"Escaped?" Lucia looked at Kristoff, whose face was awkward, and asked in surprise, "I remember he was barely breathing when I left yesterday. He slept for a while and managed to run off in the middle of the night, without either of you noticing?"
The young Ancient Dragon Knight blushed and coughed twice. "Your Highness must be joking. I only occasionally go to help Trisha, and at night... I don't live there."
Lucia froze for a moment, then realized the other man's thoughts had gone completely off track. But when he thought about it, his own words really had been ambiguous, so he could only laugh awkwardly and move on. "Well, when he left, did he leave a note or something for Trisha?"
"He did, actually—" Kristoff said, undoing his breastplate and retrieving a crumpled strip of cloth from an inner pocket. He handed it to Lucia. "He stuffed this under the pillow on his sickbed, with a gold ingot on top. You can take a look."
Lucia took the strip and unfolded it. A line of large, crooked characters had been written on it in ink. If he hadn't had some familiarity with the runic script, which mainly used pictographs to convey meaning, he probably wouldn't have been able to read it.
"Doctor, knight, and that white-haired little brother, I asked the Misbegotten in the room what you look like. Thank you. This piece of gold will have to do as repayment. It's your misfortune to have met a fellow like me. Let's part ways here. I hope we never meet again."
What the hell was "white-haired little brother" supposed to mean?!
Lucia grumbled inwardly. As an Omen of some standing, very likely carrying royal blood—and possibly even a close relative of the brothers Morgott and Mohg—couldn't he be