“You might be wondering why I didn’t take my vassals with me.”

Haluna’s words were the first thing Lys had heard besides the howls of the snowy gale outside.

They walked through the slate-coloured keep’s unmanned gatehouse a few moments ago, and as they made their entrance into its front hall, there was nothing there but an oppressive silence. Perhaps the reason why she decided to talk then was to chase off what uneasiness she might have felt as the quietness of the cold stone halls crept into her heart, the same silence that apparently drove Brunn away to fly somewhere else before they passed through the keep’s main door.

The keep’s front hall was nearly nondescript. Its ceiling, high as it was, wasn’t as high as the Grand Palace’s. There were candle-stands in the hall, and a simple-looking chandelier was hanging overhead, but it was not the ornate, jewel-decorated, stunning-looking chandeliers he could find all over the halls of the Grand Palace. There were a few turquoise-coloured banners hanging on the walls. At the banners’ centre was the Rosenfeld’s crescent, and inside the crescent was a strange-looking symbol or pattern that looks like a spider’s web. He surmised that these might be the keep’s or the hold’s banners, which should’ve commanded some respect as their symbol, though even they appear to be washed-up compared to the vivid and bright violet banners he had used to see.

Though Lys was aware those weren’t at all a fair comparison. The Grand Palace was mankind’s achievement at their finest. Here was a border post in a far corner in the world he had no idea of.

The one thing that set apart the hall from being a lackluster-looking room was a large painting on the other side of the walls.

“It’d be against the wishes of the master of this hold. That’s why.”

Haluna continued on her own as Lys didn’t offer her a response.

To those words, Lys carefully gazed at the large painting once again.

Its frame was shining, almost as if it was itself a source of light. The dim shine of the frame accented the timeless-looking colours of the painting. Lys wasn’t an artful man himself, but as a son of a merchant he knew a thing or two about colours and pigment and the like. He could tell even at a glance that the pigment that composed the painting had been made from the most precious gems and stones. And the colours the artist had used in the elaborate painting clearly told him that it was painted by a maestro.

The subject of the painting itself wasn’t anything dramatic. It was a portrait of a man. What clothes the man was wearing there was foreign to Lys, but apparently it was a military uniform of some sorts, evident from the decorations that might’ve been badges of honour on his chest. As for the man himself, he was a stern-looking, masculine beauty. His sharp chin and slight frown complemented his harsh, clear cyan eyes and soft-angled eyebrows. The elaborateness of the painting made Lys felt like the man was literally staring at them from beyond the frame, judging them silently as they came to approach him.

‘Is he ‘the vampire’…?’

That might’ve been the case. Perhaps that apparent sternness, cold facet of his gave him that unfortunate nickname.

“Apparently that master doesn’t favour other people too much… This place seems to be deserted.”

Lys voiced his mind as their footsteps resounded faintly as they tread the turquoise-coloured ornamented carpet. The flickering flame of the candles in the hall offered them meager eyesight, but the soft warmth that came along with it was a welcome addition.

But what was happening around Lys, or what he perceived from it, made the warmth mean little as Lys was unconsciously shivering. As he put it himself, the lord might’ve had been a misanthrope who wouldn’t welcome any presence save himself, hence the lord’s title.

That, or something terrible had happened here.

Haluna didn’t seem to be alarmed, though.

There was a tinge of uneasiness in her looks, yes, but none of those random and paranoid glares at the surroundings. She walked with confidence and clearly she had somewhere to go in her mind. She was a seasoned traveler. She’d know, or at least, she should’ve known if something was indeed wrong with that place.

“Oh, quite the contrary… He likes people. Humans, I mean.”

Haluna replied ambiguously.

It didn’t seem that the lord liked people in the way when the word “like” is normally used, though...

‘If he really liked people so much, it didn’t make any sense that he would let his home devoid of them…… In fact, did Haluna just imply that the master of the fort was something other than human?’

Lys held his forehead in pain. He could feel his accumulated fatigue getting to him.

All he knew that he just stepped in to some absurd place and he was expected to stay there for the next two years. He had a few words of complaints, but he was sure Haluna would just turn the other way even if he voiced them.

The conversation between them died again as they traversed through a set of uniform empty hallways, each as silent and as undecorated as the other, until they stumbled upon what seemed like an inner courtyard.

The courtyard was a spacious field of white flowers with occasional, symmetrically built slate-coloured pillars protruding from the icy surfaces. The falling snow enhanced the flowers’ surreal splendor as the small cold crystals brushed their white petals lightly--- a countless numbers of pale white that enriched the petals’ colours with one more shade of white.

‘This is…’

What he saw there was... ethereal.

It was as if the courtyard was there as a contrast to the dull interiors of the keep.

Truly, it was a breathtaking sight that would’ve been a perfect thing to behold… except for the fact it was actually too cold to enjoy it.

“Snow roses,” Haluna commented before Lys had the chance to ask her, she gazed the flowers briefly before she shrugged and moved on, the sight apparently mundane, or perhaps even unimpressive to her, “As you might have noticed, not many plants can live around these parts… these are one among the three sorts of flowers that can still bloom in the freezing hell that is Rosenfeld.”

And just as she said, there was only one type of flower in the field.

Apparently the only difference between these ‘snow roses’ and the common roses Lys knew was the fact that they had no thorns with them, other than that, the look of the flowers themselves were highly reminiscent of the roses that grew in the gardens of his estate.

“… The seat of their ruling family, Mondkastell, has the second sort. They appear to be exactly like these ones, but with a slightly different colour. Incidentally, the bulbs of these two flowers are edible and they can serve as an emergency provision in times of famine… though I wouldn’t recommend them myself. They’re starchy, and bitter too.”

Her face was twisted as she voiced her remarks. Apparently she was recalling an unpleasant experience in her head.

“I can’t begin to imagine how bulbs might taste like… and the third is…?”

“An even rarer kind, not quite a thing of legends or fables, but it wouldn’t be an exaggeration if I were to say that even the people who live in these lands wouldn’t know a lot about it… I’ve never seen one myself, none of my acquaintance here either. Strange, I can’t seem to recall its name…”

Lys stole another glance at the unprecedentedly large courtyard once more as they took the roundabout way to avoid stepping on the flowers. Inner courtyards weren’t that common in Serenadian architecture so he hadn’t seen a lot of inner courtyards himself, but he was quite sure that the width of the field was proportionally strange. It was as if the keep was deliberately built around that field of flowers. He realised that that might’ve been true as the other side of the hallways seemed to be arvinas away.

“Say, Haluna. Perhaps it’s just me. But… doesn’t this inner courtyard feel a tad bit… too extensive?”

Generally an inner courtyard would have the function as an alternative place to the indoors to entertain guests and the like. However, the idea of entertaining guests outside while it was bitter cold to the point that it was difficult to breathe was inconceivable for Lys.

Haluna sighed,

“I just explained it to you a while back, didn’t I? Their bulbs are safe to eat... In other words, this is where they store the keep’s reserve food supply. Or I suppose, it was. I mean, I can’t imagine how anyone would put something so unpalatable in their mouths. And given that not many people live here now, the place is nothing more but a simple flower field now----------------------- we’re here.”

Before them was an engraved white marble door.

Haluna grabbed its heavy looking handle and pushed with an “mmph”, and as soon as the door opened Lys could feel a stream of warm, rose-scented vapor flowing from the inside.

What lies beyond the door was filled with gentle light.

Tranquil colours of a sizable stained glass were projecting through what was left of the daylight, reflecting the light it had altered to the corners of the room. Hundreds if not thousands of small candles were floating on a stream of slightly steamy water, as its countless lights were mirrored by the water’s surface. Near the stained glass were a few candleholders, each candles were different in their sizes, and none of their flames had the same hue.

Then, there were the crisp sound of running water.

… Roses.

White petals of roses were floating there on the small stream, its steam was the agent of the fragrance that filled the room.

And there near the stained glass, on the far side of the room, was a slender, long-haired figure, dressed in a black pelt overcoat .

It was the first living soul Lys had seen for a while ever since he had set off from Renellfeld.

The figure was facing the other way when they opened the room, perhaps lost in the wondrous scheme of colours the room had offered them. But now that the cold winds from the outside announced Lys’ and Haluna’s arrival, the figure began to turn Lys’ way.

Lo, the figure was that of a lady’s, and what Lys saw there was beyond any figment of Lys’ imagination.

The first thing Lys noticed about her was her clear, ruby-coloured irises.

Then her almond-shaped eyes.

Her thin lips, slightly pouted. Her upturned nose, and then her slightly pointed chin.

Her straight, silken ashen hair, and the blue flower that rested on that hair, glorifying it.

The small, crescent-shaped silver pendant that contrasted the black overcoat she was wearing.

“I’ve been told that I’d have guests today. You could’ve picked a better time to show up, however.”

So she spoke.

Her voice, it was tender, mellow.

“Lys Ravenlicht of Serenadia, milady. Apologies for our…….. poor timing of arrival. If it may pleases milady, please know that we’ve been riding since the first light from Renellfeld.”

Lys approached her, a brief moment of silence as they gazed at each other.

Then he reached for her right hand, and kissed its backside.

The moment felt… surreal.

She was taken aback for a moment, as she jerked and her eyes went round, but then she returned to her default expression with a bitter smile floating across her lips.

There was a chuckle from behind him.

Then it broke into a loud laughter. Haluna was laughing, almost to the point that she seemed to be losing her breath, her laughter echoed throughout the halls, the surreal atmosphere that Lys felt gone with it.

It took her a while, but eventually, she managed to recover.

“Beautiful as you’ve always been.”

That was the first words she spoke after she regained coherent speech, and with it, Haluna bowed with her hand on her chest.

“And you’re as whimsical as ever… I’m fully aware that you may find this hilarious, but truth be told… I’ve grown rather tired of this jest,” The lady shifted her attention to Haluna, her tune was slightly tinged with lethargy, “Come here.”

Haluna approached the lady, gave her a peck on her left cheek. They hugged for a while and then parted as she took a few steps forward.

“Er… what’s going on here?”

Lys asked Haluna as he lost comprehension of what was taking place before him.

“Ah, let me introduce you, Sir Lys. The one’s standing before you is none other than Ilya von Rosenfeld. He’s the lord of this place, the Count of Schneienkreuz.”

=======V=======

Dinnertime.

The scent of the burning firewood as it crackles.

Three goblets, three small bowls, two silver plates and one wooden plate on the long dinner table.

And on the dining chairs sat Haluna and the Count of Schneienkreuz. Their conversations, which were kept to minimal exchanges ever since they left the hall near the flower field, had just died down yet again. Lys was still filled with embarrassment due to what happened in the hall where he met Ilya for the first time. It was hard for Lys to find the right words to say after that, every word just appeared to sound awkward by then.

Lys tried to focus on the dinner while trying to recover, but what he was chewing there wasn’t much of a help.

There were two dishes before him. The bowl had a tasteless, greenish soup that almost tasted like stale water, and then there was the dry, chewy meat that was terribly hard to swallow on the plate. It was a miracle that the poor knife could slice through it in the first place.

The goblet had a black, cloudy liquid that gave off a curious scent. Lys didn’t have the courage to try it, not yet, at least. The soup was enough to quench his thirst.

In normal practice, although he never did so, he could ask for another dish. It was a common practice in Bravell to tell the attending servant to change the dish should the eater didn’t find the dish to suit their palate..... except that in this case, he couldn’t. Doing so would possibly be an offence to the count.

Apparently there was no other person in the decrepit keep but the count herse--- himself. No maids, butlers nor chamberlains attending the halls and the rooms, no guards patrolling the hallways and the entrances, and thus no kitchen-wenches nor chefs cooking in the kitchen. The meals were thoroughly prepared by the count personally from start to finish. Haluna did help him by setting the table--- silverwares for Lys and Haluna, woodenwares for Ilya. The table setting was a tad peculiar, but when Haluna said that it was the virtue there for the host to humble themselves before their guests, he could draw a line from there.

Perhaps the reason why Haluna didn’t bring her vassals with her was because of this very reason. The count had to attend to his guests alone. Judging from their interactions, Lys could surmise at the very least, they weren’t strangers, or perhaps they were already friends—as no Serenadian women would kiss someone’s cheek unless the other party was a close associate. It was highly probable that Haluna simply did not want to draw more trouble for the count.

“Milord. About what I did a while back…”

“That’s fine,” Haluna interrupted him before he had the chance to finish his sentence, “Ilya had already grown used to it. He knows that there’s currently a poor understanding between his race and humans and general. He didn’t find a fault in your remarks.”

Ilya nodded at Haluna’s word, his smile was still bitter, but gentle nonetheless.

“Have you heard of Roseis before, Sir?”

Ilya asked as he split the meat before him with his hands.

“This is the first time I’ve heard of it, Milord.”

“Then you can rest assured that I didn’t take offence to that little incident.”

His fangs were showing a bit as he grinned.

“Roseis are the common name for the sons and daughters born from the humans and the nymphs that dwell in the rivers of Enricia… I believe those nymphs are called Lilians now.” Haluna explained in Ilya’s stead, her fingers fidgeting as the meat was resisting the knife they were holding, “Despite their human blood, the nymph blood still runs strong in their veins… hence their appearance. Rosenfeld men are all like him, so you better don’t pull that off ever again.”

Lilians.

The term was familiar to Lys’ ears. He recalled that the Keep had mentioned it once before his departure to the borders. He did mention that all of them were women. As it turned out, they were nymphs. Of course all of them would be women.

It was still somewhat came off as a surprise for him, since he thought of them as the stories of the old.

“Nymphs? So, you’re not a vampire, milord?”

Ilya coughed as Haluna broke into laughter once again.

“Not at all, no,” Ilya’s cheeks blushed lightly, as if he just heard something embarrassing, “That’s what the foreign dignitaries used to call me. A moniker, if you will. There’s no solid evidence that vampires ever existed… but since there are folk stories about red eyes and all that, that’s the main reason why they attached the moniker to me. Some people still call me with that, and I must say I’m not proud with it.... but I’d say I’m getting used to it.”

‘Hearing that vampires don’t exist from a nymph's descendant feels surreal, though...’

Lys mumbled inwardly.

“Well it’s no wonder why people would think of that. You live like a hermit and you keep your interactions minimum. People would have ideas…”

Said Haluna, as if she was saying something akin to a light criticism against the count.

“That’s not true.” He shook his head horizontally, “Look, you might’ve never seen them during your visit a few years back, Haluna. But we do have servants… they just don’t live here. It’d be impossible for me to maintain the place alone, but It costs a lot of silver to keep men here, as merchants don’t come here at all and summoning them would take more coins from the treasury, I let them live in Spaetjahr instead with the army. The weather there is much more forgiving than what we have here. They come three times every fortnight and help me maintain this waste of a keep… Though I must say even if people live here, this place would still be unmaintained.”

He concluded his words as he sipped the contents of his goblet, his gaze was directed to no one in particular.

Lys remembered Spaetjahr from the map he carried with him. It was supposedly the first town on the base of the Rosenfeld’s side of the icy mountains. According to the count, the army had been living there with his servants, so apparently it was quite the sizable town.

“But aren’t you worried though? This place is unmanned. There’s always the risk of larceny or the like….”

Lys asked the count, he shook his head another time.

“I’m not. Larceny in this place would be the height of all follies. There are only a few coins in the treasury, and nothing else. Though when push comes to shove, there’s a bell-tower attached to the annex that I can use to notify people.” He took a brief pause and took another sip from his goblet before he continued, “… Quite the old relic, the bell-tower is… I could never figure how the men before me built it, but here's what I know of. The bell do ring loudly, and it is so loud it reaches far, all the way to Spaetjahr. Unlike your perilous road that spans from Renellfeld, the terrain from there is a lot more forgiving… it’s possible for the bulk of the Archduchess’ army to reach this place and man the baileys and watchtowers in just a few minutes.”

“There's still a chance that they may come... and you’re still a noble, Milord. Aren’t you worried for your life?”

Back in Bravell, the idea of having a noble’s manor to be unattended by servants and guards is ludicrous. Not only that their presence itself was the symbol of status, their attendance would normally ward the house from thieves or any unwanted guests.

For Lys, the count may argue that keeping servants or guards would put a heavy burden on his coffers, but in the end the fact that he was a noble with a peerage didn’t change. If raiders were to decide that this desert of a keep was to be their next target and capture him in the process, it’d cost him much, much more.

Such was the difference between a noble and the commonfolk. There was value attached on their very lives. One probably couldn’t ransom a common man, not unless the man was closely attached to a person in power or of wealth. But a nobleman, that would be a different case entirely.

Ilya let out a stifled laugh.

“Sir,” He turned to gaze at Lys, peering directly into Lys’ eyes, “What does being a noble mean to you?”

“Pardon?”

Lys stopped his attempt to get the next cut his meat.

“As I said, what does being a noble mean to you? Does it mean you’ve got to live in lofty manors as a superior existence above the commonfolks, as you attend balls--- parties, and, perhaps, rule the masses, as you go by?”

This time it was Lys who shook his head.

“Milord, I’m an elected noble. I’m not a noble by blood.”

And as he knew best, there was a major difference between him and those who held the post due to their bloodline.

“Regardless. Ah, perhaps you’re trying to infer that nobility is defined by bloodline?”

While Ilya wasn’t completely wrong, it wasn’t exactly the point that Lys was trying to make.

“No. it’s…”

….

Gone were the words from his mouth.

In the first place, he didn’t actually know the meaning of the word. From the years he experienced not long ago, stepping into palaces with guards saluting him, he thought he knew the gist of it. But now that someone asked him about it, vexing as it was, he just couldn’t find the right word to answer the question directed at him.

‘What does being a noble mean, anyway?’

Lys knew he was privileged, and he never was under the illusion that he struggled to receive such privilege. So, were the privileges that he had made him a noble? Or was it because of the people that he was a noble? And even with all those banters, the answer lies nonexistent.

Ilya reached for another sip from his goblet as he saw Lys’ troubled face.

“Relax.” He said, waving his free hand, “I’m not expecting for an answer……. not now anyway.”

He finished the contents of his goblet and rose up.

“You see, Sir Lys----- you don’t mind I refer you with your given name, yes?”

“If it pleases you, Milord. I’m fine with it.”

“Good. May I remind you that you’re a prince though… which roughly translates as a count here. We hold the same rank so it’s fine for you to dismiss the formalities when you speak with me… After all, formality has little use in these wretched parts of the land… Anyway, I digressed.”

He walked to the pile of woods near the furnace and threw a handful of them into the fire.

“For me, Sir Lys.” He continued, his tone was as tender as when they first met, “Being a nobility means that I have to sit for hours every single day in my life to do administrative work.”

He turned his back to face Lys again, the remnants of the cold breeze from the outside swept his hair, and the light from flame of the furnace was reflected on his clear red eyes.

“Times have changed….. Long gone are the ages in which the commonfolk could be convinced that their purpose of living was to serve their landlords. The overlord of this white land must always be a direct descendant of the First Queen, and that will not change---- not in the near future. However, I remain here not because of the First Queen… I remain because the good people of this county see the merit in me holding this office for them, and I’m only but one among many.”

Lys could understand what the count was trying to say. Or perhaps he thought he could understand the hidden meaning between the count’s words.

He was trying to infer that meritocracy prevails over this land. It was merit that made him a lord, and it was merit that kept him in that position. If he were to disappear the next day, people would request the monarch to find a suitable replacement for him, and finding a person as meritorious as he was would be a simple task.

He was, in a way, expendable. That was why he didn’t fear for his life.

Though that didn't sound "noble" to Lys. If Lys parsed his words correctly, then there was definitely a fault in Ilya's thought pattern. Nonetheless, he wasn't in the position to a criticise someone he barely knew.

“Though I suppose what I said didn’t answer my own question. Know this, Sir Lys. I asked because I wanted to know the answer--- I don’t have an answer myself.”

He sighed, then he returned to his seat.

“It would be interesting if you have an answer when our time together came to a pass… which is still a long time coming.”

He reached for a pot from beneath the desk and poured another of the black liquid into his goblet.

“How do you find the meat, Sir Lys?”

“Well, it’s fine… I’d say it’s, uh… free from factors in which I could complain about.”

Tut, tut. Ilya shook his head disapprovingly.

“You know, Haluna was once like you.” He said, though the was no blame in the way he was talking about it, almost as if he was plainly reminiscing, “At this point I suppose all you northerners are just some stuck-up bunch—“

“--- Don't shift the topic to me now, Ilya. You know----”

Haluna interrupted, but Ilya raised his palm to stop her.

“Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to poke you in front of your compatriot---- ‘Stuck-up’ is hardly a criticism anyway… Well about the meat, I know better than anyone else that the meat of gralean hares are not the most palatable. They’re hard to chew, probably because they move around so much. My sister used to hate it… I think she still hates it now. But you could’ve told me, that way I may present you something more palatable tomorrow. You’re my guest and it’s my duty to see if you’re eating well.”

Then, he pointed at Lys’ goblet. The mysterious liquid that Lys didn’t dare to drink even a drop.

“Here’s my second question. Why are you not touching your goblet, Sir Lys?”

The liquid is strangely black, it gave off a strange odor, and from the looks of it whatever was there didn’t seem to be something that could be drunk without him spitting it out afterwards. But of course it wasn’t possible for him to say any of those.

Perhaps he never meant to ask the question for Lys to answer, as he continued after the pause.

“Fear of the unknown, I presume. Here’s a suggestion…. Bottoms up.”

He drank the contents of his goblet one more time, this time it was all at once.

Seeing that, Lys had no choice but to follow suit.

He grabbed the goblet, held his breath as the cold silver reached his lips, and let the dark liquid inside flood the insides of his mouth.

…

Bitter.

There were no other words than that. The bitterness that his tongue tasted paralysed him.

But as he gulped down and the next flood of the black liquid flood once again, he could notice some changes.

First, he felt that his body was feeling warmer, as if the cold air that plagued his breath was slowly being expelled out from his system. It felt comfortable, and more than anything he could feel that the small shivers that his body unconsciously made ever since he reached the upper parts of the Gralean Mountains were being subdued.

And as his body grows warmer, he felt that the liquid itself began to change in taste. Its taste was changing to a sweeter tone, as if he was drinking something else entirely in every single gulp. By the time he finished the contents of his goblet, he was feeling invigorated and warm, and the aftertaste suggested that in the end the liquid tasted as sweet as any fruit essence.

“I see that colours are returning to your pale face, Sir Lys. Good for you.” He nodded, grinning while he grabbed his chin, “Though I daresay your long travels have made you exhausted and you’ve yet to fully recover.”

Ilya glanced at the rest of the meal and reached for his utensils to resume his interrupted dinner.

“One week,” He said, before he put another mouthful of the rubbery meat in his mouth, “You will stay here for one week to recuperate before I accompany you to Nebelkreuz. I wanted you to stay in Spaetjahr during the rest of your tenure----it’d be more humane for you that way… But you’re expected by my cousin. What better ways to prepare your heart for the bitter coldness of Nebelkreuz than to stay here in this decrepit, old and chilled keep of mine?”

As long as he had that drink he just had before, though, Lys felt it wouldn’t be a problem.