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Chapter : 08
A Feverish Cold
“Are you saying you’d run away if there were a guarantee you wouldn’t run into bandits?”
Terrenzio suddenly cut Alperil off with the question. Alperil, who had been speaking at length, blinked her wide eyes a few times and then smiled faintly. The man asking her looked far too serious.
“Well? Your answer?”
“No—no. I feel most at ease when I accept the work that’s given to me.”
Terrenzio was sitting in an awkward-looking position, his long legs bent halfway, yet strangely enough it didn’t look unnatural on him. The man, who had been gazing quietly at her, soon murmured in a low voice.
“That’s not true.”
Alperil didn’t bristle at the remark that sounded as though he were dismissing her; she replied calmly instead.
“I try, in my own way, to like my life. No matter how hard the times I’ve lived through were, if you focus on the present, the past eventually fades.”
“……”
“If you endure like that, it’ll end someday.”
On deeper reflection, the words sounded oddly unsettling. Yet the very person who had spoken them—Alperil herself—smoothed over the mood with a clear, innocent smile and asked Terrenzio again,
“Thank you for lending me a room yesterday. You won’t chase me out now, will you?”
Terrenzio, whose state of mind may have changed overnight for reasons unknown, simply nodded without a word.
Come to think of it, there was no smell of alcohol on him today. Perhaps that was why he seemed noticeably gentler. Alperil mulled it over briefly, then decided that hearing the answer she’d wanted was enough and accepted it.
That day’s meeting ended without incident—almost anticlimactically so.
After warming herself sufficiently, Alperil placed the unspoiled mushrooms back into her basket and stood up. As she tidied up, she noticed that Terrenzio seemed not to have touched any food at all during the long time he’d been sitting there.
That wasn’t the only odd thing. As they walked back to Sant Caleum together, she observed the young master once more. He certainly looked impressive—but setting that aside, there was something peculiar about him no matter how closely she looked.
Terrenzio was wearing a dark gray coat he had clearly grabbed in haste, over a shirt so thin it looked like sleepwear. No matter how one looked at it, it didn’t resemble proper outdoor attire.
The more she examined him, the more unfathomable he seemed.
Thinking that her impression of him was unlikely to change while she stayed here, Alperil passed the walk back to the manor recalling all the mushroom recipes she’d memorized. She found herself greatly anticipating the expression he would make when he tasted her cooking for the first time.
It was later that afternoon, after returning to the manor, that Alperil’s body began to feel strangely chilled.
She’d been perfectly fine up until she reached her room, but suddenly all her strength drained away. She started coughing, her vision blurred, and it felt as though a fever were coming on.
It was too soon for this to happen. She repeated the thought to herself to stay alert, but the splitting headache refused to ease.
In the end, Alperil decided she would lie down briefly and then get up to prepare a late dinner. She collapsed onto the bed, pulling the thick blanket up over her face, yet her throat still felt scratchy, as if she’d inhaled dust.
After some time, she noticed the window at the edge of her vision gradually darkening. She thought she should get up, but couldn’t muster any strength in her legs. She groaned softly and shifted restlessly.
Her wavy black hair clung damply to her cheeks. She tried several times to force her eyes open, but failed. Before long, she sensed her consciousness slipping away and sank helplessly into sleep.
Even with her eyes closed, her entire body throbbed as though it had been beaten. Her throat burned with thirst, and she smacked her lips from time to time, desperately longing for something to quench it.
Then, cool water flowed between her lips, a few mouthfuls at a time.
‘Alpe, can you hear me?’
How many hours had passed? Her throat burned fiercely, and every joint in her body ached even worse than before—enough to be certain that a long time had gone by.
She pricked up her ears at the unfamiliar voice, which might have been a hallucination, while swallowing the water trickling down her parched throat. She frowned slightly, trying to identify the owner of the voice that kept speaking.
‘No… you don’t have to answer. Don’t worry… it’ll be okay.’
The low voice sounded faint and mumbled, as though muffled by heat. Alperil struggled to move her tongue. When she finally spoke, the sound that escaped her lips was so hoarse it barely seemed like her own voice.
“Kal…?”
The voice that had been coming intermittently suddenly fell deathly silent.
“Kal, is that you?”
She repeated the first name that came to mind, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice. There was no answer. Only a large, cool hand occasionally patted her sweat-soaked forehead.
With all her senses heightened, she tried to brush the bothersome hand away, but her strengthless body refused to obey her will. In the end, she closed her eyes without ever managing to push it aside.
She wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep sleep and find some relief, even for a moment—but the pain wouldn’t allow it. As she let out stifling, feverish groans, she suddenly heard the sound of a door closing.
At that sound, Alperil’s eyes fluttered open.
Someone had been here? Right—Pascal had… but there was no way he could be here…. Unable to form coherent thoughts, she rolled her unfocused eyes weakly.
It seemed to be night now; the room was dark.
And then, all at once, Alperil stopped thinking entirely and stared at the doorway where the door had just closed.
A gentle piano melody crept into her ears from far away.
It was the tender tapping of a lyrical nocturne, like the performance she’d heard on the day she first arrived at Sant Caleum. Though she’d thought it might disturb an already miserable night, the melody reached her softly and sweetly instead.
The rough man’s fingertips became gentler than anything in the world the moment they touched the keys. Alperil’s eyelids fluttered slowly. Soon after, with a soft thud as her lashes settled, her breathing evened out.
Alperil was only able to fully get out of bed the following evening.
When she opened her eyes, everything felt noticeably better. With bleary, sleep-heavy eyes, she checked the weather outside the window and found the world shrouded in darkness. Next, she carefully lowered her slender ankles to the floor.
Her thighs trembled, but her condition wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t walk at all, unlike the day before. She must have been utterly exhausted to have slept without sensing anything at all. Memories of hazy dreams and reality mingled together, making her head spin.
She wrapped the blanket she’d been using around her shoulders like a shawl and moved forward. The sweat she’d shed overnight had cooled, and the cold biting into her body felt twice as sharp as usual.
She opened the door as quietly as possible and peeked her head out, scanning the hallway. Seeing the peaceful scene and thinking nothing had happened while she slept, she relaxed—only for her face to drain of color moments later.
A strange burnt smell crept into her nose.
Had just one night of illness dulled her sense of smell? Suspicious and uneasy, she took several deeper breaths.
It wasn’t her imagination. The scent of something burnt was permeating the manor.
As she recognized the smell mixed into the air she inhaled, her already pale face seemed to turn even whiter.
There were only two people staying in this manor—herself and the young master.
Steadying her unsteady legs as she wavered between panic and reason, Alperil burst out of the room. Pain screamed through her body, which hadn’t fully recovered yet.
She ran down the stairs and past several rooms. With every step, the acrid air grew thicker. It was a bad sign. Desperately, she darted her gaze around, searching for the source.
It didn’t take long to find it. From inside the first-floor kitchen, where steam-like smoke was slowly billowing out, came the sound of clattering.
Oh no. Had the door been locked from the inside? What—what on earth was happening?
Sensing movement within, Alperil rushed over and flung the door open without thinking.
“Young master!”
She should have followed up with, Are you safe? but the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Cough, cough. She covered her mouth instead, hacking as she tried to clear the hazy air.
What came into view was not the horrifying blaze she’d imagined. There was no arsonist invading the manor, nor a sickly young master trapped in the kitchen.
“Ah, you’re up?”
It was Terrenzio—standing there, gripping with one hand a pot that was screeching as it burned to a crisp.
