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Chapter : 04
The Ill-Fated Pianist
Not only I, but any woman—no, even a man—would surely have frozen stiff in this situation. The man with a decadent, languid look narrowed the space between his brows again and leaned his head closer to Alperil.
Alperil couldn’t decide whether she should first apologize for intruding without even the landlord’s permission, or answer his strange question.
A peculiar scent wafted over her, as if thick rum were mixed with tobacco. Strangely, she didn’t dislike it. Just as Alperil was about to wet her lips beneath Terencio’s looming shadow—
“Ugh.”
With a short grunt, the man’s broad shoulders suddenly staggered. His precarious sway, so unfitting for his build, startled Alperil into catching him. A question befitting a maid slipped out naturally.
“Are you all right? Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
“…Ah.”
A headache struck him, and he couldn’t continue. He contorted his handsome face, and Alperil unconsciously mirrored his frown. Up close, she noticed the deep shadows beneath his eyes.
That wasn’t all. Holding up a man as large as a doorframe wasn’t as difficult as she’d expected. The heavy sense of pressure he gave off seemed merely an illusion born of his frame and size; entrusted to Alperil, his body felt pitifully thin.
“Young master, I’ll take you to the bed. Then I’ll call a doctor—”
Thud. Terencio’s head drooped limply. The body that had been half leaning against the wall lost its strength and collapsed into her arms. Alperil was too shocked to even scream.
After a moment of stiffness, she regained her composure. She pressed her ear to his firm chest exposed beneath his clothes—thump, thump. A steady heartbeat. The sharp smell of alcohol stung her nose.
“Hoo…”
A sigh of relief escaped her as she realized it was nothing more than a bout of bad drunkenness. Her small hand rested on his smooth forehead. His temperature was slightly high.
Her uncertain gaze drifted downward. His long, straight fingers tickled her vision. A sudden, strange urge to take his hand rose within her, but she suppressed it and looked around the room.
The piano seemed to be the only thing here that wasn’t damaged. Unable to find a proper place to lay him down, Alperil grabbed his arms and dragged him outside.
It felt like a great sacrilege, but in circumstances like this, anyone would have done the same.
After stopping several times in the corridor to catch her breath, Alperil finally found a suitable room and laid him on the bed. Dust lay thick, but at least there were no shards of glass scattered about.
Perhaps the bed had originally been bought for a small female servant; the man’s long legs didn’t quite fit within the frame and dangled awkwardly in midair. Something about his appearance stirred a peculiar protective instinct, and Alperil frowned.
Who was pitying whom?
He wasn’t a man who deserved sympathy—especially not from a trivial serf.
She had tended to her fallen master’s injuries and brought him to a proper room; that should count as a fairly decent first impression. Alperil stopped worrying about him and stood.
As she walked to the door, she grasped the handle—then flinched at the rough sensation and pulled her hand back. Seeing her skin darkened unbelievably black with grime, she sighed.
It seemed she had a great deal to do.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was a sound even I hadn’t heard in a long while. In the vast mansion’s pantry, Alperil managed to find a few intact potatoes among frozen or sprouting vegetables and set a pot of thin water on the brazier.
The sun had long since disappeared from the sky. A diluted darkness had settled over the Santcaleum estate. The bulbs, having reached the end of their lives, flickered anxiously—it would have been cleaner to remove them altogether.
Even as she let out heavy sighs without pause, Alperil fetched cleaning tools from somewhere and wiped and swept anything in sight. After a few hours, the once-filthy hall floor gleamed slickly.
Until she was eight and lucked into the favor of the late Grand Duke to receive opera training, she had worked to survive. Diligence was a habit ingrained in a serf’s body.
At first, she had been simply appalled. But as she examined every corner, things she hadn’t noticed before came into view.
It didn’t seem like a mansion that had been utterly neglected. There were signs of someone other than Terencio coming and going relatively recently, and though the ingredients were spoiled, they weren’t completely rotten.
Why had he abandoned his life like this? Alperil wondered as she cut the peeled potatoes into bite-sized pieces. She wouldn’t have lasted a single day in such a dark, filthy place.
A memory from a few days ago, at the glittering Grand Duke’s estate—the opposite of this place—came to mind.
“You don’t need to know much. Just remember these two things.”
“Alperil, that child is very ill.”
“He’s had a chronic condition since birth. It’s not said to be life-threatening, but… still, it’s a pity.”
Leopold spoke as though he were truly sorrowful. He used an odd manner of speech, as if he were twenty years older than he was.
The gentle tone she’d grown accustomed to suddenly grated on her that night.
“They say when the body is sick, the mind grows sensitive as well. After Theo came of age, he cut off all support from the ducal house. It’s been a long time since I last heard news of him.”
It was something she’d never even heard as a rumor. Aside from Terencio Heron’s unusual actions and the many incidents surrounding him, little was known of his private life.
Once a man who never declined an invitation sent his way, he had, for reasons unknown, stopped attending all official events three years ago. Only the occasional publication of a few sheets of new music testified to his being alive.
There had been much speculation, but it hadn’t been something Alperil could afford to care about at the time. This was the first she’d heard the details.
Having unwillingly learned a secret of the brothers, Alperil parted her trembling lips. There were countless people waiting day and night to seize on any weakness.
“Is it really all right to tell someone like me this…?”
“It’s because you’re someone like you that I tell you. What could you possibly do?”
Leopold smiled arrogantly. The man who had displayed an overbearing air before Alperil moved suddenly, rummaging through a box that seemed to have been left in a corner of the room.
“It should be around here… yes. Here it is.”
A small, transparent glass vial was pinched between his fingers. The clear liquid inside sloshed, so pure it almost seemed empty.
“In any case, I’m tired of living like this. As the eldest, shouldn’t I at least know the circumstances of my sick younger brother? Since I can’t go myself, I thought I’d entrust him to someone reliable.”
Still staring intently at the liquid in the vial, Leopold continued,
“It’s fortunate you know the piano. I thought fellow musicians would find it easier to talk.”
“So, my lord, you want me to—”
“Yes. Stay by Theo’s side for just one year. If life out there feels stifling, I’ll send a carriage from time to time. If you feel like it, ride it back and attend opera performances.”
And take this as well. He pressed the vial into Alperil’s hand.
“It’s the medicine I recently obtained from Litnia for him. I want you to take special care.”
“One drop with every meal, without Theo knowing. He’s adorably stubborn about taking medicine,” Leopold muttered with a slight smile. Though he sounded genuinely concerned for his brother, an odd sense of unease lingered.
“Is it really medicine?”
It was an impulsive question she immediately regretted.
“What did you say?”
“…It’s just that it’s so clear—so pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen medicine this color.”
With widened eyes, Alperil gathered up the chilled air and her foolish words. Leopold looked at her with interest, then casually pierced straight into her true feelings.
“Alperil, do I look like the sort of scoundrel who’d deliver foreign poison to my ailing half-brother?”
She clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a hiccup that felt ready to burst out. Dismissing her doubts lightly, Leopold smiled quietly, as if amused.
“…My lord, I—”
“Like all elder siblings in this world, I love my brother. He shares the blood of Heron, after all.”
Something felt wrong.
Perhaps she was being overly sensitive, but fear was fear. A man rumored to be violent, and sick besides—it was clearly something she couldn’t handle.
And yet Alperil knew she couldn’t voice any objection. Fellow musicians? What a joke. The son of Heron and his subordinate. A genius performer and a serf singer…
Lost in thought, she nearly let the water boil over. She hurriedly rose, lifted the lid, and stirred the thin soup. Made with minimal ingredients, it still looked passable.
Contrary to her doubts, the man truly looked like an invalid.
After all, what could the young lord gain from such a lie? He was, no matter what anyone said, the legitimate heir of House Heron and the vacant Grand Duke’s seat. Not even the king could change that.
Reassuring herself, Alperil opened the small glass vial she’d kept close.
The medicine had neither color nor smell. She dropped a single bead into the soup poured into a shallow dish. There was no reaction on the silverware, often used to detect poison.
Only then did she soothe her lingering unease and close the vial. Placing the warm bowl on a tray she’d found somewhere, she climbed the stairs of the Santcaleum estate, which had regained at least a little of its former elegance.
“If he’s sick, all the more reason he should eat three meals a day.”
Sunken cheeks that even strikingly beautiful features couldn’t hide. A man staggering and collapsing. Less than half a day had passed, yet the unfamiliar memory still clung to her mind.
Alperil found the door on the right side of the corridor where she’d laid him and knocked. When there was no response, she considered leaving the bowl at the door—but waited instead, unaware of what that wait would bring.
Bang. After several seconds, the door flew open, and Alperil’s vision spun.
Before she could even scream, the wrist holding the dish was seized, and her slender waist was locked in strong arms.
In the pitch-black evening, the room—without a single candle lit—was dark. The slanted light leaking in from the corridor vanished as the man leaned against the door.
Tap. Something cold touched Alperil’s cheek.
“Since when—no…”
A low voice laced with clear fatigue settled by her ear. It didn’t take long to realize the cold object against her skin was a gun.
“Who sent you?”
Click. With a rough motion, the cocked muzzle was shoved beneath Alperil’s chin.
