The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 51, 52
Chapter 51
She remembered the days when she used to collect every word that came out of his lips as if they were precious jewels, turning them over and over in her mind.
Even the words that cut like knives, she drove them into her heart, treasuring the pain as something meaningful.
But no longer. She was tired of suffering.
Tired of giving importance to every casual word and movement, only to end up disappointed again.
She was no longer a foolish teenage girl. Now she had fully realized: to him, Talia Roem Guirta meant nothing.
As she struggled not to cling to the strong arms that lifted her carefully, she forced herself to cut the last, stubborn buds of hope that were trying to grow again.
He was only doing this out of duty.
She had observed him for more than ten years, she had dissected him in her mind hundreds of times, she had studied the way he functioned. She knew him better than anyone.
Whatever dislike or resentment Varkas might feel toward Talia Roem Guirta, she was—in his eyes—someone he had to protect.
Not as important as Gareth or Aila, perhaps, but still not someone he could simply abandon to her fate.
A man who lived his life according to obligations, naturally, would feel indebted for not having fulfilled his duty.
—I will prepare your food—Varkas said, laying her down gently on the bed in the dim light of the tent.
Lost in her thoughts, Talia looked down at her legs. The effect of the medicine was fading; a sharp tingling spread from her shins to her hips.
—Forget the food. Just light the incense—she murmured.
—After you eat—came his firm reply.
His steady voice sounded above her head, implacable as always.
She looked at him severely through her heavy, unfocused eyes, but Varkas had already turned around, giving quiet orders to his assistant.
She wanted to throw a pillow at that unyielding back, but her limbs felt like soaked cotton, too heavy to move. In the end, she gave up and buried her face in the blanket, which smelled faintly of sandalwood and mint.
Shortly after, Varkas returned bringing a bowl of oatmeal. Talia lifted a spoon reluctantly.
The act of forcing anything into her stomach felt torturous, but she knew that if she didn’t at least pretend to eat, that insufferable man would never allow her to light the incense.
In the end, she shoved spoonfuls of the greenish, herb-thickened oatmeal into her mouth, wincing with every bite.
—There. Happy?
She dropped the half-empty bowl as if discarding it. Varkas, who had been standing guard like a prison custodian, inspected the bowl as if checking his work.
Talia spoke quickly, anxiety flickering beneath her irritation.
—I ate, didn’t I? What more do you want from me?
Varkas studied her pale, sweat-dampened face for a moment, then finally turned to the assistant and ordered the censer to be brought.
Soon, the tent filled with a soft, misty smoke.
As the fog crept through her mind, the pain slowly subsided.
It felt like sinking into a cold cloud. Even the presence of the man who irritated her nerves like a blade began to fade.
She didn’t know how much time passed before a dark, unpleasant shadow appeared in her blurry vision.
Talia strained to focus.
The elegant silhouette of a woman was silhouetted against the setting sun; it took her a moment to recognize the figure.
Her noble stepsister.
Talia studied Aila’s face as if examining a fine piece of porcelain.
There was a slight crack in her composed mask, unusual for someone who almost never lost her cool, no matter what Talia did to provoke her.
Curiosity was faintly aroused. What could have put such a somber expression on such a flawless face?
—I know you feel responsible for what happened—Aila said, her soft voice filtering through the muffled air like water—. But you are my fiancé. It is not appropriate to keep her in your tent any longer…
Talia frowned.
It wasn’t the content of her words that bothered her, but that sweet, elegant tone.
Even when she was angry, that woman sounded refined.
Talia, who only found relief by pouring out every last drop of emotion, could never imitate such composure. Perhaps that was why she hated Aila even more: for embodying the kind of grace she could never possess.
And to make matters worse, that perfect woman was her stepsister.
If only she hadn’t been forced to live in constant comparison with Aila, perhaps she wouldn’t have despised her so absolutely.
Aila continued:
—If you are worried about leaving her alone, I will take her to my quarters. That way you won’t have to…
—Would you put a snake and a wildcat in the same cage?
Varkas’s dry, tired voice cleanly cut through Aila’s words.
Talia’s eyes snapped toward him; he was leaning casually against one of the tent’s pillars.
He never leaned on anything. The sight was rare enough to catch her off guard.
Had he been here the entire time while she inhaled the incense? If so, how was he still standing so straight when she could barely keep her eyes open?
—Did you just compare me to a low-born beast?—Aila’s voice sharpened slightly.
Talia strained her eyes, wanting to see her sister’s face contort with anger, but Varkas straightened up, blocking her view with his broad shoulders.
His voice came again, cold as ice.
—If the Second Princess were to stay in your quarters, what do you think would happen? The result is obvious.
He exhaled softly and added, with slight mockery:
—Or do you want to see the heads of your precious maids rolling on the floor?
Aila remained quiet, speechless.
Through the haze, Talia looked at his back—shrouded in shadows—and thought:
So that’s it. You’ve been watching me all this time… to keep me from causing more trouble.
She hadn’t expected anything from him. So there was no reason to feel disappointed.
And yet… why did it still hurt?
Talia closed her eyes, disgusted with herself.
When she finally let go of the frayed thread of consciousness, the world faded into stillness.
The sounds around her became distant, as if she were sinking underwater.
She allowed herself to drift downward—gladly—into the depths of oblivion.
For days, the stifling heat continued.
For those forced to travel with dozens of corpses, it was nothing short of a curse.
They packed the bodies with purifying salt and dried herbs to delay decomposition, rubbed the gray skin with myrrh and varnish, but as the days passed, a faint, sour odor began to leak from the coffins.
The faces of those marching twisted in silent misery.
Leaning against the window, Talia gazed at them and suddenly remembered: she had prayed for this procession to become a march through hell.
Had God answered her prayer?
Or was this His punishment?
As she absentmindedly rubbed her aching knee, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
She narrowed her eyes against the blinding sunlight and saw it: beyond the hill, the gray walls of a fortress rose against the horizon.
The miserable, endless journey was finally coming to an end.
—
Chapter 52
Overwhelmed by a strange and indescribable emotion, Talia gazed at the city gates, which were drawing closer and closer.
Soon she would be freed from this horrendous pain.
No more depending on that third-rate healer who constantly fidgeted under Gareth’s watchful gaze; the elite mages of the Empress’s Palace would surely restore her to her former, perfect shape.
She moistened her dry lips and cautiously lowered her gaze to inspect her own body.
The slender figure wrapped in a cream-colored dress could not be called beautiful even out of courtesy.
The thick bandages wrapped from her thighs to her ankles bulged grotesquely beneath the thin skirt, and although the burn marks on her palms had been cleanly healed by magic, her nails still showed black and purple bruises.
Having practically starved during the entire journey, she had become pitifully emaciated, which only added to her ragged appearance.
Suddenly, anxiety surged within her.
Would everyone laugh at her seeing her like this?
The image of the maids mocking her behind her back, saying it was the just punishment for her own actions, crossed her mind. A cold sweat ran down her spine.
Talia quickly closed the curtains of the carriage window.
If anyone were to see her and murmur mischievously that she deserved the divine punishment, she didn’t think she could maintain her sanity.
She grabbed a thin linen blanket that was tangled on the floor and threw it over her head.
Not long after, she heard the sound of the carriage passing through the gates.
Peeking out from under the blanket, she listened intently to the noises outside.
The clatter of hooves and the echoing commands of the infantry rang out endlessly, and the slow funeral march became even more somber.
In the midst of all that, she could hear the murmur of the crowd, like thousands of insects buzzing at once.
Her nerves tightened painfully, and she pulled the blanket up to her forehead, isolating herself from everything.
She didn’t know how long she remained that way.
The carriage, which had been moving at a snail’s pace along the gravel road, finally stopped, and the surroundings became even more bustling.
It seemed that the palace servants had rushed out in droves.
Curled up in a corner of the carriage, Talia waited for the uproar to subside.
Gareth and Aila would follow protocol and go straight to greet the Emperor; until then, she intended to stay hidden right here.
She couldn’t allow their attendants to see her in such a pitiful state.
Rubbing her numb legs, she held her breath.
Then, without warning, the carriage door flew open with a loud crash and a large shadow was cast inside.
Talia raised her head and opened her eyes wide at the familiar silhouette silhouetted against the sunlight.
Her old nurse climbed into the carriage with clumsy steps and pulled her into a tight embrace with her plump arms.
—Oh, heavens, my poor girl. What on earth happened to you?
The nurse cradled Talia’s face with both large hands, turning it from side to side to inspect it, and then began to shed thick tears the size of chickpeas.
—You’ve grown so thin! As if being injured wasn’t enough… your face has almost disappeared…
Talia stared at her for a moment before her expression crumbled.
She wrapped her arms around the nurse’s neck, clinging tightly.
Like a young, frightened animal hiding in its mother’s lap, she buried herself in the woman’s broad chest.
The nurse stroked her back up and down with comforting movements.
The gesture—sweet enough to soothe a newborn—made Talia’s throat tighten, and tears welled up in her eyes.
She pressed her face against the nurse’s cinnamon-scented curls and sobbed helplessly.
—Nurse… it hurts. It hurts so much I feel like I’m going to die.
—Don’t worry, my lady. Lord Senevier will make you as good as new.
Wiping Talia’s tears, the nurse pointed toward the carriage door.
Talia startled upon noticing the unfamiliar man standing there.
A man with the lower part of his face covered by a white cloth was slowly examining her with slate-gray eyes rimmed in gold.
The way he looked at her—as if inspecting an object—made Talia instinctively cling to the nurse.
The nurse patted her back to calm her down.
—As soon as Lord Senevier heard you were injured, he summoned the mages of House Tarren. They will return you to how you were before, my lady.
Then, she firmly pulled Talia’s hands away from her body and stepped aside to let the mages enter the carriage.
Seeing the shadows approaching her, Talia recoiled clumsily backward.
Her instinctive caution rose like a shield.
—I… I can walk on my own. Move away.
—With those legs?
The gaunt man who leaned toward her tilted his head.
Talia flushed with humiliation.
—I can walk to the Empress’s Palace perfectly fine!
The man’s eyes narrowed above the veil. A strange sense of dread washed over her.
The man stroked his chin thoughtfully and, suddenly, grabbed her leg.
A flash of red-hot pain exploded in her vision, and Talia screamed.
He squeezed the wound so hard that blood began to soak through the bandages.
—If we let you walk and the wound opens up, we will be the ones penalized. Don’t be stubborn.
Talia looked at him, speechless with shock.
Releasing her leg, the man nodded to another mage waiting outside.
—You carry her.
The other man crouched down immediately and slid his arms beneath her.
Talia shrank back violently, and goosebumps broke out all over her body as if a snake had touched her.
She twisted her torso and swung her arm.
—Don’t touch me!
Her elbow struck the mage’s jaw. He muttered something in a harsh, metallic tongue that she couldn’t understand.
Recognizing the language of the elves, Talia froze.
Through his hood, she could see the abnormally long ears, the plaster-white skin, and the pale hair that gleamed with a faint blue tint.
He was not a half-elf or a quarter-elf: he was a pure Origin Elf.
Talia knew all too well how inhuman those beings could be.
Terror swallowed her completely.
The two mages muttered to each other in their own language, then pinned her arms firmly on both sides.
Talia opened her mouth to scream—
But a cold, damp hand suddenly covered her eyes.
In an instant, all the strength drained from her body, as if her bones and muscles had melted into liquid.
—You are making us waste unnecessary mana—the mage grumbled as he removed his hand from her face.
Talia stared at him, her pupils dilated with shock.
She wanted to yell at them what they thought they were doing, but only a hoarse gasp escaped her throat.
The mage straightened up and gave an order to the man beside him.
—She won’t be able to move anymore. Take her to the treatment room.
The elf she had struck obeyed immediately.
Heisted like a sack of grain, Talia looked toward the nurse with desperation.
But as always, the woman seemed unperturbed by her terror.
—Just hold on a little longer, my lady. Everything will be fine.
Sniffling, the nurse hopped down from the carriage.
The mage carrying Talia followed her outside.
The glaring sunlight poured into Talia’s eyes, making her blink.
Blinking rapidly, she saw the soldiers of the Empress’s Palace surrounding the carriage.
Scanning them with anxiety, she spotted—beyond the line of guards—a nervous-looking knight.
He tried to break through the palace soldiers to reach her, but the Tarren mage firmly blocked him.
—Your duty ends here. We will take care of Her Highness from now on. Step back.
—But I am her personal guard. I must—
—Her Highness ended up in this condition, didn’t she? That alone means your qualifications are already voided.
The knight closed his mouth, speechless.
Clicking his tongue, the mage pushed him aside with one hand and strode forward through the crowded courtyard filled with carts and crates.
Talia looked around, disoriented.
Soon, among the ranks of palace knights waiting at the main entrance, she caught the faint gleam of ash-blonde hair.
Instinctively, she was about to utter his name, but she bit her tongue just in time.
Varkas would never step forward for her.
To tell the truth, she didn’t even know why she wanted to call him in the first place.
These were mages sent by Senevier.
They wouldn’t harm her.
Repeating that to herself to suppress her fear, she watched as the mage carrying her began to walk in Varkas’s direction.
Seeing his face draw closer, Talia’s body tensed once more.
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