GRP Chapter 31

By the time Garthe returned from washing, Mariaeks had curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep. She had done the same thing in the wide bed. Her sleeping habits were, in a word, pitifully shabby.

The handprint bruised into her throat had deepened to blue. The sleeping Mariaeks was sweating freely, emitting a continuous low, blurred sound of pain. It was said of him, quietly, that he had lost human feeling in exchange for divine power—but even to Garthe's eyes, the state of her was a fair degree pitiful.

He watched Mariaeks for a moment. Then he shook the water from his wet hair with a towel and gathered her up.

He laid Mariaeks on the bed and settled himself beside her. He breathed, and a faint fragrance drifted to the tip of his nose. Cool and fresh—a green scent from her skin. Since Mariaeks had taken up residence in the room, the bedding and the air had begun to carry this fragrance faintly.

The smell of a snow-covered forest settled quietly over the nauseating, acrid smell of the medicinal herbs and the smell of burning corpses that had come back with him from three days in 'Paradise.' Garthe closed his eyes in the stillness and dark.

Not long after, the rustle of sheets dragging broke the silence. Something pressed itself firmly against his side. What it was required no great effort to determine. A wandering fox would not climb in through the window to press itself against his ribs—though had that been the case, he supposed, it would have been somewhat surprising.

Garthe turned his head and looked down. As expected: one Mariaeks, seeking warmth. She was frowning, curled into herself, trembling in fine tremors. Whether from cold or from her body failing, he couldn't distinguish.

"Ha..."

A short breath left him. He snapped his fingers. Fire caught instantly in the fireplace that had been accumulating nothing but dust. The room would take time to warm. And Mariaeks looked weak enough to die in that short interval. Garthe shifted her properly against him.

Shortly after, the body that had been so tightly huddled and shivering softened against the warmth of contact and came apart. Mariaeks's arms wrapped his broad chest without any particular hesitation. He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. When awake she couldn't manage to meet his eyes—and now here was instinct, with nothing operating to restrain it. That was the frightening thing about a mind laid bare.

In truth, most humans froze in his presence. Famous heroes with names known across the continent. Kings of nations. Animals with strong instincts fled before he was even visible. By that count, she became only the second living creature in his life to fall asleep in his warmth.

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, light and soft, as if a small animal had been placed there—ticklish. Shh-shh—her sleeping breath against his skin, ticklish.

'Can't sleep well? Try keeping a pet. I sleep better myself when I hold my Poppie.'

The words of a tribal chief who kept reindeer herds. He'd thought, at the time, that there were all kinds of mad people in this world...

Watching Mariaeks, who had entrusted her life to him entirely and slept without fear, he found his body going slack. His eyelids were heavy.

Mariaeks's warmth had quieted the curse. His body, which had been awake for a long time, finally complained of fatigue. The curse did not subside simply because it was night and everyone was sleeping. Because of this, sleep only arrived by riding the curse's peak into unconsciousness.

Half a year ago he had last slept, briefly. He hadn't been tired in a long time. Garthe's consciousness sank below the still surface. Slowly, it sank. And sank. The brief dream he found was in too deep a place. When he woke, Garthe remembered nothing.

. . .

Something cuts through the whole body—. It is agonizing. Death is approaching.

The soul begins to crack. Unable to endure it, it thrashes, tears itself to pieces. It breaks apart and crumbles. It disperses and fades. It sinks with the pain.

A thick despair that is not mine begins to spread in the warped space. I want to tell them not to grieve the approaching end—

"My —, we will meet again after a very long time."

It grows hazy. Gradually.

Morning entered at an angle through the gap in the curtains. As pale light filtered across her eyelids, Mariaeks's consciousness slowly surfaced.

Warm...

The air was cool, but inside the blanket the warmth was close to sweltering.

"......"

She registered something odd. The bed was repeating a gentle, gradual rise and fall. Thunk. Thunk. The sound of a heartbeat like a great beast's reverberated in the ear she had pressed flat against it.

This didn't seem quite like a bed. Mariaeks moved her eyes very carefully, and understood. Indeed, this was not a bed. Just because one slept on top of a large man didn't make the man a bed.

She drew a careful breath and slowly raised her head from the chest she had been using as a pillow. Garthe was visible—eyes closed, breathing evenly. He appeared to be asleep. It was the first time she had seen him unguarded since the moment they met.

But she could not relax at all. She had no way of knowing what movement might provoke him. All she could do was breathe slowly, as before. With each shallow movement, she could feel the curved muscles where they pressed against her.

His body was burning hot, boiling. The heartbeat that drove against her was fierce. Even from the position of not being pinned down but being the one pinning him, she could gauge his strength and mass. It was like being in contact with a large predator.

Mariaeks licked her dry lips. A faint umami taste brought back the night before. The soup she had eaten had been so warm. The candy had been unbelievably sweet—sweet enough to dissolve the pain of both tension and hunger at once.

That dreamily sweet taste was her last clear memory. When she woke, rather than sweetness, she found her lips and mouth bone dry. Wretched. The only consolation was that her body was in better condition than the previous day.

She traced back what she could remember from before the memory cut off. The man had burst in without warning. He had strangled her throat, taken her food, and made her vomit what she had already eaten. Then he had given her soup and sweet candy.

Indeed.

Setting aside any personal view she might have formed of him: Garthe was, objectively, a crazy human. To be on guard around him or to manage his mood, she would need to know what he was thinking. But sometimes he acted with something like gentleness, and other times he threatened to kill her. There was no pattern.

Because of this, Mariaeks could not predict what would come of having slept on top of Garthe. Among the dozens of passing imaginations, not a single happy ending existed.

She looked at Garthe again, carefully. Morning sunlight had touched his jaw and the corners of his mouth. And more than that—the corners of his eyes were shimmering. His wet eyelashes glinted. The tear gathered at the corner of his eye tracked down toward his temple. Mariaeks held her breath and watched. A shock like being struck on the head descended on her. A man whose every part was a weapon, who had made others weep blood—and he was crying.

His brows were not furrowed at all. He was not crying in the turbulent way of someone releasing a surging emotion. He was simply shedding tears with a peaceful, sleeping face. After watching Garthe for a long moment, Mariaeks moved as if drawn by something. It was not an action she could have done with a clear head. Her hand moved before she decided to move it. She carefully wiped the wet corner of his eye.

In that instant, Garthe opened his eyes. At the same moment, the hand she had placed against his face was seized. His eyes were still hazy, unfocused. The gray pupils, their focus sharpening gradually, turned toward Mariaeks. He blinked. The gathered tear dropped.

She watched it trace down Garthe's cheek, collect at his chin, and fall.

Garthe, who had been looking at Mariaeks, smiled faintly with still-wet eyes. Unlike his usual smile—that sly, unreadable smile—this was something else. Not a sneer. His eyes curved, he showed teeth, and there was nothing in the smile but enjoyment.

"What's with that expression."

He said it in a voice tinged with amusement, as if reproaching her. Expression? What expression am I making right now? Mariaeks touched her own face belatedly, but she never figured out what he had seen.

Contrary to her worry, the woken predator did not show killing intent for her daring to use him as a bed. He simply said, "Get off," flat and calm, and gave his still-tired face a perfunctory rub. With that, the tears in the man's eyes—the pitifulness of them—disappeared without a trace.

Garthe rose from the bed and headed for the window. He flung the curtain aside and opened it. Mariaeks felt a presence approaching rapidly from outside and raised her head. Wheeeee—something cutting through air. The room darkened in an instant. An intruder's body had blocked the window.

SKREEEeek!

Something let out a sound of frenzied ecstasy and charged through the open window. The moment it cleared the sill, it was severed in two by Garthe's hand. One piece bounced on the floor, spun, and settled softly onto Mariaeks's knees.

KWANG!

The other piece was driven into the wall, destroying what little furniture the room had.

"......"

Mariaeks stared blankly at the bird head that had settled on her knee. The monster opened and closed its beak as if aggrieved.

'Might I inquire whether you had indicated your wish to visit the fortress, or had arranged an appointment in advance?'

Samthyeon's voice passed through her memory. This god, too, had apparently neither indicated any wish to visit nor arranged an appointment. Given that it had been severed before it even entered.

Mariaeks lost her words, watching another possible fate she might have met on the night she had broken into Garthe's room.