Chapter 10

　　"Well? Have you deduced the cause?" Owen asked, his voice pulling him from the pointless memory.

　　Sylvia, who had been lost in thought, hesitated.

　　"It may be Mana Sharing."

　　"An exchange was inevitable. We slept together."

　　"I do not mean an exchange. I mean a Sharing."

　　He blinked, as if to ask what the difference could possibly be. Unwilling to touch the wretched truth, Sylvia sidestepped the explanation.

　　"The imperial physician said my mana was in turmoil. I assumed it was one of Aerut’s pranks, but now I believe you were the cause."

　　The realization sent a throb of pain through her temples. She had thought nothing of it then, but now she understood the physician’s careful tone when she had asked when Sylvia’s mission with Heston had ended.

　　She thought I had exchanged mana with Heston.

　　When individuals with high compatibility engaged in physical contact, a mana exchange naturally occurred. Sometimes, the other’s mana would linger, influencing one’s own. She recalled hearing that the greater the compatibility and the more intense the contact, the stronger the exchange. In exceedingly rare cases, it could lead to a synchronization of emotions and physical states. For some reason, what had happened with Owen seemed to fall into that rare category. The physician, unaware, had seen her mana disturbed and naturally assumed Heston, her partner, was the cause.

　　Surely she did not truly believe that? If she did, I would be seen as the most depraved woman alive, engaging in such intimacies with Heston outside of a mission. If such a rumor were to spread…

　　The thought alone was horrifying. Her only hope was that the physician had seemed somewhat placated when she had mentioned Aerut. Anxious, Sylvia began to gnaw on her thumb, but a long finger gently parted her lips and freed the digit from her teeth.

　　"What is it? Are we dying?"

　　She looked up into Owen’s face, which was not merely expressionless but almost vacant. Sylvia pulled her hand away.

　　"When partners with good compatibility exchange mana, their energies can become entangled, leading them to share states of arousal. Had I experienced this with Heston instead of you, I would have recognized it as Mana Sharing immediately."

　　"After all," she continued, her eyes sharp, "our compatibility test determined we were the worst possible match."

　　Owen did not seem surprised by her words. His deep amber eyes were more skilled at discerning what another person knew than at revealing any information of his own. And just as he suspected, she knew more.

　　"You tampered with that test, did you not?"

　　Four years ago, only Owen and Heston had been without partners. Heston had refused others for Sylvia’s sake, but Owen had remained alone because he truly could not find a compatible Supporter. Unwilling to let his prodigious talents go to waste, their superiors had ordered a compatibility test between him and Sylvia before finalizing her partnership with Heston. They reasoned that while Heston would likely find another partner, Owen would not, making a match with him the more logical choice if their compatibility proved high. It had been her first such test. Standing on the cool altar of the temple, watching her blood and Owen’s fall into the round magic sphere, she had been seized by a sense of foreboding.

　　I will be partnered with Owen.

　　The thought had been a certainty as she watched their blood spread like a blooming flower. She had worked herself to the bone to be a partner worthy of Heston, but at every crucial juncture, fate had betrayed her. It seemed that cruel pattern would hold. The results took a day. Wracked with anxiety, Sylvia had paced restlessly until, in the dead of night, she found herself drawn back to the temple. The pristine white structure, as if built from the bones of a divine beast, was bathed in an ethereal blue light. She knew she could not enter, that there was no way to alter the outcome.

　　Why had she come? She had been about to turn away, sighing with self-loathing, when a dark shadow emerged from the temple. At first, she thought it a trick of the light, or a ghost. But then the moonlight caught a flash of brilliant gold hair, and she realized it was Owen. For four years, she had never spoken of seeing him there. After all, his mysterious visit had been followed by the very result she had prayed for. But now, an undeniable truth lay between them, and Sylvia trembled with a belated, crushing guilt. He had defiled a sacred place and overturned its judgment. Owen watched her, his expression unreadable, as all the hidden pieces clicked into place in her mind.

　　Sylvia was certain he would offer some cowardly excuse, like, Well, you received what you desired, did you not? But he simply turned, crossed the room, and cut to the heart of the matter.

　　"So, how long must we endure this?"

　　"What?"

　　She was taken aback by how swiftly he had moved past his transgression. He merely added, with unnerving calm, "What happened then is of no importance now."

　　"No one can enter a temple under a restriction ward."

　　"And yet, I did."

　　"Are you toying with me?"

　　"What is it that worries you? That I might pose a threat to the Empire?"

　　Seeing her lips pressed into a thin line, Owen chuckled.

　　"Do not worry. I can assure you, that is impossible. If you are so concerned, you may place a restriction on me yourself."

　　"I am a Supporter. I cannot wield such magic."

　　"You can," he said. "If you use the power of the treasure I possess."

　　The treasure’s power was boundless. To think he would use the reward he had risked his life for to restrain himself… was he mad? The offer, however, did much to quell her suspicions, though that may well have been his intention. Owen craned his neck to look at the clock, then tapped the toe of her shoe with his own, drawing her attention.

　　"Let us discuss this later. The hour grows late. Should we not first address this immediate problem?"

　　He gestured with his eyes toward the prominent bulge in his trousers. Though it had subsided somewhat, she was still stunned that it remained so… apparent after all this time.

　　"Does it… normally last so long?"

　　"I could not say. This is the first time I have been left in such a state."

　　His casual shrug was inexplicably infuriating. Sylvia forced her gaze away from him and returned to the topic at hand.

　　"This phenomenon should fade with time. Once the residual mana in each of us dissipates, the sharing will cease."

　　"How long?"

　　"I do not know. It is an exceptionally rare occurrence, and it varies from person to person. It should not last longer than a week, I imagine."

　　"This mana exchange… does it happen from a simple touch of the hands?"

　　"Are you asking to hold my hand?" Sylvia asked, her eyes widening. Owen gave her a look of profound pity. Only then did she realize he was speaking of accidental contact. He is the one who spoke so ambiguously, she grumbled, her face flushing, as she laid out the terms of their new arrangement.

　　"To be safe, we should avoid being in the same space. And you—you must absolutely refrain from touching… or using… that."

　　He laughed, amused by the vague direction in which her finger was pointing.

　　"In Wascon, they say wives fasten chastity belts upon their husbands. This feels much the same."

　　"Do not say such appalling things! Have you any idea the trouble you cause me? The other day, at the princess’s tea party…!" Her face, which had been calm, bloomed into the color of a ripe apple as she clamped her mouth shut.

　　Owen’s amber eyes lit with interest, seizing upon her unfinished sentence.

　　"At the tea party? Were you aroused at a tea party? Is that why I heard the sound of clattering porcelain?"

　　"If anything of the sort happens again, I swear I will place a ward on you so that you can never touch that thing again for the rest of your life," she growled, like a cornered animal.

　　Owen chuckled and tilted his head.

　　"Then you must avoid Heston as well."

　　Sylvia was startled by the sudden mention of his name. Before she could form a reply, Owen’s long index finger tapped the center of her forehead, as if pinpointing the thought within.

　　"It is exceedingly distressing for me every time you see Heston. Last time, I nearly vomited."

　　His bluntness made her face burn. The thought that Owen had experienced her emotions with such intensity was suddenly unbearable. If her feelings were transmitted so directly, did his heart also flutter at the sight of Heston?

　　"For every time your feelings for him are sent to me, I will pleasure myself once."

　　Owen sighed, his own emotions already stirring with the echo of hers. Sylvia’s head snapped up, ready to protest the absurdity.

　　"What? How are those two things in any way equivalent?"

　　"I will be unable to have congress for some time, so I must find release somehow, must I not? Ah, what a predicament. At this rate, I shall be rubbed raw."

　　He uttered the obscenity in a flat, dry tone that suggested it was no predicament at all. When Sylvia covered her ears and glared at him, his expression became a challenge as his hand moved decisively downward. Believing he was about to produce the object of their conversation, Sylvia chose to flee. She bolted from the room, her talent for escape serving her well, and she was gone before she could witness anything more.

　　"Swift as an arrow, every time."

　　Left alone, Owen stared at the slammed door, then laced his fingers behind his head and fell back onto the bed.

　　"Well, this is a problem."

　　I cannot touch it. What am I to do about my morning erections? It was a grave dilemma. But deciding an answer would present itself in time, Owen closed his eyes.

　　***