OTKL 13

Chapter : 13

With the Storm

A long silence followed. At last, as if squeezing the words out of himself, Terencio spoke.

“You don’t know me, so how could I know you?”

“Doesn’t that mean that if I had known you, young master, then you would have known me as well?”

Terencio fell silent again. Just as she suspected, there was clearly something he was hiding. Perhaps if she crossed that line just half a step further, she might learn everything… but Alferil had to stop.

There was no reason to take on further risk for a truth that would change nothing even if she learned it. She hadn’t expected an answer in the first place, so she quickly changed the subject.

“If that’s not the case, then I want to continue cleaning from now on. I truly mean that.”

“……”

“If it interferes with your work, please tell me honestly. But to stop like this—”

“I don’t like the way you tidy up the estate.”

That was a different matter entirely. Alferil frowned and lifted her head.

“If you tell me exactly what the problem is, I’ll try to fix it somehow.”

“Everything that comes into my sight irritates me.”

For a moment, she almost burst into a hollow laugh in front of her master. Terencio, seemingly aware of his own contradiction, wore a slightly awkward expression.

Before Alferil arrived, Saint Caléum had been utterly uninhabitable. Surely anything was better than the dust pit it used to be. She couldn’t understand why he was clinging so stubbornly to such an incomprehensible position.

Even so, Terencio was desperately searching for something—anything—that might change her mind. He muttered incomprehensible words under his breath, as if rolling marbles on his tongue, and finally whispered seductively.

“If you’re that restless, why not help me with my work instead?”

“Your work, young master?”

She asked more out of confusion than reluctance. In contrast, Terencio seemed to think he’d finally found proper footing at her question; his face brightened instantly as he raised his voice.

“Yes! This was impossible from the start. It’s like calling in Vittorio, the imperial poet, and telling him to clean. There’s no need to waste time—start tomorrow.”

“Why is the great poet Vittorio coming up here—no, start tomorrow?”

“If you need compensation, I’ll pay. Help me prepare the galley proofs for the new collection I’m releasing the month after next. The record company staff keep complaining that my notation is hard to read.”

“How do you know that I can read sheet music…?”

She was briefly surprised that the request was far more reasonable than she’d imagined, but soon a chill crept in at his words. After letting out a short breath, Terencio spoke to her more easily than expected.

“If you help me finish this, I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything.”

What he was proposing was not an order, but a mutual transaction. Perhaps because of that, Alferil hesitated instead of answering immediately, her voice wavering as she spoke again.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit unfair? From beginning to end, you’ll know everything, young master, while I’ll just spend all that time stumbling around like an idiot.”

“So what is it you want to say?”

“For every ten pages of completed sheet music, please accept one question from me.”

“Fine. But if I think a question goes too far, I won’t answer.”

It was an oddly neat yet somehow unsettling agreement. It felt biased, but Alferil—already nearing the limit of how much conversation she could handle in a day—nodded absentmindedly.

Ironically, by the time it mattered, Alferil would no longer clearly remember the condition she had so boldly proposed. What truly astonished her was what happened next.

“Young master, I don’t want to die with my hands and feet cut off!”

Her face was as pale as the white sofa she sat on as she shouted. The man facing her, fingers interlaced between his large hands, crossed his legs casually.

“I told you, that punishment is only for defectors. What you’re worried about won’t happen.”

“If planning to release sheet music that hasn’t yet been made public in Triberr as a premiere in the enemy nation Vietra isn’t defection, then I honestly don’t know how else to define it…”

Terencio averted his gaze for no reason before speaking.

“There’s precedent. No one will suspect anything.”

“My goodness. And not just once or twice, either—no, I see. Good heavens, I’m sorry, but that Lebein Bosonette—”

The trouble had begun earlier, when Alferil had once again entered the young master’s room and taken a seat, and he had asked, “Do you know the waltzes of Vietran composer Lebein Bosonette?”

Bringing the culture of the enemy nation Vietra into Triberr and spreading it was a grave crime—one that could lead to execution if discovered.

Paradoxically, however, that danger itself served as the first spark of interest for many people. It was like a child’s impulsive curiosity toward blazing firewood.

The fact that only a handful of people had ever been directly punished, combined with the ease of smuggling, fueled the vanity of certain nobles and merchants. Having often accompanied the archduke to the salons of self-proclaimed art-loving nobles, Alferil was already familiar with Vietran music and culture.

“A little. His recordings have gained decent popularity at Triberr concerts.”

“Good. That makes it easier to explain. Lebein Sylvie Bosonette is the pseudonym I use in Vietra.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’m Bosonette.”

For an answer given with such little hesitation, the burden it placed on her was far too heavy.

She should have seen through his scheme from the start. Her mind went blank, and Alferil nervously fiddled with the tips of her nails, still unable to calm herself.

Dipping one foot into a lakeshore where you can pull it out anytime is completely different from stripping and diving in headfirst.

“I really can’t do this. No matter how simple the galley proofs are, that kind of—”

“Alfe. Music was my life.”

His heavy voice slipped into the brief gap. Alferil twitched, lifting her lowered gaze.

“The keys were my blood, the notes my flesh. Every piece I carved from them was my life itself, and I always longed to leave those traces across the sea, on the distant continent.”

“……”

“But honestly, what does any of that matter to you? I have little interest in other people’s lives as well. What matters is that I promise you fair compensation and your safety.”

Terencio abruptly shifted the direction of the conversation. Alferil, who had been prepared to listen solemnly to his confession as nobles often expected, blinked in genuine surprise.

“Both the kings of Triberr and Vietra know about this and have permitted it. If even the slightest danger existed, I would never have brought this up to you in the first place.”

Alferil’s eyes wavered, almost hollow. Then why didn’t you tell me that first? The shock of the revelation tangled her thoughts. She didn’t even want to think about how such a thing was possible.

“You really seem like someone who keeps spare lives stored somewhere, young master.”

Unable to find the right words, Alferil moved her lips for a long while before finally blurting that out. At that, the man—who had been staring at the floor—lifted his head, met her gaze, and pulled his lips into a grin.

It was a smile she hadn’t expected at all.

Caught off guard, Alferil froze, and perhaps that amused him further; his broad smile curved even more. The setting sun beyond the window painted his sharp eyes and high nose in red.

Like a flickering flame. She didn’t want to look away. It was a smile that both suited and didn’t suit a man who looked as though there wasn’t a single soft place on his tall frame.

“P-please explain how the suns of both nations are turning a blind eye to this, then.”

Lowering her flushed face, Alferil hurriedly changed the subject.

That would count as a question paid for with ten pages of sheet music, right? While Terencio nitpicked over that and argued back and forth with her, she spent the time until sunset observing him as Lebein Bosonette.

By the end, she could somewhat understand why he needed such a pseudonym. Vietran society, in general, regarded censorship of individual creative works as taboo.

Everyone’s art there had the right to be respected. Terencio, slightly excited whenever the topic turned to music, continued speaking, and Alferil nodded along with interest, hearing many things for the first time.

The dark hour of parting arrived after those few hours flew by like an arrow.

As Alferil headed briskly toward the door, Terencio rose in long strides to see her off. It wasn’t all that surprising anymore. Even she, who had once firmly objected, simply looked up at him without protest.

“Let’s begin when tomorrow’s sun catches on that tree. Any problem?”

“No, that’s fine.”

There was a brief hesitation in the air. Perhaps her response hadn’t lived up to the immense favor he’d shown her. Sensing it quickly, Alferil added hastily,

“I really am glad, young master.”

She had so much she wanted to say. Something itchy and nameless in her hollow heart seemed on the verge of sprouting.

But unable to define even the name of that feeling, Alferil did what she always did—bowed politely. The door closed, and the sound of her footsteps faded away.

The night that had seemed destined to remain peaceful transformed, after only a few hours, into a chaos beyond recognition—thanks to a violent storm that happened to pass through Saint Caléum’s territory.

The whipping sound of the wind—she truly hated it.

The corridor windows rattled violently, thrown open by the gusts. Alferil, having rushed out of bed half-asleep, wore nothing more than a thin nightgown.

Shivering from the cold, she hugged herself, stepping around puddles soaking the floor as she hurriedly latched each window that threatened to shatter.

Bang! Bang! Thankfully, since she hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep to begin with, she managed to prevent the mansion from turning into a flood.

Thud! Thud-thud! After pacing the entire second-floor corridor to check for any remaining open windows, Alferil suddenly made a strange face. She checked several times—there were no more open windows.

Then what was this sound, like someone knocking, that she’d been hearing all along…?

A chill ran through her, but she soon turned her gaze toward the last window she’d closed. The moon hung round and pale in the foggy sky.

A full moon? The familiar word sparked a sudden realization—something she’d forgotten. Alferil bolted down the stairs.

Bare feet burning red, she ran straight to the front gate of Saint Caléum.

The sound was definitely coming from the door. Hesitating and flustered, she couldn’t bring herself to ignore the insistent knocking any longer. The moment she opened the door, without leaving even the slightest gap, an irritated voice forced its way inside.

“Your Excellency! Man to man—no, person to person, I beg you! Normally I’d let it go, but to leave me standing out here in weather like this is too much, don’t you think? You can’t possibly forget the date of the full moon every single time! I nearly got blown away by the storm just now—”

A strange man shouted, wringing water from his thoroughly soaked medium-length hair. His face was hidden behind dull blond strands clinging in wet locks.

When no response came from the other side for quite some time, he finally seemed to sense something amiss. Still grumbling, he shook his head irritably, then lifted it.

His eyes met Alferil’s bewildered gaze, and he slowly opened his mouth.

A greeting? Was this really the time for greetings? As she hesitated, lips stiff, the man suddenly adopted an aggressively confident posture and bellowed loud enough to shake the entrance hall.

“Your Excellency! Come down here at once!”

“Uh, um—”

“Damn it! Your Excellency! There’s a burglar here! I’ve caught them!”