Chapter 56
Cinq thought to herself,
‘I’ll drop the lantern there and start a fire.’
She had brought the lantern out, intending to find some shrubs to ignite, but luckily there was a barn. If she managed to set it ablaze, the fire would grow large enough to be noticed by the knights searching for Ylfus, and they would surely sense something amiss and rush over.
Cinq moved cautiously across the roof, feeling like a cat. She stopped when she reached a spot overlooking the barn.
It would be ideal if the lantern landed in a place that could easily catch fire, but the roof was too long. There was a chance the lantern might fall onto the snow-covered roof below, which would ruin everything.
She carefully placed one foot on the sloped roof, her blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.
‘Good. I can manage this.’
Though the incline was steep and covered in snow, the roof was made of bricks rather than slippery tiles, allowing her to maintain her footing.
Step by careful step, she descended the slope, her focus solely on her next foothold, moving steadily toward her destination.
Crunch, crunch. Her toes pressed into the snow, frosted with a light layer of gray soot.
She felt the compressed snow beneath her feet turn slick and icy, and beneath that, the rough texture of the bricks.
Then she sensed one of the bricks under the ice crack slightly.
“Ahh…!”
Her vision swam, but she couldn’t stop. She reminded herself of Ylfus’s words, replaying them in her mind.
Her fears, her pain—they were hers alone. She couldn’t run away. She had to keep going.
She immediately shifted her foot to the next stable spot and continued downward.
In her heightened state of tension, her consciousness sharpened to an almost unnatural clarity, as if thick frost on a glass window were being wiped clean with warm water.
The jagged edges of her fear fell away, the haze cleared, and even the beads of condensation evaporated, leaving a crystal-clear awareness.
Amid this clarity, fragmented and disjointed memories flashed through her mind like lightning.
Sitting in a windswept field with Six, weaving crowns from flowers. Six had once whispered to her,
“The prince of the tower is watching us.”
Young Cinq had squinted at the temple tower but couldn’t make out any shadowy figure in the window. She had teased Six, saying there was no prince in this village and calling her a liar.
Of course, there was no prince in the tower. Instead, there was a white goat.
She remembered the first time they met.
“When Vinya isn’t looking, and when Six isn’t watching, I’ll sneak almonds into the oven. They’ll roast golden brown, and then, shell and all…”
Young Cinq had been singing a nonsensical tune she wouldn’t dare share with anyone.
Then, someone had called her softly,
“Cinq, come here. I’ve been waiting for you.”
A voice trembling like a goat’s bleat.
Cinq had stopped singing and looked up cautiously.
Standing at the temple’s back door was a tall boy dressed in spotless white priestly robes, holding a bottle of wine. Where his face should have been was the head of a white goat.
In a voice shaking like a goat’s, the boy had said,
“Did you know? Almonds are also called apricot seeds. Their tree blooms pure white flowers even before its leaves sprout, making it the first to blossom in early spring.”
Of course, young Cinq hadn’t understood a word he was saying. She had only stared at him blankly.
Flustered by her silence, the boy had begun to ramble incoherently.
“S-so, the apricot tree stays awake, even during winter, when all the other trees sleep. It’s like it watches over everything. I, too… I always…”
His words had trailed off into a jumble, and he’d hunched his shoulders, falling silent.
Perhaps she had pitied him then. Cinq had cautiously spoken.
“I like almonds.”
At the sound of her voice, the boy seemed to come alive, as if he’d been stranded on a desert island and had just spotted a rescue ship.
“Anything else? What else do you like?”
Cinq had hesitated, her lips trembling. She liked many things—bread, milk, soup. But if she had to pick just one, it was that.
After a moment of deliberation, she had replied,
“Cheese.”
“Cheese?”
Cinq, holding a basket tightly, had smiled faintly.
“My mother gave it to me last. Cheese rind. It was delicious. I want to try it again.”
The boy had said,
“Then I’ll bring you cheese next time.”
Then, in a voice so small and shaky it was almost inaudible, he had added,
“Not just the rind—something big and delicious. Always for you.”
Ah, how had she forgotten that?
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