#62

Even with more knowledge about him, it seemed he had not yet built his own power base. I was surprised by him once again. Didn’t Johannes, who had barely passed twenty, already have dozens of followers?

Although I had heard that cases like Johannes were rare, Henrik, who was about the same height as Johannes and had a sturdy build like the epitome of a knight, along with outstanding skills, did not seem like an incompetent man unable to gather even one person under him. Thinking about it now, it was probably due to his long-standing strategy of self-preservation that had permeated his entire being.

As I wrote earlier, Henrik was the old man’s last son. In other words, he was the only survivor who had managed to stay alive while his elder brothers were all killed by their father’s hand.

I don’t know much about the details of Indrida’s son’s complicated family history, as I haven’t heard much about it. I can only roughly guess the fear that the brothers must have experienced based on Henrik’s usual demeanor.

I still can’t forget how Henrik, who was so vigorous outside the estate or in the arena, would freeze up pale when facing his dying father. His exterior was hardened with a vague fear.

Like the bones of a crustacean that grew belatedly.

In the end, Henrik was a man who, in trying to erase his own existence, had failed to gather even a group of followers. A man who lived alone without a wife at that age. A man who terribly feared his father.

A man who hated him.

“I was secretly hoping,” Henrik said to me.

“For what?”

“I should have caught a cold at least a dozen times by now, but it seems I’m still able to live. It’s unexpected.”

“Does it look that way?”

I asked him back. Perhaps surprised by my tone, which was a bit more agitated than usual, Henrik slightly raised one eyebrow. Around that time, I was always wrapped in anxiety or impatience as if I had eyes on the back of my head, but my tone was particularly sharp at that moment. Due to the unhealed wound I had received a few days ago, my back and waist ached all over when they touched the backrest.

“…It’s bearable.”

I mumbled softly, avoiding Henrik’s gaze. It wasn’t to please him with nice words. Rather, it was closer to a resolution to suppress my own wavering self. That endurance alone was the way to survive.

“Doesn’t it make you angry that your precious body is getting hurt every other day?”

The silver flickered at the edge of my vision as if Henrik was tilting his wine glass alone. Trying to ignore the pain spread across my back, I said,

“Could you endure it without getting angry? There’s no other choice but to bear it.”

“As you know, there are ways and means, aren’t there?”

“How long are you going to beat around the bush?”

Unable to bear it any longer, I turned my head with a snap and glared at Henrik.

“Just say it outright. It’s frustrating to listen to.”

Henrik deliberately avoided my gaze. Instead of answering, his faint smile seemed to twist my insides entirely. After staring ahead for a moment, he called a servant and had his plate removed. New wine was poured into his empty glass.

Around that time.

Henrik was subtly urging assassination while shoving my pain in front of my face. And the target of the assassination was, needless to say, the old man.

Why me of all people? Couldn’t he do it himself, either directly or through behind-the-scenes work? It took quite some time for me to understand Henrik’s roundabout approach. It was only when I suddenly realized one day, seeing the anchors and harpoons sparsely mixed among Valdemar’s emblems.

The men of Indrida’s son. Those who had crossed the ocean that I had never seen and probably would never see.

Not only the old man but most of his close associates were former pirates who had made a habit of plundering. Among them, the old man was the only one who admired the customs of the nobility, while the rest of his associates merely sneered at continental customs and oaths. For their sails had never been directed towards order.

Therefore, in a situation where it was doubtful whether the rightful heir could properly inherit even his father’s castle, what if he were to lose even the plausible justification of being the only legitimate successor? For Henrik, who had not established a solid foundation within the castle, he could not help but worry about the case where his hostility towards the old man might be revealed.

Of course, my hatred for the old man was no less deep. Given his cruel and ruthless nature, there was a high probability that he would kill me outright before casting me out, so I knew well that if I were to decide to escape from the old man, the only options were to wait for him to die or to kill him first.

However, I firmly rejected Henrik’s subtle proposal. Because I had no other choice.

I had absolutely no confidence in getting involved, directly or indirectly, in the death of my ‘husband’. Just imagining it made my heart race, and strangely, my vision blurred as if ink had spilled in my mind. It was similar to the dark sensation that came over me after hearing the news that the priests in charge of Johannes’s exorcism had disappeared.

Unable to bear the trembling of my body, I was only desperate to empty the blackness filling up inside me. If only I had stepped up and killed him then.

I don’t know.

In the end, all that remained was to wait for the old man’s death, and after his death, I had only three options.

First, to donate the widow’s property to a monastery and live there.

Second, to return to my hometown.

Third, to receive the estate from the old man and spend the rest of my life there.

However, since my father had already taken my share of the inheritance, the only path I could choose was the last one. As someone with a father indifferent to his daughter, I had no choice but to somehow receive the land.

Of course, the violent beatings that felt like they would break my body were hard to endure, but the castle walls that surrounded me on all sides without any exit. Isn’t that the nature of a wife’s position with a rough husband? As it was something that everyone went through, I thought I should endure it too, and I felt I could endure it.

Therefore, in those days, I did my utmost to please the old man. For about 10 years. I thought that if I lived face to face with him, even with an unpleasant expression, perhaps even that heartless man would develop some affection for me. After that, if I coaxed him gently, I thought I could easily receive at least one barren estate that his close associates wouldn’t covet.

I hoped that ugly old man would guarantee my stability and independence. The paper-thin hope that I could live comfortably for the rest of my life after his death was the only pillar supporting me. Therefore, I had no intention of taking unnecessary risks by joining hands with Henrik, whose future was uncertain, but….

“I don’t understand. Why do you avoid your hometown so much?”

Henrik, who had been twirling his wine glass, suddenly asked me about the second path.

All the surrounding noise was erased. Only Henrik’s low voice remained, as if it was coming directly into my head without passing through my ears. I tightly sealed my lips. He asked again.

“Are you worried that you might be ‘imprisoned’ again?”

“…”

“Don’t worry too much. Even if you go back, surely they won’t imprison you again. You’ve already had two rough husbands, you’re a proper lady now.”

“…It’s not like that.”

“Then.”

“When I become a widow, I intend to live alone and remain chaste. What grand reason is needed for that?”

“There’s no need to be picky about the place for remaining chaste. Whether it’s Gustavus’s fortress or your own castle.”

I couldn’t say anything. Henrik, who had been staring at me intently, finally opened his mouth after a long while. His voice was still low.

“You know, you seem like someone with a story. Whenever your hometown is mentioned, you turn pale without a word, looking like you’re about to burst into tears. On one hand, you look like someone who committed a crime and secretly ran away.”

“…”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to explain rather than arousing unnecessary suspicion?”

“What does it matter to you? What can you do to me?”

The words I uttered in an attempt to change the subject happened to be in a tone that irritated Henrik. Perhaps it was from that moment, but Henrik showed no particular reaction, like a beast hiding in the bushes with the wind at its back. I looked down for a moment, not even imagining the impending disaster.

There was something strange about my two hands resting on my knees. A strange sensation, as if strength was draining away or rather suddenly surging, was flowing down from somewhere near my chest to the tips of my fingers. What was causing this wave was my heartbeat, which had suddenly become irregular, and….

It was Johannes.

“Again.”

I tried hard to erase Henrik’s voice from my mind. I didn’t want to think deeply or ponder. My spine felt chilly as if someone had thrust a knife at me, and strangely, my right hand was trembling unusually. I grabbed it with my left hand and pressed it down firmly.

Yet it wouldn’t stop easily. Perhaps that right hand was even shouting at me.

Telling me that I had already realized it.

The freedom that only a married woman could enjoy. It was through marrying the old man that I was finally able to leave the tower. When the outside world, which had seemed so distant, was finally given to me, I didn’t know the boundaries between inside and outside well, so I asked for opinions on everything.

For example, whether it was okay to take a walk to a far place. Or whether I could enter the assembly hall. Or whether I had to have meals in the bedroom. Most of the questions were trivial like these.

And the bewildered looks that the servants gave me in response.

“Whatever madam wishes.”

Freedom came so suddenly. As if there had never been anything impossible from the beginning, I was thrown into the middle of empty time pouring down like a dark landslide.

Whatever? I felt like I was losing my mind, not knowing how to handle the void that was rushing in all at once.

What belongs to that ‘whatever’?

“You really don’t know anything,” Henrik said to me.

“What have you been doing all this time? Were you locked up?”

Kretzman.

It’s been a full 14 years. Is this perhaps a short time? Ah, to you who delved into the pursuit of immortality, it might be just a fleeting moment. But those 14 years were mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s, but my 14 years. It was almost a lifetime.

I spent half of it suffering from my insane mother’s symptoms, and the other half suffering from the loneliness of imprisonment without bars. The anxiety that permeated my chamber was like a thorn bush, and the pervasive silence was like a gloomy companion. Even now, when I recall those times, I feel nauseous.

But at the time, it seems I just couldn’t bear it. The premonition that there might not have been a great reason for my long and enduring loneliness, and that perhaps all the household members had been turning a blind eye to my solitude.

And it seems there was an unbearable certainty lying at the bottom of this blind heart. The moment I confirmed the previous premonition, I would surely crumble.

You wouldn’t do that to me, Johannes.

It felt as if a thin sandpaper was brushing down every surface of my heart. I closed my eyes, soothing my abraded chest. Fortunately, the words that had pounded me as if to shatter me with each syllable were erased quite easily. As if it had been a question that never existed in the first place, it seemed to die quietly beyond my consciousness, never to resurface again.

As it always had.

In that sense, perhaps I am a person more resilient than anyone. I focused only on my feelings for the person I had left behind, rather than the unbearable reality.

I can’t go back, I told myself.

I won’t go back, I insisted.