112
Talia reflexively checked Varkas’s face.
A dry wind seemed to sweep across his cool features, barren of even the faintest trace of emotion.
Varkas looked up toward the sun, veiled behind a thin sheet of clouds, as if measuring the hour, then cast a steady look toward his adjutant.
“Tell the Wolfram cavalry to prepare for departure at once.”
“Understood.”
As Daren stepped back, Varkas turned around without hesitation.
Talia parted her lips, unsure of what to say.
Should she offer comfort?
Yet Varkas seemed entirely unbothered. Perhaps that was only natural. He had been sent to the capital at five years old. There was no reason for him to harbor any genuine affection for his father.
“We will have to set out today. How are you feeling?”
Varkas asked abruptly as they stepped into the hall.
Talia kept her voice stiff as she answered.
“I have rested for days. I am perfectly fine.”
“You have not recovered fully.”
His tone hardened.
“Riding such a distance in poor health will take a heavy toll. If your condition worsens, tell me immediately.”
Talia, watching his reaction warily, gave a small nod.
He ascended the stairs at an even, deliberate pace. Outside the hallway windows hung a dreary, overcast sky. It seemed likely to rain during the funeral.
The journey back was swift.
After days of steady riding across the open plains, they reached Raedgo Castle two days ahead of schedule.
When the watchman sighted them from afar and sounded a sharp blast on the horn, the drawbridge rattled down. The Wolfram cavalry rode through the castle gates without a moment's pause.
“Welcome back!”
As they entered the courtyard, the waiting servants flocked toward Varkas all at once.
Watching through the carriage window, Talia smoothed her skirts and stepped down.
The maids waiting at the entrance descended the stairs to receive her.
“You must be exhausted after such an arduous journey.”
Aretha spoke on behalf of the household. Talia answered with a slight lift of her chin and moved to Varkas’s side.
Varkas, who was taking a brief report from the butler, scanned her from head to foot.
“I must see my father at once. Will Your Highness accompany me?”
Talia hesitated. In truth, she had no desire to face that spiteful old man again. Yet neither did she wish to leave Varkas alone, even knowing he felt no grief.
“…I will come with you.”
Surprised or not, Varkas studied her in silence for a moment, then nodded toward his brother standing at a distance.
“You as well.”
Lucas, who had stood frozen with a dark countenance, mechanically fell into step behind his brother. Talia deliberately looked past him and followed Varkas.
Moving her stiff legs into the keep, the pungent scent of myrrh, frankincense, and sandalwood pricked her nostrils—incenses burned only when death drew near.
“Lucas!”
Just as they began to climb the stairs, a slender girl came bursting out of the Grand Duke’s bedchamber.
“Why did you take so long! Do you know how alone I’ve been…!”
The girl flew across the corridor and flung herself into Lucas’s arms. The boy, who had stood rigidly, wrapped his arms around his sister’s shoulders as tears pricked his eyes.
Watching the display with discomfort, Talia averted her eyes toward the dimly shadowed bedchamber.
Inside the smoke-laden room, senior priests and retainers stood in a solemn row. Varkas strode in and addressed a priest directly.
“How is he?”
“…I fear he will not last the day.”
The aged priest, hollow-eyed from sleepless nights, answered in a somber hush.
“Prepare yourself, my lord.”
As if hearing the priest’s words, the girl’s sobbing grew louder. Feeling out of place, Talia shifted her footing and drew slightly closer to Varkas.
Peering toward the bed behind its heavy drapes, her gaze caught the skeletal form of an old man. He looked so frail that it was difficult to believe he was the same man who had spewed such venomous vitriol.
She had been looking down at this pitiful ruin for only a few moments when someone violently yanked at her mantle.
“Why is this woman here!”
Raina Raedgo Shearkan’s tear-stained eyes blazed with fury.
“You cursed our father to rot in hell! How dare you show your face here! Get out! Get out right now!”
The screaming girl dragged her toward the door with astonishing force.
Varkas took his sister firmly by the arm, prying her away, and settled his other hand around Talia’s shoulders. At the sight, the girl’s expression twisted even further.
“You’re no better, Brother! Let down by a witch like her…!”
“Be quiet, Raina!”
Lucas pulled his sister swiftly against his chest and clamped a hand over her mouth.
Raina heaved with choked rage before burying her face in Lucas’s chest, weeping uncontrollably.
Then came a voice as harsh as grating metal.
“What is all this noise?”
Talia turned her head sharply.
The old man had lifted his wrinkled lids, glaring at them with eyes glazed over like frost. The weeping girl tore free and rushed to the bedside.
“Father! Are you awake?”
After staring blankly at his daughter’s face for a second, the old man rolled his eyes, scanning the room. When he caught sight of Talia standing at the periphery, his eyes narrowed into slits.
She took half a step behind Varkas. The old man would hardly want her presence now.
Yet he remained surprisingly silent. After fixing her with a dark, hollow gaze, he finally shifted his eyes toward his eldest son. A strange light flickered across his ash-gray face.
“…I was waiting for you, Varkas.”
A dry, choking cough swallowed the rest of his words.
Gasping for air, the old man raised a hand as withered as a dried twig. Answering that silent demand, Varkas leaned down toward the bed.
The old man’s clouded gaze met Varkas’s impassive face.
In that instant, the man who had clung to his bitter pride even on the threshold of death crumbled.
“You… you must despise me.”
It sounded more like a weary confession than a question.
Varkas neither agreed nor denied it, simply looking down at his father in silence. A desperate tempest stirred in the old man’s eyes. His skeletal fingers seized Varkas’s tunic in a frantic grip.
“Tell me one thing. In those eyes of yours… what do you see?”
The sudden question sucked the breath from the room.
The old man pleaded hoarsely.
“Surely you… you must see something different, don't you? Tell me. You must know. What lies beyond death…?”
It sounded as if blood might burst from his throat at any moment amid the wet rattle of phlegm.
The onlookers surrounding the bed went pale as bone. The terror radiating from a man staring into the void seemed to choke the entire chamber.
He pulled Varkas closer with the last of his strength, coughing out a jagged rasp.
“Tell me! What in God's name is on the other side…!”
Only then did Varkas part his firmly set lips.
“Nothing.”
Not only the Grand Duke, but every retainer frozen in place stopped breathing. Talia, too, stared at him in utter disbelief.
Varkas, looking down at his father’s drained face, spoke softly.
“There is nothing in my sight. So rest in peace.”
A tremor rippled across the corner of the old man’s mouth.
Snapping out of his stupor, the priest hurried to the bedside to soothe him.
“Your Grace, put aside your dread. The Lord’s messenger will guide you to peaceful rest.”
The old man, who had been staring with feverish fixation at his heir, slowly lost his strength and slumped back.
Watching him with cool eyes, Varkas straightened.
Talia cautiously caught the edge of his sleeve, feeling an inexplicable urge to anchor him.
He looked down at her with blue eyes that seemed as unreadable as glass beads, then turned his gaze back to the bed.
Soon, the priest began to chant a solemn prayer, yet the terror lingering in the old man’s eyes never fully faded.
Gasping raggedly and muttering disjointed words, the man finally crossed into eternal rest only when dusk descended.
END