r18novel 108. Reflection
108. Reflection
His shoulders were slightly hunched, and his hands were wiping the silver holy emblem.
He ran his thumb along the surface of the emblem again and again, wiping away the last speck of dust.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on his wrinkled hands and the gleaming silver badge. Every wrinkle and every glimmer of silver was as clear as a meticulous painting.
"He passed away peacefully." Edric didn't turn around, his voice hoarse and calm. The voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet room, every word was clear.
"In his final moments, he saw the people he wanted to see."
Xinlai closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
In her arms, Eve's sobs gradually subsided.
It's not that I'm no longer sad, but that I've run out of energy.
Her body no longer trembled violently, but would occasionally twitch, like a child who had just woken up from a nightmare and couldn't distinguish between dream and reality.
Her breathing became shallow and rapid, each exhale accompanied by a faint, almost inaudible sigh.
Xinlai held her in her arms and remained silent for a long time.
The moonlight outside the window grew brighter and brighter, and the shadow of the old oak tree was stretched very long, crossing the courtyard ground and climbing up the opposite stone wall, like a hand slowly reaching out, or like a flowing black river.
The apothecary was extremely quiet, with only the occasional soft tinkling of the copper bells as they were rustled by the wind.
Edric casually placed the brass bell on the windowsill, and the night breeze slipped in through the cracks in the window, gently stroking it.
Ding-dong.
Ding-dong.
It sounded like it was coming from a very, very far place, or like the sound of a bell being rung by someone who had just embarked on a long journey and was turning back to say goodbye.
When Alaya pushed open the door, it was almost dawn.
The door hinges made a low creak as they turned, but the sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet apothecary room.
She held an oil lamp in her hand, the flame burning quietly inside the glass shade, the orange light spreading across her face, making her features appear soft and clear.
She was wearing a dark robe, and her hair was a little messy, as if she had just gotten out of bed and rushed over.
She glanced at Eve, who was curled up in Sinley's arms and had cried herself to sleep, then at Edric, who stood motionless by the window like a statue, before her gaze settled on Sinley.
"Simondo sent men to question us," she said, her voice so low that only the three people in the apothecary could hear. "They're asking who died in the dungeon today."
Xinlai raised her head.
"What was your answer?"
“I said it was Marquis Tanstin.” Alaya paused, her gaze meeting Xinlai's for a moment. “That’s the truth. I didn’t say anything else.”
Xinlai nodded.
He looked down at Eve's sleeping face in his arms. When she was asleep, all the strength he had deliberately maintained while awake crumbled.
Tears still clung to her eyelashes, shimmering in the firelight. Even in her dream, her brows were slightly furrowed, a faint vertical line forming between them, as if she were still troubled by something in her dream.
He reached out and gently smoothed the wrinkles between her brows with his fingertips.
"What are you planning to do next?" Alaya asked.
Xinlai did not answer immediately.
He held Eve in his arms, his gaze passing over her loose hair and looking out the window. The setting sun had completely disappeared, replaced by the deepest darkness before dawn.
The sky was left with the last trace of dark red afterglow, like a wound that was healing, or a ribbon about to be swallowed by darkness.
His hand reached into his robes.
The appointment document was still there, neatly folded, kept close to his body, the paper warm from his body heat.
Another piece of paper is also there.
The paper was coarser, the cheap kind made from pressed straw pulp, and the writing on it, done with charcoal, was still messy yet clear. Place names, codes, routes.
Every character is crooked and twisted, but every stroke is so forceful that it almost tears the paper.
Fifty thousand heavily armored cavalry, a secret camp, and a key that Marquis Tanstin handed to him with his last breath.
But that's not what he was thinking about at the moment.
He was thinking of a pair of eyes. The Marquis Tansteen's only remaining right eye, the look in his eyes as he said, "Eve...please, treat her well."
There was a plea, a trust, and a deep-seated trust—trust in a young person, trust in a promise. It wasn't the condescending, condescending kind of trust, but an equal trust—a trust in entrusting one's most precious possession to another.
He recalled the four words he had used in his reply.
I promise you.
"Miss Alaya," Xinlai finally spoke, her voice soft but each word seeming to be squeezed from the deepest part of her chest, "I need a few days. Eve is entrusting you with these few days."
Alaya looked at him and remained silent for a moment.
The silence was brief, but enough for the two to complete a silent exchange.
Her gaze moved from Sinley's face to Eve's sleeping face, and then back to Sinley's face. Then she nodded.
She didn't ask him what he planned to do during those few days. Sometimes, not asking is the greatest sign of trust.
Xinlai gently placed Eve on the bench in the apothecary. His movements were very light and slow, one hand supporting the back of her head and the other holding her waist, as if he were holding a piece of porcelain that might break at any moment.
When her body touched the blanket on the bench, she stirred and murmured something indistinctly, as if calling someone's name or talking in her sleep.
But those syllables were indistinct and quickly dissipated into the air.
She turned over, buried her face in the blanket, and fell into a deep sleep again.
Xinlai took off her coat, unfolded it, and gently draped it over her. The coat was dark-colored, made of rough but thick fabric, covering her small body completely.
A section of her pale neck was exposed at the neckline; it was so thin it was alarming, and beneath the skin were pale blue veins that rose and fell slightly with her breathing.
He stood up and paused at the door.
I glanced back.
Eve was curled up on the bench, covered by his coat, with only half of her face showing.
The firelight cast interplay of light and shadow on her face, half of it bathed in a warm orange glow, while the other half remained hidden in the shadows.
Her breathing was more even than before, but she would still occasionally let out a soft sound that sounded like a sigh or a sob.
Edric remained standing by the window.
The old pastor's posture remained almost unchanged, except that a string of prayer beads had appeared in his hand at some point.
His lips moved as he silently recited something, his thumb moving a rosary bead with each recitation.
The moonlight stretched his shadow very long, from the window all the way to the center of the room.
Xinlai pushed open the door and went out.
A night breeze swept over me, carrying the unique coolness of autumn.
That coolness wasn't the biting chill of winter, but a refreshing coolness that invigorated the spirit.
The starry sky overhead was clear and vast, with the Milky Way stretching across the horizon like a river sprinkled with shattered silver, or a bridge spanning the sky composed of countless points of light.
He walked down the stone steps of the castle, one by one.
The stone steps were long, stretching from the floor where the apothecary was located all the way to the bottom of the castle. Each step had been worn smooth and shiny by countless footsteps, gleaming with a cold, eerie light under the moonlight.
The iron boots clattered firmly on the stone slabs.
The sound was neither too fast nor too slow, like the steady beating of a heart, or like the slow beating of a war drum.
The sound echoed across the empty stone steps, reverberating throughout the entire castle, reaching every stone wall, every archway, and every corridor.
Then it disappeared into the night.