Previously
Baldur returns from a successful hunt and summons Jeanne to his office to gift her the skin of a massive black bear he killed personally. Jeanne commissions a tailor to turn the high-quality fur into winter gear for both herself and Ana, marveling at the warmth of the resulting garments.
Thus, the hunt was governed by strict procedures and hierarchy. Once the beasts were driven forward, the Duke would take the lead, followed by the lords in order of precedence, each hunting three beasts in turn.
Among the game gradually forced into view, the bear stood out above all the rest. Fattened on rich feed in preparation for hibernation, the black bear appeared three or four times larger than any ordinary bear. When the beast, startled by the barking dogs and the horns of the beaters, lunged toward the lords along the mountain slope, the thought crossed Baldur’s mind: what if that lustrous, plush fur were made into a coat?
And whose coat would it be? That woman’s.
‘She will freeze to death in those clothes. I warned her repeatedly how cold it gets here.’
She had only experienced summer and autumn in the Skadi Territory; she knew nothing of its winter. No matter how one tried to explain something never felt firsthand, it could never truly sink in. How else could she have fallen asleep beneath a tree in such flimsy attire with rain looming, or gathered apples with both pale, tender legs shamelessly laid bare?
To Baldur’s eyes, Jeanne was far too defenseless. He found himself worried for the tutor.
By the time his thoughts reached that point, the bear was already bounding right before him, and the soldiers moved to shield him. But Baldur did not retreat. Remaining mounted on his horse, he raised his crossbow and aimed straight into the bear’s gaping maw. The quarrel sank deep into its mouth, sending the thrashing beast tumbling down the mountain ridge. He took a spear handed to him by a soldier beside him. Taking great care not to damage the fur, he stepped closer and drove the spearhead clean into the creature’s eye. The next quarry Baldur selected from those the beaters drove forward was a grey wolf.
The hunt continued for three days, and game piled high beneath the banners of each noble house. Commoners requisitioned from the nearby settlements immediately flensed the kills into meat and hides, sprinkling generous mounds of salt over both to preserve them. A portion of the meat went to the villagers, another to the soldiers, while the lords claimed the mass-produced, valuable pelts as their spoils.
Baldur distributed half of the hides among the lords, but he kept the finest pelt set aside for her.
* * *
The bear coat was a wondrous thing. Putting it on did not grant me the strength of a bear, but merely draping it over my shoulders made me so warm that beads of sweat dotted the bridge of my nose.
‘People actually wear something this sweltering?’
Cool summers and dry winters—that had been my concept of the seasons until now. Yet a season so cold that one needed to wear fur was on its way? Snow falling so heavily that one couldn’t even step outside?
‘Why can’t anyone go out just because it snows? Doesn’t it melt once the sun comes up anyway?’
Even hearing it explained, it simply did not register. Soon enough, however, I came to learn what winter truly meant in this place.
About a month after the first snow, a tremendous amount fell while I was asleep.
‘It’s freezing!’
The moment I opened my eyes from sleep, my nose and ears felt as though they would freeze and drop off. The hearth fire had gone out in the night.
I tried to revive the embers with a poker, but no matter how much I stirred the hearth, only ash flew up. My entire body shook violently. When I exhaled, plumes of white mist drifted from my lips. Drawing near the window, the howling whine of the wind reached me from outside—a savage, bloodcurdling sound.
Looking out, the entire world was dyed in white, leaving nothing else visible. While breathtakingly beautiful, it was also somehow terrifying.
Having failed to coax life into the hearth, I had to stomp my feet in place and rub my arms frantically for a long while just to warm up. That was when I remembered the coat that had recently come into my hands. Wrapping it around myself right away took the edge off the bitter chill. Barely, but it did!
I buried my cold nose into the coat’s sleeve. I remained like that until a maid arrived carrying wash water that was much hotter than usual. The girl explained that because the supply pipes had frozen, she had melted snow to prepare it.
The girl tilted her head as if struck by the oddity of the question.
Stepping into the corridor, I saw that thick tapestries indeed hung over every window, while wall sconces cast a soft, dim glow.
Even so, the mansion remained cold. Layering the coat over my newly ordered winter attire, I made my way to the study. A warm fire blazed in the hearth there, supplemented by a charcoal brazier, yet even that did not entirely banish the chill.
Ana was already seated in a chair by the hearth. Bundled up like a little bear herself, her face brightened at the sight of me as she breathed out white mist with her greeting. Her expression suggested she found this level of cold entirely unremarkable.
I had grown accustomed to calling Lady Ana simply Ana now.
Delighted by the chance to teach her tutor something new, Ana eagerly launched into an explanation.
She told me that when ferocious, wind-driven snowfall coincided with a ground blizzard whipping up the snow already settled on the earth, the locals called it a ‘snow squall.’ One must never venture outside during such times, for the blinding flurries robbed you of your vision and dropped your body temperature in an instant, freezing you to death.
‘Does she mean this isn’t the real winter yet?’
It was hard to believe.
Ana explained that if you roasted a potato until the skin blackened, split it open, and sprinkled salty cheese over it, it tasted like heaven.
And so, we tried exactly that.
That day, we gathered by the hearth, holding our lessons while roasting cheese and potatoes to eat. While we were at it, we set a kettle on to boil water as well. Sure enough, potatoes topped with cheese tasted like heaven.
When I returned to my room after class, a thick tapestry had been hung over my window as well, and the dead hearth was roaring with flame. I drew the tapestry aside slightly to peer outside. Even though it was midday, nothing could be seen beyond a murky white-gray void. The blizzard wailed and shrieked as though it might shatter the windowpanes at any moment.
The blizzard raged on for ten days. Incessantly, without a single pause.
Throughout that time, not a single ray of sunlight reached the interior of the mansion. Relying solely on lamp oil, candles, and the glow of the hearth in place of daylight naturally made me retire early. Even upon waking, the darkness made it feel nothing like morning. It felt as though I were lingering within an endless night.
‘Winter here is not merely cold; it is utterly pitch-black.’
Because every drafty opening had been sealed and every available fire burned fiercely to combat the severe frost, it felt less frigid than on the first day. Even so, the monotonous life—unable to step out for fresh air, starved of sunlight, and forced to sleep early—was far more grueling than I had anticipated.
There were pleasures, of course: sitting by the hearth reading books while roasting cheese, potatoes, and apples. Provided one didn't mind the room filling entirely with the scent of food, virtually anything could be roasted over the hearth fire. Among them, the baked apples were by far the best. Slices of apple soaked in a thick batter of flour, milk, egg, rum, and salt, roasted over the fire and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon—Ana and I ate them over and over during our lessons.
And what was the consequence? One morning, as I tried to put on my clothes, which had been pre-warmed by the hearth, the garment caught at my waist and refused to go on.
‘Uh… what?’
After a desperate struggle that left me drenched in a cold sweat, I somehow managed to force myself inside, but I could neither bend my waist nor draw a proper breath. Panting in shallow gasps, I thought to myself:
‘My body is bulging all over. Just like a ham tied up with string…’
The moment I drew a sharp breath in, it felt as though the seams would burst. Refusing to believe it, I touched my stomach. Something pinched beneath my fingers where it had always been flat and trim—handles, practically. Trembling, I raised both hands and touched my chest. There, too, something yielded under my touch: actual flesh, which had never been there before.