Fragments of Thorns and a Cradle - Chapter 17

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Malfoid

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Fragments of Thorns and a Cradle ◈

Volume 1, Part 3

Chapter 17

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Content Warning: bereavement; domestic abuse; physical violence; suicidal thoughts or self-harm.

It rained that afternoon.

Unlike the morning, when the sun had shone as though it would blaze all day, dark clouds began gathering after noon. Agnes was taking a walk, supported by a maid.

The glass garden, expanded and rebuilt over generations, was full of tropical trees and flowers. Through its southern exit, one could enjoy boating on a branch of the Barelli River that faced San Arzok.

It was the first thing Agnes had loved after being sent to San Arzok, a beautiful garden she had believed would enchant her whenever she set foot inside it.

Lush trees as enormous as old-growth timber. Splendid foreign flowers in every color. Broad shrubs and fruit trees. Even tiny birds with bright feathers flitting between the branches.

It was beautiful enough to be heaven itself, but Agnes felt nothing.

Everything was gray. Even the blooming flowers and towering trees felt like illusions. Were they truly alive?

"It's been a while, madam."

Her maid had stepped away because they had no umbrella for the return journey. Someone spoke to Agnes, who stood alone in the garden like a lost orphan.

Agnes turned.

There was only one woman in San Arzok whom people called madam: Lucrezia. At first, Agnes thought the man had mistaken her for Lucrezia.

But he bared his white teeth and called her madam again. Then he approached with dimples in his cheeks and bowed politely.

"It seems you've come out for a walk."

Agnes looked him over listlessly. The man blushed.

She did not answer. She did not know him. Or perhaps she had seen him several times, but could not remember him.

"Did you come out alone?"

"..."

"The glass garden is so large. You should have a maid with you."

Agnes still said nothing.

Randolph had recently instructed that she be accompanied by a maid wherever she went. She rarely left her bedroom anyway. That had been true before, and even more so since Lucian's death. Yet Randolph insisted she always have an attendant.

After a long silence, the man stopped trying to speak. Agnes looked away from him and waited for her maid to return.

He did not leave.

"I, um... Would you like one?"

He spoke again. A faint smile rested on his dark, youthful face, round and kind.

"These are delicious."

An unfamiliar fruit rested in his palm.

Agnes looked up at him. He seemed around her age. He was shorter than Randolph, but sturdily built, with broad shoulders and long legs. Rolled-up sleeves exposed strong forearms. A wide straw hat hung around his neck, as though he had come directly from work, and it suited him well.

"Really."

He smiled again.

Agnes stared at his dimples. Beneath thick golden brows, his blue eyes were boyish. His bright blond hair fell untidily over his forehead. A straight nose, thin lips, gently rounded eyes. His mild, tender smile was like spring snow.

If Lucian had grown into a young man, would he have looked like this?

She did not know. It was difficult to imagine Lucian through Randolph. Perhaps because they resembled each other so little. Perhaps because Randolph had been so cold to the child that it seemed he had never given him even a drop of blood.

She remembered when Lucian had been alive.

Sometimes he slipped into the garden without the maids knowing. Even with no one to play with, he played hide-and-seek by himself and talked to invisible fairies.

Then...

"I... I'm so sorry about the young master. I'm sorry for bringing it up, but I wanted to tell you. He was..."

The young man's gaze fell away. He rubbed the dark soil beneath his boots.

Suddenly, moisture glimmered in his glass-blue eyes.

Agnes could scarcely believe it. She wondered whether he was mocking her. No one in the castle had grieved Lucian's death.

Just as no one had celebrated his birth, no one mourned his death.

Losing Lucian, Lucian leaving this world, was Agnes's sorrow alone. To the people of San Arzok, it was as though Lucian had never existed.

Like the fairy he used to speak of, Lucian existed only in Agnes's world. No one knew him. No one cared for him.

Was that why Agnes had gone mad?

A child without a father did not exist in this world, yet Lucian felt like her child alone. She had rejoiced alone, grieved alone... She felt as if she would fade alone in longing, burn alone in hatred, and become black ash.

These were days when it would not have been strange for her to die at any time.

Perhaps it would be fortunate if she died and remained in no one's memory.

"He was a beautiful child."

It felt as though a dam had burst.

It was not much. Anyone could have said those words. But Agnes had not heard them from anyone until now.

Longing for Lucian. Memories of the place he had left behind.

Everyone seemed to avoid speaking of him deliberately. They seemed to leave Agnes alone on purpose. She felt cut off from the world, as though she were drying up and dying.

Agnes watched the young man wipe away tears. It felt as though he were digging up the place she had tried to bury.

She meant to turn away, but could not.

"I, um..."

After quickly wiping his tears, he hurried off somewhere. Soon, he returned and held something out to her.

Agnes swallowed the sob rising in her throat and stared at it.

A small, worn glass bottle contained colorful pebbles. Red. Blue. Green.

Agnes accepted it carefully.

Inside were little wildflowers woven together by tiny hands. The flowers had long since withered and were no longer beautiful, yet they were heartbreakingly pretty and dear.

Her trembling knees gave way.

"Madam!"

Holding the bottle against her chest, Agnes lowered her head.

It was a dry cry. Her eyes had once wept until they felt flayed raw, but nothing came from them now. Even when she wanted to sob, only ragged breaths escaped.

It was a feeling she had never known before.

As if a thorn had caught in her throat. Violent breaths poured from her as pain bloomed beneath her breastbone.

"Huh... hhh..."

As she struck her chest with a clenched fist, the young man caught her shoulders.

Agnes collapsed into his arms.

Startled, he stiffened, then caught her.

That was when it happened.

"Agnes."

A heavy, low voice.

Goosebumps rose along her ears. She could recognize the presence of the man whose voice alone now made her teeth tremble.

Agnes staggered away from the young man and turned.

Randolph looked like the blank cross-section of something inanimate. He had no expression. He had always been that sort of man, but today he seemed even more so.

The pain beneath Agnes's breastbone tightened. She clutched the glass bottle to her chest.

His gaze fell on her hands.

"Your Excellency, the Marquess."

The young man stiffened and bowed.

Randolph did not even look at him. His gaze, fixed on Agnes, grew heavier.

Agnes read that gaze and walked toward him.

A large hand wrapped around her waist.

Nausea rose in her throat.

They left the glass garden and returned to her bedroom.

After Endymion recovered, Randolph had returned to Agnes's chamber and resumed sleeping beside her as though nothing had changed. Every night was torment.

"What are you holding?"

Randolph had left early, saying he had business outside the castle. He removed his jacket with a sharp, tired expression and drew Agnes close.

"I asked what that was."

Had he not noticed?

Agnes had known at once that the bottle belonged to Lucian. But Randolph seemed not to recognize it at all.

She did not even resent him anymore.

Without replying, Agnes turned to place the bottle where he could not see it.

Randolph forcefully turned her back toward him and threw the bottle away.

It shattered.

Colorful pebbles and dried flowers scattered across the floor.

Agnes stopped breathing and stared at the broken glass.

Randolph seized her chin.