BIHNM 17

Chapter 17

 In the Study

“Oh my, you’re looking much livelier now.”

The little bird whose life had once been in danger had recovered enough that, when I held out my hand, it hopped onto my palm with a cheerful motion.

“Here, these are breadcrumbs from the Harvest Festival. You should give thanks to Lord Margus too.”

“This bird has never seen the master, so even if you say that, it won’t understand you.”

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

“I know, ma’am.”

After finishing the breadcrumbs, the bird spread its wings and returned to the small nest box made out of an apple crate. It still couldn’t fly, but its once-bent wings seemed to have mended beautifully.

“Madam, you have healing powers, don’t you?”
Muti asked.

“I wouldn’t say I don’t, but… they’re not of much use.”

“But it worked, didn’t it? Look,” Muti said, pointing at the bird.
Though I doubted it—it was probably natural recovery.

“The vet said the wings would never be straight again. So the fact that this bird recovered this much is all thanks to you, madam.”

“I can ease pain, yes, but I can’t heal external wounds.”

If I’d been able to do that, I wouldn’t have been treated the way I was back at home. Not that it matters now. There’s no point in telling anyone, ‘I have a little healing power,’ and I don’t want any praise for it either.

After tending to the bird, I climbed the stairs to the second floor. That was when I noticed the door to the study slightly ajar, as if beckoning me in.

I approached quietly. Inside, there was no sign of anyone working.

“Lord Margus?”
No answer.

When I peeked in as usual, I found Lord Margus lying on the sofa, eyes closed.

Every night, the light in this room stayed on until late as he worked, and every morning, he was the first to rise. Once, I had asked him carefully, “Don’t you get exhausted?”
He had replied, “I rest during the day. A short nap clears my head.”

So I knew when Lord Margus took his afternoon naps.
Not that I ever intended to do anything improper with that knowledge.

To be able to fall asleep so quickly, even for a short time—perhaps that’s a kind of talent. Or maybe it’s an instinct honed for survival.

Lord Margus didn’t seem to notice my impolite gaze; his eyes remained closed.

—His brow is furrowed again today.

Thinking the sunlight might be too bright, I softly closed the curtains. Still, his expression didn’t ease. He didn’t seem to be sleeping peacefully.

Knowing full well how presumptuous I was being, I raised my hand over his forehead, just as I always did.
Whether it worked or not, I never knew. But I always wished that it would.

—But how long should I keep doing this?

It would be strange to ask him, “Have your dreams been better lately?” So I had no idea whether what I was doing helped him at all.

Still, lately I had begun to feel that my healing power—so faint before—was slowly, very slowly, growing stronger.
Maybe someday, I might actually be able to help Lord Margus.

“…No, that’s just wishful thinking,” I murmured.

So many good things had happened to me lately—it would be greedy to hope for even more.

When I lifted my face from my mumbled thoughts, I met Lord Margus’s gaze.

—I’ve been caught.

“Hyah!”

Startled, I fell backward onto the floor.
If anyone should have screamed, it was probably him—but instead, those wintry-colored eyes were wide open, fixed squarely on me.

“M-m-my deepest apologies!”

I dropped to my hands and knees and apologized frantically.
I couldn’t even deny it if he accused me of attacking him in his sleep.

“There’s no need to apologize,”
he said, sitting up slowly and brushing back his slightly tousled hair.

“I’ve noticed you doing this for quite some time now.”

“Y-you have!?”

“When something appears beside my bed that wasn’t there before… anyone would notice. And, well, when someone’s nearby.”

My face grew hot from a mix of embarrassment and regret.
I’d thought I was being discreet, but apparently not.
Of course, someone who’d lived through the battlefield would be sensitive to the presence of others—it was foolish of me to forget that.

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you might be having… bad dreams. I only hoped that perhaps my power could help. I’m truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? Not at all,” he said. “It worked. When I was trapped in a nightmare, I heard your voice. Listening to it somehow eased my body… and then I realized—you were using your power for my sake.”

So he wasn’t angry.
Thank goodness.

“When you’re beside me, I don’t have nightmares. Will you stay for a while?”

“Y-yes, gladly, if you’ll have me.”

When I once again placed my hand over his forehead, a soft light seemed to bloom in his eyes.

“Did you used to do this at the dragon riders’ village too?”
“Yes. It’s about the only thing I can do.”

“…The dragons must miss you dearly, Algelita.”

At the sudden sound of my name, my face flushed again.
Hopefully, it was too dim for him to notice.

“I’d like to think they do… though part of me feels guilty for leaving my work unfinished.”

“Do you ever wish to return to the village?”

“…I like it here. I do worry about them, but… if possible, I’d like to stay here forever. Still, once things calm down, I’d love to introduce you to everyone.”

“To everyone—you mean the dragons?”

“Yes, of course,” I smiled.

“I see. Then… tell me about them.”

He closed his eyes again.

“Right before I came here, I was taking care of a male dragon named Largo.”

“Did you name him?”

“No… I wasn’t supposed to, really.”

When dragons are brought to the Riders’ Village, they discard the names given to them by humans, in preparation to return to the earth.

“You know how we attach nameplates near their hearts? When a dragon and its rider are separated, many people leave those tags as they are. I would find them, and if I could learn their original names, I’d keep them. I’d just say it was a coincidence.”

That’s why Largo remained Largo.
I’m sure that’s what he would have wanted—he was so deeply attached to his master.

“I see. Were there others like him?”

“Yes. Until spring, there was an old dragon named Welfin. I think he was around thirty, but he looked magnificent for his age. He had a proper nameplate too.”

“When did that dragon arrive?”

In that moment, Lord Margus’s eyes opened wide, swirling with some powerful emotion. I hesitated, but under his steady, urging gaze, I spoke timidly.

“Last summer, I think. Not long before that, Largo arrived with terrible injuries… he was violent at first, but once Welfin came, he calmed down. Welfin was so—how should I say it—dignified and imposing, he quickly became the leader of the village. But he was very kind too…”

I remembered clearly the day Welfin arrived—a scorching summer day when a grand carriage pulled up and left him there, as if discarding him.

“Welfin was very kind to me. I first discovered my healing power because of him—he’d hurt his leg, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could help. He was so intelligent; when I spoke to him, he’d look right at me, as if listening. That’s when I realized… even without words, humans and dragons can understand each other.”

One day, Welfin had taken a feather from his mouth and offered it to me.
Strictly speaking, none of his feathers belonged to me—I was just his caretaker.
But I still like to think that particular feather was his gift.

“When the war ended and more wounded dragons began to arrive, he… passed away, almost as if he were giving up his place for them.”

Lord Margus suddenly rose to his feet.

“…I just remembered something I must do.”

He stood so abruptly that I couldn’t even get a word in. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he left the room.

All that remained were me—and the blanket he’d left behind.