OTKL 17

Chapter : 17

Music at Dawn

The real lessons began the following day. Perhaps because it was meant for long-term storage, the bread Triden had brought was so hard it was almost excessive, but the longer one chewed, the more a nutty flavor emerged.

Alperil climbed the stairs lightly, carrying a breakfast of grain porridge boiled with finely torn bread. Even as she dropped medicine into the finished meal, she was struck by how little anxiety she felt.

Around the middle of the corridor, before Alperil could even come to a stop, the door to the study opened.

It was Terrenzio’s consideration—waiting for her as always. With an indifferent expression, the man naturally took the plates of food from the trays in her hands and set them down on the nearby desk.

While preparing a small feast with the young master’s help, Alperil suddenly lifted her head, her gaze stopping at the window.

“Young master, look.”

“……”

“There are flowers blooming on the tree by the window. I guess they’re flowers that bloom in winter.”

Petals blooming a blood-red color blended beautifully with pure white pistils. Alperil, silently gazing at the scene together with Terrenzio, let a faint smile form at the corners of her lips.

And then, as usual, the ordinary day began: chewing her food while subtly checking his reaction, roughly setting the empty tray by the door, and now gripping the familiar quill pen in her hand.

The first piece she began copying that day was No. 2, a waltz in A-flat major, marked Lento in 3/4 time. Even as mere notes written on paper, its mature technique and somber melody stood out.

As the notes leapt widely across the entire keyboard, Alperil silently offered her condolences to the little Pietra pianists who would someday have to play this piece.

Whenever she came across particularly confusing passages where the notes were scrawled in a flurry, she asked Terrenzio’s permission and approached the piano.

With still-clumsy fingers, she fumbled through the visible notes, and soon gained a rough sense of where the next keys would fall. She compared them like that, neatly transcribing the records he had written.

Alperil murmured softly to herself, as if speaking under her breath.

“From C-flat… tremolo (rapid, regular repetition of two or more notes). Crescendo. And here, briefly, the pedal…”

“Is it going well?”

Terrenzio had approached silently, standing beside Alperil, who was seated on the long piano bench, concentrating in case she had made a mistake. At his low question, the breath she had unknowingly been holding escaped weakly.

“You startled me, young master…”

“As your superior who assigned you this work, I came to supervise. Judging by your expression, it seems I made the right choice.”

Cracking a pointless joke, the man glanced sideways to steal a look at the paper she was holding. Alperil’s handwriting was extremely neat. The orderly notes and flowing script together looked like a beautiful pattern.

“You’re quick with your hands.”

“I’m thinking up questions very diligently. You might be in real trouble by tomorrow or the day after.”

“Oh dear, how frightening.”
Terrenzio said so with a crooked smile. Bright sunlight streamed in from the opposite side of the man. It was already the kind of afternoon when one’s hands would soon start to tingle.

Alperil was about to stand and step aside after seeing the young master leaning against the piano lid with his hand braced on it. But Terrenzio lightly caught her sleeve as she moved away from the chair and pulled her back.

It was such a natural, brief motion it could hardly be called contact. Drawn by the tug on her clothes, Alperil sat back down without thinking—and before she knew it, Terrenzio was seated beside her.

“Stay seated. You haven’t forgotten that the lesson is about to begin, have you?”

“No, it’s not that, but… it seems like it’ll be cramped like this. I could bring another chair—”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

Eyes like those of an abandoned dog stared at her.

How could such a sharp impression become so pitiful in an instant? Weak to this side of him that appeared from time to time for no clear reason, Alperil quickly shook her head. Beside her, Terrenzio began to loosen his hands.

The repeated staccato was played at an astonishing speed without a single mistake. Despite her face tightening at the thought that she would soon have to practice such complex technique herself, the tension in her shoulders gradually eased.

As if he had somehow sensed her state of mind, the young master stopped his hands midway through the piece and tossed out a brief remark.

“Don’t be nervous.”

“I—I’m not nervous.”

Feeling as though her inner thoughts had been exposed, Alperil offered an excuse she didn’t mean. Even at the obvious lie, Terrenzio didn’t turn to look at her. He took a small deep breath and muttered,

“Not you.”

“…What?”

“…Let’s begin.”

And so, in that way, the day’s lesson began. Being taught anew by the very composer of practice pieces she had once played to the point of exhaustion when first learning the piano was quite a strange feeling.

“Pascal, I wish you were here with me.”

That was a letter written after such an eventful week had passed.

The last week of December, the first day. It was evening, just as dusk was beginning to fall. After finishing an early dinner and parting ways with her, Terrenzio had gone into his room to wrap up his work as usual.

At that hour, Alperil—who had been fidgeting with a sealed envelope over and over—went down ahead of time to the front entrance and crouched there.

It was the day Triden Lange was due to visit, having promised to fix the light bulbs.

Hearing footsteps approaching from afar, she perked up her ears. Before Triden could even knock on the doorknob, Alperil hurriedly pulled open the door she had already unlatched.

Only after seeing the dark night sky, the young man’s clearly startled expression, and the bag that nearly slipped from his hands did Alperil reflect a little on her actions. Following her calm greeting, an urgent shout burst out.

“Good evening.”

“…Good heavens! What on earth is this?! When I asked you to open the door before, you wouldn’t—but now this!”

“It’s nothing. I was just looking forward to the mansion finally being bright.”

It truly sounded as though she meant nothing by it. Faced with her transparent expression, Triden lowered his gaze, perhaps now beginning to feel guilty about the responsibility he had neglected for so long.

“Y-yes. Well. Good evening.”

“I was also worried that knocking again might disturb the young master’s work. Shall I carry your bag for you?”

“For a moment I thought a ghost had finally appeared in Saint Caleum… No need. Every tool in here is probably worth more than my own life.”

“In that case, I’ll be in your care.”

She withdrew the hand she had offered and added that last line.

Something about the man’s sharper tone than last time made Alperil feel a vague sense of caution. Winter was a sensitive season—a time when the poor went hungry and endured bone-cutting cold. In times like these, people had to be careful of one another.

But today was troublesome. Alperil discreetly hid the letter she had been holding behind her back and helped him take out the ladder.

From his hands high up near the dizzyingly tall ceiling came a creaking sound, and soon a small light flickered on. Alperil let out a gasp so quiet even she herself could barely hear it.

Little by little, as the light increased, the hall of Saint Caleum began to brighten.

Alperil looked around at her gradually revealed surroundings. The clack of fitting a bulb into place sounded strangely like the turning of a doorknob. Holding the ladder, she slightly lifted her head and looked toward the entrance of Saint Caleum.

“Excuse me! Is anyone here?”

A pale woman trembling with fear seemed as though she might open the gloomy door and step inside at any moment. A place with not a single ray of light leaking out, where it seemed no one lived. Alperil blinked.

They were traces she herself had left behind. The broken bottles scattered about and the dustless gaps, the new decorations brought in from storage, the carpet laid in the center. With each memory that surfaced, another bulb lit up.

Then memories from a few days later rose to the surface. A spring maiden in loose slippers came in, burying her face in flowers. A smile played across her bright face, as radiant as the roses she carried.

They were memories she had created herself. Emotions the young master had given her.

Her heart warmed, yet at the same time felt hollow. Alperil unconsciously raised her head, then closed her eyes and shielded her forehead with her palm as an almost excessive brightness poured down.

It wasn’t only the hall where the bulbs had gone out. Alperil diligently followed Triden as he bustled about from floor to floor, helping wherever she could.

At first he seemed uncomfortable with her trailing after him, but later, realizing she was actually useful, he stopped hesitating to ask her for things.

That, precisely, was Alperil’s intention.

After the work—which had taken a solid couple of hours—was finished, Triden, soaked in sweat and dust under the hot lights, climbed down the ladder.

Alperil handed him cold drinking water and a towel to wipe off his sweat. After receiving a brief thanks, she stepped back to gauge his mood and cautiously spoke.

“Um…”

“That will be difficult.”

Before she could even finish voicing the request she had deliberated over so carefully, Alperil was refused at lightning speed, her lips parting in surprise. Ah—seeing her awkward expression, he asked again.

“My apologies. A merchant’s habit from dealing with nobles. What was it you wanted to ask?”

“I was wondering if you might have plans to visit the area near the Grand Duke of Heron sometime soon.”

Triden, who had been wiping his sweat, suddenly closed his eyes for a slightly longer moment. Under the light, his expression seemed strangely tense.

“Why do you ask?”

“I have a letter I’d like you to deliver. It’s not urgent, of course.”

“To His Grace the Grand Duke?”

“…What?”

At the suddenly serious remark that sounded nothing like a joke, Alperil smiled faintly and asked back. Me? To the Grand Duke? Realizing his mistake, Triden laughed awkwardly in return.

“He’s the only person there I have even the slightest acquaintance with.”

“….”

“Please give it to me. I’ll deliver it.”

“The Grand Duke’s estate is so vast you could walk for a full day and still not leave it, so be sure to write the recipient’s name and occupation.”
Triden emphasized each word carefully.

At that, Alperil—who had been anxiously watching him—immediately spoke in a cheerful voice.

“Thank you so much. I know it’s a difficult favor. Even if you had refused, I wouldn’t have been upset.”

Her appearance was so delicately crafted, like a jewel or sculpture, that it made it difficult to see into her inner self. Remembering their first meeting a week ago, when he had been struck by her pure beauty without any ulterior motives, Triden murmured,

“How is it?”

As a merchant who had to gather rumors swiftly, there was no way he wouldn’t know the stories about the former Grand Duke’s ‘pet doll.’ Even without hearing the famous song, he could easily understand why she had become so renowned.

But in the end, all of that was just a nickname used as empty gossip among nobles. Standing before his cold, emotionless gaze was, after all, nothing more than a naive young girl ignorant of the ways of the world.

“What do you mean?”

“Life here, I mean. You know how demanding His Excellency can be.”

At the completely unexpected question, Alperil hesitated in puzzlement. His voice carried a faint concern, too sincere to be mere teasing. Had the young master truly troubled him that much?

Alperil caught the trailing end of his words before he could continue. Slightly tense, she lifted her face and asked,

“How does it look to you, Mr. Lange?”

Her smile was like a winter flower in full bloom—cold and dazzling.

The young man facing her let his gaze wander for a moment, then stop. Into Triden’s bright yellow eyes seeped a hint of blue. It was an expression that compelled anyone to give the answer already decided.

“It looks good. Even better than last time.”

“Right?”

Hearing the answer she wanted, Alperil smiled. Triden followed with a weak smile of his own.