Fret's perspective: New Year's Festival

This is the counterpart to the previous tale.

Contains depiction of animal death.

We recommend skipping this section if it causes discomfort.

Let us go on a picnic!

It was the day before the New Year's Festival when Stella invited me.

I had planned to remain at home until tomorrow, as I was scheduled to work guard duty on the day of the New Rice Festival. Yet, I had no particular plans in mind.

Above all, if it were the plea of her true younger sister—after suffering so much and finally returning—she would abandon any prior engagement without hesitation and hasten to her side.

But agreeing without hesitation would be dull.

An unexpected invitation, then? What has occurred?

Yes, I found a most beautiful unicorn in the stables! I wish to ride that creature… but I am not yet skilled at horsemanship, so it would be delightful if my elder brother would help me. And today, the weather is fine, is it not? On such a day, a picnic is a must.

The mannerisms that made her seem younger than her years were surely a remnant of an early childhood she had not been allowed to enjoy. Yet even such selfishness was endearing beyond measure.

"Which unicorn is it?"

"The one smallest in stature, with pure white fur—third from the back."

Recalling the memory, that must have been Spica’s horse.

"That’s surely Luna. Spica’s horse."

Stella puckered her lips in a pout.

"Spica always gets the best ones... I still don’t have my own horse."

"Then let’s ask Spica to give you that one. It’s fine—Spica already has another horse from me. Besides, hasn’t that one been rarely returning from the academy lately? A creature so indifferent, so lacking in devotion to its master, would quickly accept you, who come to visit every single day, as its true master."

Of course—once one realized that Stella had not yet received a horse, the answer came naturally. She had answered on her own, but it made sense; Stella had not ridden for so long that it was no concern. Indeed, the horse would likely be happy to serve someone who desired it so deeply. And now, Stella had been welcomed by the entire family, just returned home. If the horse had been offered to her, it would surely accept her as its master in turn.

Seeing Stella clap her hands in delight, saying, “Really? Promise!”—Spica felt certain her judgment had been correct.

In truth, it was a mistaken choice. Spica had believed Fret, with his experience, to be an expert in handling horses, and indeed, Fret had been outstanding in that regard.

Fret, however, had underestimated the unicorn. He saw it merely as a horse only a woman could ride, a capricious beast that bore no one but its chosen mistress. Thus he failed to grasp the depth of its loyalty and devotion. In his experience, other magical steeds could be subdued by force and would then submit obediently to their new rider—indeed, if long unmounted, they might even forget their former master entirely. That was his standard, and it proved his undoing.

Stella immediately began changing into her picnic attire and preparing their supplies. I, too, changed and wrote a letter—addressed to Spica, informing her that I was giving the unicorn to Stella.

The unicorn had, after all, been born from a mare I had once gifted. It was within my right to choose her next master.

Yet Spica had changed since Stella arrived…

Once, she followed me like a foal at its mother’s heels, so devoted to family. Now she does not even come near the house.

To me, Stella—having endured such hardship—was not so much comforted as she was ignored, while I saw only the noble customs and values being imposed without thought.

Most troubling, lately, is the revulsion I feel when observing Spica’s treatment of Stella…

It feels, strangely, as though Spica is tormenting her. That is what Stella herself has told me.

Where has the gentle-hearted Spica gone?

Yet I believe this is not malice, but jealousy—born from having lost her family, and in losing that, herself.

A troublesome little sister. She is trying to draw my attention from Stella, jealous that I look her way. Only I can reprimand her, and lately I have been treating her with a little more severity. She will come to understand one day—this, too, is love. She is a clever girl, after all.

And lately, I have felt a growing unease with that cleverness.

Spica’s intelligence and purity stood head and shoulders above her peers. I sometimes felt as though I, so small and ordinary, were being left behind by my own sister.

Thus, to see Stella act with jealousy, and to know that only I could scold her—this gave me a quiet satisfaction, as though I stood above her.

And yet… I have affection for Spica. Naturally, I have never spoken of it to anyone. It must remain unknown.

It was only after Stella returned that I became aware of it. Both Stella and Spica are sisters to me, dear in their own ways—but the nuance, the subtle pull, is different. The vector of feeling diverges. Moreover, though we are step-siblings, we have grown up as siblings. Above all, Spica is a candidate for the royal bride. I cannot let my feelings be known. There is a part of me that is desperate to keep them hidden.

I must not be caught thinking such dark thoughts—wondering, if Spica were to be rejected by all others, perhaps I could take her as my wife and become a true family. That kind of fantasy must remain buried.

Perhaps my distaste for Stella stems not from her, but from the fear that someone I care for should be cruel.

And so, after finishing breakfast, we set out with a large basket toward the stables.

In the stables, even without our word, the unicorn had already been saddled and armored.

I came to understand, upon reading the letter I had just written, that Spica had arranged everything.

Moreover, it seemed Spica, aware that Stella had no dedicated steed of her own, had even prepared her own saddle and armor.

Stella was clearly delighted, so I felt a quiet relief.

The stablehand protested, but I told him there was no issue—let Luna be brought forth. I also had him prepare Schupeer, my own horse, while I was at it.

That task took up more time than I had expected.

When it came time to depart, the unicorn refused utterly to allow Stella to mount.

Just as I considered forcing the matter, it was Stella who restrained me.

“Brother,” she said, “didn’t the stablehand say just now? A unicorn chooses its rider. I haven’t yet been chosen by this one. So today, let us simply go together, and grow close.”

Fortunately, my horse is a warhorse—broad in frame and strong in stamina. Two riders would pose no issue at all. Perhaps even heavier than when I wore full ceremonial attire with sword at my side during the guard’s ceremony.

“Very well, then. If Stella says so, we shall ride together today and let the unicorn follow behind. There’s a spot I’ve heard described as suitable for a picnic. Once we arrive, we’ll try again.”

Stella smiles brightly, her voice light with anticipation.

They move at a leisurely pace through the city walls of the imperial capital, heading toward the western hills. This place is a familiar retreat for citizens of the capital—fields of flowers in spring, red reeds in autumn. As they descend the gentle slopes, a stretch of pond and woodland unfolds beneath them.

They had walked slowly, so by the time they arrived, midday had passed. I had expected the unicorn, which had so strongly resisted carrying Stella, to be even more reluctant to follow, yet it obediently trailed behind, and I felt a small surprise.

If it continues like this, I thought, it might soon grow accustomed to carrying Stella—this eased a small burden from my heart.

We descended the hill and settled beneath a walnut tree, at a respectful distance from the pond.

My beloved steed, well-trained to heed my commands, I whispered to it to come when called, then removed its shoes. I tethered the unicorn’s bridle to a rope tied around the walnut tree.

All around, the hillside was painted crimson with broom grass swaying in the wind, rising up to meet the sky.

Stella, contented, began arranging the contents of her basket.

Inside the basket were sandwiches layered with ham and cheese, apples, cookies, scones, and tea.

A little short on meat, but it could not be helped.

Once the meal ended, Stella’s eagerness to touch the unicorn was palpable.

“Shall we try riding it soon?” I asked her, and her eyes lit up as she nodded firmly, “Yes!”

I decided to begin as one would with a regular horse—acclimating her gradually.

I instructed Stella to hold a carrot snack and approach the unicorn.

Without hesitation, she extended her arm, placing the carrot in the palm of her hand and offering it beneath the unicorn’s nose.

Should she show fear now, she might crouch too deeply, be licked by the horse, or even suffer injury—but she seemed steady.

The unicorn, in turn, ate the carrot from her hand.

She instructed her to touch and stroke the unicorn’s face.

Horses were naturally timid creatures, with wide fields of vision but deeply averse to contact from unseen directions.

To show she meant no harm, looking into the animal’s face was effective. She explained that the key was not to approach directly, but slightly from the front and to extend the hand slowly. Stella followed the instruction.

The unicorn remained calm under the gentle touch.

This should be safe, she decided, and finally attempted to mount the saddle.

Yet, though it had allowed itself to be touched before, it recoiled at the idea of being ridden. When she placed her foot on the stirrup beside it, the creature shifted its body away to the opposite side; when her foot touched the saddle, it lifted its front legs and stood on its hind legs, as if in defiance. If someone approached from the side, it would shake its head violently from left to right. With a common horse, this would not matter—but the unicorn’s horn cut through the air with a whistling snap, making it impossible to approach until the beast had settled.

I had wanted to support her and help her mount, but instead I kept the reins closed directly in front of Luna, preventing her from turning her head and fleeing, and urged Stella to ride. She had practiced horseback riding at home, so though hesitant, she managed to climb onto the unicorn’s back.

This should settle her now.

Yet Spica was astonished at how easily she rode such a spirited beast. She muttered inwardly, if Stella were truly docile, her master should have taught her to recognize a change in ownership long ago.

“Hey, big brother, does this mean I’m now the one in charge of this little one?”

As I answered her voice from above with, “You’ll be her master soon enough,” I relaxed my grip just slightly. In that instant, the unicorn broke free of the reins and bolted forward.

In an instant, the unicorn dashed toward the pond, slowing only as it reached the water’s edge, then lowered itself to the ground and trembled. Stella, who had clung desperately to the reins, was thrown clear and collapsed some distance away, her body flung to the earth.

I ran frantically, whistling sharply to summon Shupuru. My beloved steed arrived at once, matching my pace, and I leapt onto its back, securing my foot in the stirrup as I rode forward—immediately turning toward Stella.

“Ai-ta-ta-ah… I was thrown…”

Stella appeared unharmed, though she winced, pressing a hand to her waist and lower back, then pouted and stuck out her tongue.

She had clearly not sustained serious injury, yet when I hurried to her side and asked, “Are you all right? Is anything hurt?” she replied only that she had slightly scraped her arm and fallen hard on her backside. I checked her wounds as best I could, and confirmed they matched her report—my relief was profound. It was fortunate the place was overgrown with grass.

I relaxed and turned to look for the stubborn horse, and found it in the center of the pond—yet not swimming, but sinking quietly beneath the surface. Not a cry, not a gasp, only stillness, a quiet descent into the water. The silence was so complete, so mournful, it seemed less like the death of an animal than the passing of something sacred.

“Elder Brother! That horse will die if we leave it like that! Please—help!”

Stella tugged at my sleeve, and I snapped back to awareness. But one man alone could do nothing.

While I stood frozen, my companion—without hesitation—left the sound of my breath behind and dashed forward.

Watching Spica dash forward, I recall—ah, Spica can run even on water.

Spica is pressing her head into the water at the spot where the unicorn sank, desperately trying to pull it up, yet she finds no purchase and struggles to succeed.

After who knows how many attempts, she finally secures the reins—closer inspection reveals a rope-like strand clamped between her teeth as she drags it toward the shore.

The water ripples as if dragging something heavy, the lack of resistance from the object clear.

As she nears the bank, the still form of the unicorn lies motionless on the shallows, washed ashore.

"I'm sorry, Stella… I never meant for this to happen…"

Shame keeps me from meeting Stella’s gaze.

From the hand resting on her shoulder, still seated, I feel a faint tremor.

No wonder. Even I, a soldier’s daughter, am no stranger to corpses—but never like this.

"Brother… what will become of that one?"

To my surprise, Stella pointed at the unicorn and asked,

“This one cannot remain as it is. We’ll have to either carry it back to the manor or entrust it to a nearby guild for proper disposal.”

I answered, slightly taken aback.

Unicorns are said to be sacred beasts, yet they are still monsters. If left unattended, their remains might gather corruption and become undead. Proper disposal is necessary.

“Then… I’d like to eat it, as a way of honoring it. In the village where I was raised, we did the same. To consume its flesh and blood is to give thanks for life and pay tribute. Is that… not possible?”

That was right. I realized only now how she had been raised.

I had heard similar stories in the military, and I could not deny the logic in such a practice.

In any case, the unicorn would be disassembled and repurposed as material by the guild, so surely Stella’s small wish could be granted.

“It’s not impossible. But if we’re eating it, it will yield a considerable amount of meat.”

“Couldn’t we share it like we did in the village? Then it would vanish quickly. And not just me—Stella, who has cared for me all this time, should be honored with it as well…”

Stella lowered her gaze to the unicorn, her voice quiet.

Then it struck me—I could offer the meat at tomorrow’s New Harvest Festival. That way, the household members could partake in the offering, and all would have the chance to taste the unicorn’s rare flesh. The meat could be distributed as part of the festival’s feast.

When I suggested it, Stella leapt up. “Oh, please do! Brother, please help me with it!”

Afterward, I had the guards stationed nearby fetch a cargo cart and bring the unicorn into the manor. It took a considerable amount of time.

On the ride back, Stella slumped, her voice heavy with sorrow. “Why did that child die like that… Was it my fault… Did I not behave properly as a master… Is that why it died…?”

My anger flared violently. Had Spica not properly explained to the unicorn that she was its rightful mistress? Was that not the reason the creature had been confused, driven to madness, and met such a fate? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to rebuke Spica—had she trained it properly, spoken to it with clarity, Stella would not have been injured, nor would she be suffering so deeply now.

Upon returning to the manor, I reported to my father, relayed the dismantling, and informed him of the change in tomorrow’s conduct before immediately making my way to Spica. On the way, I passed the head steward, who told me she was in the library.

I kicked open the library door and found Spica, startled but stepping forward toward me.

Seeing Spica after so long, she seemed older, and I felt a different kind of unease—something not anger—rising within me. I tried to hide it by raising my voice, harsh and sharp, and reprimanded her.

“Why did you not speak more firmly to that useless horse! Because of you, Stella fell and was injured, did she not!?”

Spica widened her large eyes, staring up at me from near my chest with disbelief.

“A fall? Did my lady sister… is she unharmed?”

Ah… sweet…

My thoughts momentarily drifted far ahead, into the future.

I quickly replied, “Ah, just a scrape.”

Spica’s voice, soft with relief, reached him as she murmured, “Thank goodness.”

A momentary doubt escaped his lips.

“Doesn’t seem as though she deliberately sent the unicorn bound to the Lord.”

Instantly, Spica fixed him with a sharp, piercing gaze—her eyes narrowed, her expression intense—as she spoke.

“Of course not. I had no word today that my lady sister would ride Luna… I know she is unharmed, but was Luna well?”

Ah… that expression—so fierce, yet somehow fragile, as if she were made to be guarded…

And she smells good…

No—again, his thoughts had drifted ahead, to the day after tomorrow.

“Stella refused to mount so stubbornly that we had to ride together in Shupool. After that, I sent Luna to follow. Once we reached the destination, I had Stella attempt riding, but she kicked and bucked, nearly falling. Then she charged straight into the pond. It was quite the ordeal.”

He spoke with a gesture that said, *Well, that was quite the ordeal*, disguising his thoughts as best he could.

“Is Luna safe, then?”

Spica asked once more.

At that question, something in him flared—sharp, unexpected.

“Hey! Even if it was just a scratch, your sister was injured. You care more for a horse than your own sister? Calm yourself. You’ll see her tomorrow. Give thanks to Stella’s mercy and compassion.”

To be reunited with even a single fragment of the dead horse, to feed upon it and live—was that not the greatest mercy of all?

He had once heard that on the battlefield, sometimes all that remained was a report of death, nothing else.

To be granted the chance to say farewell—there was no kindness greater than that.

At that moment, he had forgotten to tell Spica of her unicorn’s death, and never once thought of it again.

Perhaps he had already assumed that, in his mind, Spica knew of the unicorn’s death and would act accordingly—so he thought it need not be said.

At the banquet the next day, Fret arrived at the scene upon Stella’s cry.

What met his eyes was Stella trembling, and Spica on her knees upon the floor, writhing in the agony of vomiting.

Asked to explain the situation, I recounted the sequence of events since yesterday and my own thoughts.

Mother questioned me sternly, yet did not press the matter deeply.

Spica’s eyes, glistening weakly, searched the room—yet Spica was already gone. He felt guilt for not having been the first to support her drooping shoulders, yet reminded himself that Spica, too, was at fault.

He did not see Spica again in the hall, yet he thought, with misplaced certainty, that she must be sulking from reproach, and without searching for her, he returned to the festivities, taking Stella’s hand.

Later, Fret learned from the household servants that Spica had been listless and unable to eat.

Finding Spica gazing listlessly out the window in the sunroom at midday, he said,

“If you’re so sorrowful, then simply rejoin Temis with the unicorn once more.”

Spica’s reply was a cry of despair.

“Even if I do, Luna will not return… And Temis no longer holds the strength to bond with a spirit steed. Do you truly wish for yet another of my precious things to be lost? Are you asking me to let die the child you gave me, my Elder Brother?”

He knew it was a misstep, yet he could not retract it.

“That’s not what I meant… Don’t keep that gloomy look on your face! If you want a new horse, I’ll give you one.”

Yet Spica quietly shook her head.

“I’m well enough. In this life, my beloved steed is only Thymis.”

Fret, wanting Spica to cheer up, felt anger at her refusal. “Do as you please, then,” he muttered.

Alone in her room, Spica whispered:

“To my Elder Brother, Thymis and Luna are replaceable… and so am I…”

She spoke to the small, cracked piece of her heart.