A Snake and a Wildcat
She remembered the days when she had gathered every word that fell from his lips like jewels, turning them over and over in her mind. Even the dagger-sharp ones she had driven into her own chest, caressing them again and again.
But she no longer wanted to hurt. She was sick of assigning special meaning to his every trivial word and gesture, only to be disappointed.
She was no longer a foolish girl in the throes of adolescence, and she had thoroughly learned that Talia Roem Guerta meant nothing to him at all.
As his solid arms carefully lifted her, she strained not to cling to them, ruthlessly severing the sprouts of hope that foolishly tried to reach toward him.
The reason he treated her this way was responsibility, nothing more.
He was a man she had observed and analyzed for over a decade, dissecting him hundreds of times inside her own mind. She knew precisely how he worked.
Quite apart from finding Talia Roem Guerta utterly tiresome, she was, to him, someone who required protection. Not as important as Gareth or Ayla, perhaps—but not a creature he could simply leave broken and abandoned, either.
A man who lived to fulfill the duties given him had failed in his charge. That he should feel a sense of debt was, in its way, only natural.
"I'll have a meal prepared."
Barcas, who had somehow already entered the dim tent, spoke as he laid her upon the bed.
Thalia, who had been lost in a daze of thought, looked down at her own legs. Already the medicine seemed to be wearing off; a sharp, tingling sensation was spreading from her shin up through her pelvis.
"I don't need food. Just burn some incense for me."
"After you eat."
The firm voice rang out above her head.
She forced strength into her hazy eyes and glared at him. But Barcas had already turned away and was giving instructions to a page.
She wanted to hurl a pillow at that tiresome back, yet her limbs felt heavy as waterlogged cotton and would not move an inch. In the end she abandoned her anger and buried her face in the blanket steeped in the scent of aromatic wood and mint leaves.
A short while later, Barcas returned with a bowl of porridge. Thalia reluctantly took up the spoon. The very act of forcing something into her stomach felt like torment, but if she did not at least make a show of eating, this relentless man would never permit the burning of incense.
Unable to endure the steadily worsening pain, she shoveled the greenish, herb-laden mush into her mouth.
"There. Satisfied?"
When she set the half-emptied bowl down as if flinging it away, the man who had stood over her like a jailer, watching her eat, examined the bowl as though conducting an inspection.
Thalia added impatiently,
"I ate, didn't I? What more do you want from me!"
Barcas studied her face—where cold sweat had begun to bead from the pain—for a long moment, then turned and ordered a servant to bring the incense burner.
Once more the pale smoke invaded her mind. Feeling the pain gradually subside, Thalia let her body go slack.
It was as if she had drifted into a cold cloud. Even the man's presence, which had scraped at her nerves like a blade, slowly thinned and faded.
How long she lay sprawled there, drunk on that languid sensation, she could not say—until an unpleasant shadow caught in her hazy vision.
Thalia forced strength into her unfocused eyes and studied it carefully. The elegant silhouette of a woman standing against the sunset stained itself across her retina. A beat later, she recognized the figure as her noble half-sister.
Thalia observed the woman's stiff face as one might examine a decorative object in a cabinet. A faint crack had appeared upon that face, neat as well-crafted porcelain—as though something unpleasant had occurred.
A quiet curiosity stirred. This was a woman who rarely lost her composure, no matter how Thalia tormented her with every manner of mischief. What on earth had put such a deathly expression on her face?
"I know you feel responsible for this situation. But you are my fiancé. Continuing to keep that child in your tent is inappropriate…"
Ayla's soft, measured voice seeped through eardrums that felt as though they were filled with water.
Thalia furrowed her brow. More than the content of the words, it was that gently resonating voice that grated on her nerves.
Did that woman put on airs of refinement even when she was angry?
For Thalia, who was never satisfied until she had expelled every last scrap of feeling, it was a self-restraint she could not dare to imitate. Perhaps that was precisely why she hated Ayla all the more.
It was dreadful that the woman who possessed virtues she could not even mimic was her own half-sister. Had she not been constantly forced into comparison with her, she might have hated Ayla less than she did now.
Ayla continued.
"If you're doing this because you're uneasy leaving that child alone, I'll take her to my quarters. Then you won't need to concern yourself any longer…"
"Is there anyone who puts a snake and a wildcat in the same pen?"
A dry voice laced with fatigue cleanly cut off the princess's words.
Thalia shifted her gaze to Barcas, who stood leaning one shoulder against a tent post.
For a man who always maintained such an upright posture to lean against something like that was exceedingly rare. Had he been inside with her the entire time she was drawing in the medicine? If so, it was astonishing that he could still stand so steadily. She herself could barely keep her eyelids raised.
"Are you comparing me to such a lowly beast right now?"
Ayla's voice grew a little sharper.
Thalia put a little more force into her eyes. She wanted to see Ayla's face contort firsthand. But Barcas, who had straightened his posture, blocked her view with his broad shoulders.
Then a cold voice rang out.
"If Her Highness the Second Princess were to stay in your quarters, what would happen is plain as day, is it not."
He let out a low sigh and added, in a somewhat cynical tone,
"Or do you wish to see the throats of those maids you so cherish all cut off?"
As if struck speechless, Ayla closed her mouth.
Thalia stared blankly at his back, submerged in deep shadow.
…So he was watching me after all. He kept me close so I couldn't cause any more trouble.
She had expected nothing from the start. So there should have been no disappointment, either.
Then why was she feeling pain again?
Disgusted with herself, she closed both eyes.
When she released the thread of consciousness she had been clinging to, the grating noises faded in an instant. It was as if she were sinking into deep water. With a willing heart, she submerged herself into the world of unconsciousness.
The stifling heat continued for days on end.
For those who had to travel carrying dozens of corpses, it was nothing short of a disaster.
To prevent decay, they packed purifying salt and dried herbs into the body cavities of the dead and applied myrrh and resin to the ash-grayed skin—yet day by day a strange stench seeped from the coffins.
Naturally, the faces of those on the march twisted into deathly expressions. Thalia, leaning against the carriage window and looking out at the scene, suddenly recalled how, when leaving the imperial palace, she had prayed that this procession would lead straight to hell.
Had God answered her prayer?
Or was He punishing her?
Fiddling with her throbbing knee, lost in such thoughts, she heard a whistle sound from afar.
She narrowed her swollen eyes and looked beyond the hill. Below the gentle slope where intense sunlight poured down, gray fortress walls rose tall.
The wretched and bleak journey that had seemed as though it would never end had finally reached its conclusion.