#53

Griselda moved towards the main tower. Throughout her walk along the deserted back alley, she couldn’t shake off one thought. It wasn’t about the ominous dream of tormenting her husband. Rather, her husband’s last words about suffering from nightmares for a fortnight lingered in her mind. Could it be a coincidence?

A fortnight.

Griselda, her husband had called. I had no choice but to watch everything you did with ‘it’, he said.

You bend over, and I gradually lose my breath. I want to stop you, but I have no legs to approach, no arms to tear it off. In the end, I cry out to you a little. Then suddenly, the walls of our bedroom collapse. From ceiling to floor all at once.

Suddenly we’re outside.

It’s not raining. Instead, gray snowflakes are swirling in the black sky. When I look closely, feeling something’s odd, it’s not snow but petals. Yes, dozens, hundreds of petals are swirling in the sky. And you are tied to a pile of wood.

The people of the fortress surround you in a circle, watching. They point fingers at you, shouting “murderer” in unison. You, blindfolded, wail calling for me. Several clusters of red flowers are blooming on the platform where you stand.

Those flowers are like beasts. Dozens of red petals stretch out like long tongues in the air, gradually attaching to your fluttering skirt and blooming anew. As white and red petals surge up, splitting the pitch-black night, ah, Griselda. He said.

You burst into flames…

Her husband was withering away with each passing day.

He lamented that now, even if he managed to doze off for a moment, he always had the same dream. He said it was maddening how burning Griselda haunted him whether his eyes were closed or open. The arms that occasionally embraced the sobbing Griselda, unable to suppress her worry, were now just protruding bones.

Griselda suspected the eldest son, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She spent nights wide awake with trembling eyes. Of course, nothing like the nursing infant transforming into a demon engulfed in blue flames ever happened.

One day, her husband said with sickly eyes.

“I will protect you.”

Though his sunken eyes still drained Griselda’s blood, his tone was more composed and resolute than usual. After that day, her husband never mentioned the ‘bat’ from his dream again. He seemed to be trying to maintain some semblance of daily life. It appeared as if everything was returning to normal. Griselda was quite relieved.

She didn’t know. That at that time, her husband was already standing on the boundary between the tangible world and somewhere beyond reason. Isn’t it ridiculous? Protect, he says.

From what, exactly?

Several months of relatively quiet days passed.

After an intense internal struggle, Griselda entrusted the twin siblings to an elderly maid and left the children’s room.

For some reason, she kept craving food. Although she had finished lunch without incident, she felt she couldn’t look after the children without having at least one more snack. She hurriedly left the tower.

The kitchen located in the eastern outer tower wasn’t too far. As soon as she stepped across the boundary of stone slabs and sandy soil, a wave of stuffy air hit her. A stifling, suffocating sensation. Her throat constricted. Despite being a place with openings everywhere like a cloister, rather than having a proper entrance, the air density was noticeably different.

The aroma of savory meat broth permeated the air. Her appetite, momentarily forgotten in her haste, quickly returned.

“How is the young master?”

Someone inquired about the eldest son’s well-being.

“Is he still the same?”

Griselda, who had been wandering around looking for something to eat, turned her head towards the source of the voice. She saw a thin, bony cook. Judging by how intently she was staring at Griselda, it seemed she was the one who had spoken.

Griselda approached the cook. The middle-aged cook, her hair already peppered with white, was vigorously stirring an iron pot on the hearth, her whole body hanging onto a ladle almost as long as a spear shaft.

The steam rising from the pot, nearly as large as a bathtub, was enough to fill a small bathhouse, and the submerged ladle was longer and thicker than a small child.

“Yes… um, yes.”

Griselda responded vaguely while quickly scanning her surroundings. She noticed a chopping board as large as a shield on a workbench near the hearth.

It was cluttered with half-prepared vegetables and fruits. Griselda quickly popped a piece of radish root into her mouth. The crunchy texture made her feel a bit more alive. She grabbed a few more vegetable pieces and stood close to the cook.

“…The young master, you know. He doesn’t even fuss about milk, and never throws tantrums. He sleeps soundly when it’s time, and oh, how beautifully he smiles when he does!”

“Is that so.”

The cook’s lips curled into a smile amidst the sweat dripping down her face. Griselda made a shushing sound to catch the attention of the cook, who was trying to focus on the pot.

As if a secret unable to be revealed was just waiting for a chance to see the light of day, her tongue tingled with anticipation. She was the one who could go on and on about the master’s siblings, even past the new year.

“Well, just between us…”

Griselda trailed off for a moment. She glanced around furtively, like a petty thief. Although the number of servants coming and going in the kitchen would exceed the count of ten fingers, no one seemed to be paying attention to the two women. Reassured, she began in a whisper.

“The young master, you know. Sometimes it seems like he already understands people’s hearts.”

“Why?”

The cook made a strange expression. After choosing her words carefully, Griselda spoke in a hushed voice.

“Well, you see… Strangely… He only does pretty things, you know?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, yes. I can’t go into detail, but…”

“Oh my. I can see it clearly without hearing more.”

Griselda clamped her mouth shut with a start. ‘See it clearly’? The meaning was different. A warm smile directed at the eldest son was not the reaction she had hoped for. Her deliberate emphasis on ‘only’ had been in vain. Although she hadn’t expected it to resonate, she couldn’t help the bitterness rising within her.

Griselda just smiled awkwardly without adding anything more. After all, she was neither in a position nor in the right state of mind to speak openly.

She had no intention of spreading baseless gossip. Why bother when there were already plenty of strange things about the eldest son without having to make anything up? It was frustrating that no one but her seemed to notice.

At that time, everything the eldest son did was lovely. At times, it seemed as if he was determined to please Griselda, so her previous statement wasn’t entirely untrue.

His face would always brighten with rosy curiosity even when she halfheartedly shook a rattle with her tired body, and his beaming smile at the mere meeting of eyes instantly dispelled even the lingering effects of the fear that had long oppressed her.

Every gesture seemed to melt away the terrible feelings that had persisted for so long.

Of course, there were times when he cried suddenly like an infant, but Griselda quickly realized that most of these instances were mere imitations of his sister. As long as she soothed the sensitive eldest daughter well, the eldest son wouldn’t trouble Griselda further on his own.

Perhaps he was trying to emulate only the good parts of his sister. After a while, even hearing the eldest son cry became increasingly rare. He was a child who required so little care. Sometimes Griselda thought:

This one seems to want to gather all the affection in the world into that plump belly of his.

That part was bizarre. Although she was no longer afraid, the impact etched into her mind couldn’t be erased, so Griselda began to be even more wary of the eldest son than before.

How could she forget? How chilling it was to watch the eldest son, human or not, intently observing every move of his sister who couldn’t even roll over yet…

Griselda shuddered once, shaking off the unpleasant memory she couldn’t share.

“It’s a bit… strange, isn’t it?”

She changed the subject without the cook noticing, thinking of the eldest daughter whom she preferred over the eldest son.

“It just makes my heart feel so warm… hmm.”

A faint smile slowly blossomed in the corners of Griselda’s eyes as she replaced thoughts of the eldest son with the eldest daughter’s childish behavior. It was a genuine smile.

To be honest, Griselda quite liked the eldest daughter. Every little thing she did was so admirable and lovely. How could she not adore those eyes that quickly met hers whenever she brought her face close, following her this way and that, moving wherever she moved, smiling when she smiled and frowning when she frowned – such childlike behavior that couldn’t be more endearing. Yes, was it just endearing? At times, it felt like her own child.

“Just holding her makes my heart swell… She’s adorably cute.”

This was specifically about the eldest daughter, but the cook had no way of knowing that. Of course, Griselda wasn’t unaware that such feelings were inappropriate regardless of which child they were directed at. Feeling a bit flustered, she quickly added:

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing strange about it.”

The cook handed over the ladle as if telling her to take it. Griselda grasped the handle and leaned against it.

“A child is a blessing in itself, isn’t it? Besides, you’ve been through a difficult time once before, haven’t you? It’s understandable.”

The cook smiled, wiping her sweaty hands on her apron. It was the attitude of an elder who understood the young heart without needing it to be spelled out. Griselda nodded. The cook’s words sounded quite plausible.

Yes, that sounds right. Perhaps it’s because I’m a mother who knows the sorrow of losing a child that she looks so lovely to me.

Yes, and since the eldest daughter happens to be blonde with blue eyes, it must have made my already tender and unsettled heart lean even more towards her. I nursed her with my own milk for a full year with both joy and sorrow.

My child, whom I couldn’t save, would have had luscious blonde hair too, wouldn’t she? Her eyes would have been as clear as a pond reflecting the sky. Would her babbling lips have been plump? Griselda gently pushed down the rising melancholy into her throat.

“…Who said it’s a blessing?”

Just as the cook finished tidying up her clothes and Griselda was about to hand back the ladle, another shadow fell across the boiling iron pot.

Griselda and the cook turned to the side simultaneously. An extremely thin woman was approaching. It was Sieglinde, one of the bedchamber maids, her face as expressionless as porcelain.

“Where is the salt?”

“Are you saying it’s not?”

The cook glared at Sieglinde without giving a proper answer. Sieglinde, too, didn’t seem to expect an answer from her seemingly antagonistic colleague.

“Looking at the Princess Consort, it doesn’t seem particularly so.”