The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 33, 34
## Chapter 33
### THE FORGOTTEN FIELDS (NOVEL)
When the servants stayed behind and they stepped out into the roofed corridor, a thick garden, filled with marigolds, daisies, and rosemary, unfolded before their eyes. The plants, completely drenched, gave off a strong green aroma that permeated the air. Aila inhaled that penetrating fragrance and looked up to glance at Varkas.
—Did something bad happen last night? —she asked hesitantly.
Varkas, who had been walking in silence, turned his head toward her. Aila fixed her gaze on him. His pale blue eyes reflected everything but revealed nothing; meeting those clear eyes, similar to a mirror, made her chest feel tight.
*Will the day ever come when I dwell inside him?*, the thought arose without warning.
Before she could dwell on it too much, Varkas—whose lips had remained firmly closed—spoke:
—There is nothing to worry about, Your Highness.
—…So something did happen —she concluded.
He did not reply and strode out into the rain-lashed garden. Heavy drops splashed white against his broad shoulders and back. Contemplating his indifferent silhouette with a grimace of displeasure, Aila discovered that Varkas was holding out his hand to her.
—The puddles are deep.
Aila blushed and shot him a sideways glance upon realizing what he meant. She was not going to throw herself into the arms of a man who had shown himself to be so cold, but she could not leave her fiancé standing there either, waiting in the rain. After feigning indecision for a moment, she yielded and approached him.
Varkas leaned down slightly and slid an arm beneath her knees, lifting her lightly. Aila—just as she had done since she was five years old—rested her head on his shoulder.
—You are so calculating —she murmured.
At that out-of-context reproach, his eyebrows arched slightly upward. Instead of trying to explain the tangle of feelings she carried inside, she hugged him tighter. Varkas wrapped his cloak comfortably around her and crossed the wide garden. Aila buried a cheek into the collar of his uniform.
From him emanated the pungent scent of herbs, the slight metallic touch of armor, and a dry fragrance, like hay. As she allowed herself to be intoxicated by that fresh scent, whatever irritation she had been feeling dissolved as if by magic. Aila let out a self-deprecating laugh. It was ridiculous to feel thrilled like a schoolgirl over something that to him was nothing more than an ancient and habitual act. He was kind because he had sworn to keep a promise made to her mother; a kindness born of duty, nothing more and nothing less. Knowing that, her heart still ached.
—Cruel man. If you weren’t going to be tender with me, at least don’t bother to pretend. That way, I would have settled for a purely pragmatic agreement…
She lowered her eyes and felt a pang of sadness.
—I will order warm water to be sent to your room. Warm up and then rest —said Varkas, having crossed the garden in an instant. He stopped at the entrance of the chambers and Aila nodded.
He climbed the stone steps with agile strides and leaned forward slightly to lower her. Just at that moment, a flash of lightning crossed the sky and thunder rumbled loudly. Aila, by reflex, clung to the back of his neck.
The crash, followed by a blinding flash that tore through the black clouds, made it seem as if the entire world were shaking. As she looked up dazed, she suddenly spotted a pale figure sitting by a window on the second floor.
For an instant, she feared she was suffering a horrible hallucination. The lightning revealed a face of disturbing beauty: a white face, fragile as if it could break, ignited by a terrible hatred. She knew all too well that her half-sister possessed an unusual beauty, but why did she feel so shaken now?
In the midst of the storm, Talia’s eyes shone with malevolence; she looked like an angel of death. Aila caught her breath at that ominous image. As if she were a statue, Talia picked up a vase from the window sill and threw it; the ceramic smashed against the column near where they were standing.
Aila screamed.
Thanks to Varkas’s protective grip, she avoided being hit by a shower of shards, but he received a small scratch on his face. Aila hastily pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against his cheek. Varkas accepted it with his typical impassive expression and looked up. Aila followed his gaze and her face hardened upon seeing that Talia continued to watch her intently.
The girl did not show the slightest trace of guilt; her gaze was cold and murderous, and her lips remained pressed together like a withered rose. Aila felt something more than anger: a real fear gripped her. The half-sister whom she had dismissed for so long as if she were nothing seemed, at that instant, the most ominous and threatening presence in the world. The demon who had made her mother’s life a misery might well drag her into the same abyss. The thought sent a shiver through her.
The rain that had fallen all night subsided at dawn. Talia, who had barely slept, gazed at the garden with sunken eyes as the first light of day arrived. The blades of grass, previously fresh, lay half-submerged in the mud, and the flowers that had brightened the parterres were now bent or broken, like corpses. Talia got out of bed and walked toward the small table by the fireplace.
On a silver plate, the untouched food had hardened. She looked at it with apathy and then picked up the small knife that sat beside the tray. Although it was designed for cutting food, it would serve just as well for cutting flesh. She played with the sharp tip between her fingers, slipped the weapon into the pocket of her robe, and left the room.
The corridor was heavy with moisture. She moved like a cat through the thick air, clutching the freezing knife tightly. Her palms were drenched in cold sweat; she could not tell if it was from tension or excitement, perhaps both. She moistened her parched lips and quietly climbed the stairs.
Aila occupied a room on the upper floor. Upon reaching the top, Talia pressed herself against the wall and scanned the dark corridor. Fortunately, there was no one stationed by the door. Letting out a small sigh of relief, she crept toward the entrance located at the end of the hallway.
A faint aroma of herbs reached her nose as she approached the wooden door reinforced with iron fittings: it was a relaxing incense. Apparently, Aila had not spent a completely peaceful night either. Talia remembered the expression on her face when she had turned pale with fright, and that memory made her laugh bitterly. However, the next image that came to her mind caused her mood to plummet.
She squeezed the hilt inside her pocket until her whole body began to tremble.
She had seen Varkas carrying Aila through the torrential rain, holding her in his arms. When he did, everything she had tried to keep standing began to crumble. She roughly wiped her blurry eyes with the sleeve of her robe. It had been the only memory she had kept; a small relic she treasured and sometimes reopened in secret. Did they have to snatch even that single, solitary vestige from her? Couldn’t it remain something exclusive to the two of them?
Her head burned with fury; she knew her feelings were irrational, but she could not forgive them. She wanted to punish Aila, to make her feel a fraction of the pain she herself experienced. She wanted to return that same torment to that man.
Talia fixed her gaze on the closed door, her eyes burning with anger. Once she crossed that threshold, she would be crossing the point of no return. Perhaps history would brand her as the wicked witch who stole the life of an innocent princess. She no longer cared; she had already been judged as the worst kind of villain. Falling any lower made no difference.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the doorknob.
—
## Chapter 34
### THE FORGOTTEN FIELDS (NOVEL)
But the door did not yield.
Talia tugged at the handle several times before realizing it was locked from the inside. She gritted her teeth.
*Damn that Ayla…*
The fury she had contained all night surfaced, ready to explode.
Biting her chapped lips, Talia glared venomously at the firmly closed door and then turned around.
Perhaps it was for the best. If she had acted on impulse, without preparation, and failed, she would have only ended up dying insignificantly.
She had to prepare more thoroughly before taking her next step. There was still a long road ahead; sooner or later, the opportunity would come.
Regaining control of her breathing, she walked with long, quick strides down the corridor. She was about to go down to her own quarters when she heard a slight clank coming from somewhere nearby.
Talia hastily hid behind a pillar.
The light of dawn was beginning to filter through the corridor, casting faint shadows on the walls.
Peering cautiously from her hiding place, Talia saw a slender silhouette standing before the door of the room right next to hers.
She narrowed her eyes to see better. It was a middle-aged woman with common features and dark brown hair.
It took Talia a few moments to recognize her: she was one of the servants her mother had assigned to her.
The woman closed the door in silence, covered her head with a dark brown hood, and walked away down the corridor with stealthy, practiced steps.
Talia stared at her and immediately began to follow her.
The woman left the building and advanced quickly along the muddy path filled with puddles. Her agile movements suggested she had received some type of covert training.
After inspecting the surroundings, the woman stopped near the small garden behind the main chapel.
Hidden behind an arcade of columns, Talia spied on her. The woman loitered in front of the gazebo, pacing back and forth, as if she were waiting for someone. Then, noticing something, she stepped forward in a hurry.
Following her gaze, Talia spotted a priest in a black habit slowly emerging from the shadows.
His face was familiar: he was one of the monks who had attended the banquet.
The priest, who appeared to be around forty years old, pulled a small vial from his robes and handed it to the woman. She opened it to check the contents, then replaced the stopper, tucked it into her sleeve, and returned the way she had come.
Talia ran as fast as she could back to the lodging.
She stumbled up the stairs and burst into her room, feeling her legs almost fail her.
Leaning against the door, she caught her breath and listened intently.
A few seconds later, she heard the sound of another door opening and closing nearby, and then, silence.
Talia swallowed hard with difficulty.
She could not decipher exactly what she had just witnessed.
Who was that priest?
Was he one of her mother’s secret allies? And what had he handed to her servant? Could it be poison? Was her mother planning to assassinate someone?
She forced herself to swallow despite her throat being tight with tension.
If it were poison, there would be no need to involve strangers; she could have easily obtained it by her own means. The fact that she had gone to such extremes meant that, whatever it was, it couldn’t even be legally brought into the capital.
*What on earth is she plotting?*
Talia shuffled countless possibilities in her mind, but none fit completely.
*One thing is certain… something big is about to happen.*
Senevia always achieved what she set out to do. If she had decided to eliminate the obstacles that had been hindering her for a long time, then the Crown Prince was already practically dead. And if fortune smiled upon her, perhaps Ayla would also disappear from this world.
Feeling her heart beat wildly with excitement, Talia’s lips curved into a smile of satisfaction.
A long and arduous journey was beginning once again.
Hundreds of knights and infantrymen marched under a scorching sun. At this rate, they would reach the border of the ancient Kingdom of Osiria in ten days.
Holding a map, Edric Lubon calculated the remaining distance and then directed his gaze toward the carriage, which remained as motionless as a coffin.
As usual, the princess had drawn the thick curtains of the windows and had not stepped out even once.
He approached on horseback, observing the faint shadow projected onto the curtain. Even the horses were panting from the heat. He feared she might suffocate in there.
—Your Highness, perhaps you should open the window to let in some air?
—…Go away.
At least she was still breathing.
Edric sighed softly and rode toward the front of the procession.
As always, the Crown Prince led the procession mounted on his golden stallion from the Nornec mountains.
Edric studied his expression with caution. Gareth’s flushed face was distorted with irritation as he shouted at Sir Shearkan. From what Edric managed to overhear, the prince was complaining about when they were finally going to rest.
*This will not be an easy journey,* he thought.
The coming days would be filled with rugged plains and mountains as barren as any wasteland. Would that spoiled prince endure such hardships?
Shaking his head, Edric approached Varkas’s side.
His superior completely ignored the prince’s whimpering; his sharp eyes examined the road ahead of them. The heir to the Empire could yell into his ear all he wanted, but Varkas did not even flinch.
Edric found himself admiring him once again.
—Sir Shearkan —he began carefully—, the men are suffering from this heat. Perhaps it is a bit early, but maybe we should find a suitable place to rest?
Varkas turned his head toward him, and Edric, by instinct, straightened in his saddle. He had never seen that man raise his voice or lose his composure, and yet, the simple fact of standing before him always carried an inexplicable weight.
He swallowed nervously and added:
—I beg you to excuse me if I am overstepping, but the ranks of the rearguard seem to be falling behind…
—There is a lake half a league ahead. We will rest there —Varkas interrupted.
Edric blinked for an instant before bowing his head quickly. The Crown Prince, who observed the exchange with annoyance, frowned.
—¡So when I speak you ignore me, but you do listen to him?!
—I only remained in silence because Your Highness did not require a response. I assure you that I heard every single one of your words.
—¡Who said I didn’t need a response?!
The prince’s roar resonated with such force that it made Edric’s ears ring.
Repressing a sigh, Edric turned his horse toward the rearguard again. It was still strange for him to see the prince, famous for his hot temper, reduced to a child throwing tantrums in front of Sir Shearkan.
*…The day Sir Shearkan leaves the Order will be a dark day,* he thought gravely.
Once Varkas Raedgo Shearkan departed for the east, there would be no one left in the capital capable of containing the prince. Given that the First Princess would accompany Varkas to the orient, only Gareth and Talia Roem Guirta would remain in the imperial palace.
The thought of leaving the two reckless members of the royalty to their own devices caused Edric a deep and exhausting dread.
He exhaled a heavy sigh and rode toward Talia’s carriage.
Soon, the sharp sound of a whistle indicated the stop.
Edric stopped his horse and ordered the men to pitch the tents on a nearby flat piece of land. In a matter of moments, the knights set up a few makeshift awnings to take shelter in the shade.
He approached the carriage and knocked on the window.
—It is time to rest, Your Highness. You should come out now.
—…
—How long do you plan to stay locked up in there? You have been cloistered all day. If you don’t get some air, you are going to faint.
He spoke harshly on purpose, thinking she would only respond to firm words, but he obtained no reply from the interior.
Edric frowned.
Had she really fainted?
A sense of foreboding washed over him. He pulled the door open, perhaps too abruptly, and was greeted by a wave of heavy, suffocating heat, imbued with a sweet aroma, like honey mixed with milk.
Grimacing, Edric scanned the bleak interior and froze upon seeing the princess lying, motionless, on the floor.
Comments for chapter "Chapter 33, 34"
MANGA DISCUSSION
Madara Info
Madara stands as a beacon for those desiring to craft a captivating online comic and manga reading platform on WordPress
For custom work request, please send email to wpstylish(at)gmail(dot)com
English