The Forgotten Field - Chapter 153

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 153
Talia willingly released her grip on consciousness.
Yet she did not awaken in that realm of rest.
Stirring from her shallow slumber as a warm cloth gently caressed her face and neck, Talia gazed upward at the man before her—a figure as indistinct as shadow itself.
He carefully drew down her nightgown past her waist, then slowly traced the warm cloth along the curve of her spine.
It suddenly occurred to her that this might not be the first time he had tended to her body in this manner. His touch was far too practiced.
Noticing she had awakened, he stilled his movements and looked down at her face.
When she offered no sign of resistance, he removed the linen tunic past her legs and meticulously cleansed every inch of her perspiration-dampened body.
All her desperate efforts to conceal her weakened form proved meaningless. Talia felt nothing—only confusion at why he would trouble himself with such tedious care, and she merely gazed at him blankly.
He replaced her soiled nightgown with fresh garments, then carefully poured herbal infusion into her mouth.
Talia allowed him to do as he wished. Though she found it somewhat bothersome, resisting and pushing him away seemed even more burdensome.
Sensing her exhaustion, he demanded nothing of her—only held her gently and occasionally gave her water and medicine.
From time to time, he summoned the High Priest to cast recovery magic upon her.
Talia lay still, waiting for all these tiresome ministrations to pass.
She could not say how much time had elapsed.
While drifting through the boundary between consciousness and oblivion, someone entered the chamber and requested a word with Barcas.
Talia thought the voice familiar, yet could not recall to whom it belonged.
The man, barely able to rise from the bed, stood at the doorway and spoke in hushed tones with the visitor. She watched his broad back silhouetted against the light for a moment, then lost all interest and closed her eyes.
“Wait here. I shall return shortly.”
Just as she was slipping back into sleep, Barcas returned to the bedside and bent near her pillow to speak.
Talia offered no reply. The man gazed down at her in silence, then gathered his outer garment and departed.
At that moment, three or four women entered the chamber. It seemed he had summoned attendants to care for her.
One of them approached the bedside and spoke in a gentle voice, but Talia could not comprehend a single word.
It was as though a thick, heavy veil surrounded her.
Beyond that pale, formless barrier, Talia stared at the ghostly, indistinct figures for a moment, then turned away with annoyance and forcefully pursued sleep.
But this time, she could not sleep long.
With clearer awareness, Talia opened her eyes and slowly surveyed the chamber shrouded in shadow. Two young Handmaidens dozed before the Fireplace, while Maricen and the Nursemaid sat beside the bed.
“Are you regaining your senses now?”
The Healer, who had been brewing herbs, brightened at the sight of her open eyes and spoke.
Talia moved her parched lips with difficulty.
“What became of my child?”
Only after uttering those words did Talia realize she had been swallowing them all along.
Even in her delirium, she could not bring herself to ask him. Now, waiting for the answer to this question she could finally voice, she looked up to see deep remorse etched across the Healer’s face.
When the woman could not respond and lowered her gaze, the Nursemaid sitting beside the bed, her nose reddened, spoke in a voice thick with tears.
“The stillborn child was buried properly in the Chapel Courtyard.”
Talia stared at her with hollow eyes.
The Nursemaid gripped her limp hand and continued haltingly.
“It was a boy. Had he only been born alive, he would surely have been a beautiful child.”
The Nursemaid, trembling with sobs, wiped her tears with her other hand and offered a consoling smile.
“But do not grieve too deeply. You are young, and you shall surely bear another beautiful child someday.”
In that moment, Talia was engulfed by a sensation as though a blade had pierced her heart.
She could not fathom why those words inflicted such anguish upon her, yet the sharp, shattering pain that cleaved through her chest was unmistakably real.
Had half her senses not been deadened, she would have cried out in agony.
Trembling faintly, Talia wrenched her hand free from the grip that held her.
“I wish to be alone. All of you, leave at once.”
“But the Grand Duke has instructed us most earnestly that we must not take our eyes from you for even a moment—”
“Now. Go.”
Maricen rose the Nursemaid with cold efficiency. The bewildered woman reluctantly withdrew from the bedside.
The Healer, ushering her toward the door, gestured to the Handmaidens as well.
After a moment’s hesitation, the young women shuffled out reluctantly, and the Healer, grasping the door handle, added in a gentle voice:
“I shall wait in the adjacent room. Should you require anything, please ring the bell at any time.”
With those words, silence descended.
Talia buried her face in the cold quilts and closed her eyes, yet her mind only grew clearer with each passing moment.
Fighting to suppress the convulsive tremors that wracked her body, she suddenly recalled the sleeping draught she had prepared for emergencies and rose from the bed.
She shuffled toward the shelf and opened the cabinet, revealing various medicinal compounds and bundles of dried herbs.
From among them, she retrieved an aromatic herb pellet and placed it in a small brazier. Then, tilting a candlestick, she lit the wick and waited for the smoke to rise.
Soon a bitter fragrance filled the air. She sank onto the carpet and inhaled it deeply.
Before long, her sharply wound nerves began to dull, and her mind grew increasingly hazy. The blurring world was a welcome relief. The world was far too sharp. I wished everything would fade like this smoke.
She leaned back against the bed and drew the acrid smoke deeper into her lungs.
How long had she remained thus?
As the entire world began to crumble into chaos, a strange sound reached her ears from somewhere.
Talia slowly lifted her heavy eyes.
The chamber was illuminated only by the fireplace and candlelight, yet the sound that had been merely a whisper at the edge of her hearing grew steadily clearer.
She rose unsteadily and approached the rattling window frame. The rain-soaked Garden filled her vision. From beyond that ink-dark world, someone was weeping pitifully.
Standing motionless, listening to those sobs, Talia felt herself drawn forward as though by an invisible thread.
She opened the door and stepped into the Corridor, which lay shrouded in silence. Shadows of sentries flickered faintly in the darkness.
Unwilling to encounter them, she turned toward the narrow staircase on the opposite side.
How she managed to descend those steep steps, she could not say. Stumbling and walking, walking still, she suddenly found herself standing in the Castle Backyard, drenched by the downpour.
Talia furrowed her brow in confusion. As her mind began to clear, a faint question arose.
Why had I slipped from my chamber like a thief?
As she gazed endlessly up at the black sky pouring rain, that thin weeping sounded once more.
Talia, as though bound by an invisible thread, resumed her precarious steps.
Cold mud clung viscously to her bare feet.
She felt a sharp pain in her sole, as though she had stepped on something jagged, yet her legs, moving beyond her will, did not stop.
Drifting aimlessly through the rain-soaked world, she knew not how long she had wandered when she suddenly realized she had arrived before the Chapel.
With vacant eyes, she gazed up at the pallid, sickly building, then stepped into the dim entrance. Passing through the empty space, she emerged from the opposite exit into a scene of skeletal trees, thorny brambles, and a small grave without even a stone marker.
She staggered toward it.
At last, the sound that had been ringing in her ears ceased.
Talia blinked her stinging eyes and looked down at a small mound of earth upon which lay a few withering flowers.
Only then could she comprehend the true nature of the sound that had drawn her here.
It was the cry of a newborn.
Suddenly, a thin laugh escaped her lips. She did not even know why she was laughing.
Talia clutched her belly, her shoulders trembling, before she crumpled to the ground and fumbled across the frozen earth beneath her.
Hot rainwater poured relentlessly over her mud-stained hands. No—it was not rain.
Only when her vision blurred with tears did she realize she had not been laughing at all, but weeping.
A thick, choking sob clung to her throat like phlegm. As if someone were strangling her, Talia wrapped her hands around her neck and expelled a wail of anguish, as though vomiting up muddy water.
The despair she had held back came pouring forth all at once.
The world beyond the opaque veil shattered into fragments, embedding itself into her frozen skin. She collapsed forward over the grave, her upper body folding over it.
Then, the sound of wet footsteps reached her ears.
A shadowy silhouette flickered across her tear-blurred vision.
She lifted her hollow eyes and gazed at the man standing in the rain. Heat shimmered like steam rose from his broad frame, wrapped in a drenched shirt. His heaving chest drew slowly closer. Then a pale hand extended toward her.
Talia knew that hand. It was the hand that had saved her and cast her into the abyss in the same breath.
As if he had brandished a weapon, she recoiled, and the man approaching her froze.
Icy rain streaked across his pallid, desolate face. Beyond the curtain of rain, two eyes that once gleamed with a silver crown shone forth. But all she could see now was a barren wasteland.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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