been solved, he looked more closely at the flower itself. And realised why it was withered. This flower was not from Fontaine.
"I think it's from Sumeru," the Duke said, examining the once delicate petals. Now they were translucent, almost ethereal, with dark veins. It was beautiful. "A ghost rose. Or a twilight rose. I'm not sure," Wriothesley looked at his friend.
"I am afraid I cannot say. I don't know anything about flowers," Neuvillette answered the unasked question.
"Can I keep it?" the Duke asked suddenly. He didn't know where it had come from, but suddenly he really wanted to keep this herbarium.
"Sure."
And then the hors d'oeuvres arrived. And work was put aside for a sumptuous dinner.