NovelForge

Karen sat on the edge of the bed. She gathered her fingers together, then spread them apart. The trembling persisted. The gold hadn't disappeared. No, to be more precise, it had merely faded. A faint shimmer hovered above the white crescents of her nails. It could have been the sunlight. Dawn was crumbling through the window beyond the village, after all. Karen closed her eyes. The memory was hazy. Like the tail end of a dream. But the man's voice was clear. Those low, cold words he had spoken—— *You are a character in a novel.* *Lady Lyell, the Duke's daughter.* Karen opened her eyes. She looked at her hands, piercing through the darkness of the bedroom. They were ordinary hands. A peasant's hands. Nails cracked, finger joints stiff. Hands that had worked in the village. But then the memories came flowing. A black dress. Sleeves embroidered with gold thread. The sound of heels echoing through the palace corridors. Karen remembered. No—Lyell remembered. That name felt familiar on her tongue. Moments of being called by that name surfaced from a corner of her heart. *Lyell, the Duke's daughter.* *Why do you always try to be alone?* *There is nothing more dangerous than being alone within the court.* Karen's jaw tightened. Whose voice was that? Her father's? Her mother's? The memories were tangled. Layered and blurred like paper soaked in water. She got out of bed. She walked around the room. She pressed herself against the window. Outside was the village. Chimneys smoking. Worn roofs. A cat passing by. It was reality. Yet if she focused her eyes harder, something appeared behind it. The spires of a palace. A garden spreading beyond the walls. Water cascading from a fountain. Marble-decorated floors. They were overlapping. Karen dropped her hand. The gold on her nails became more distinct. *The novel hasn't ended.* The man's voice echoed in her ears. Then what is the novel? What is Karen——what is Lyell? She approached the wooden box beneath the bed. She pushed it with her hand. Dust rose from the floor. Inside the box was nothing. Clothes. Old shoes. But no books. Had there been a book? From the beginning? Karen closed her eyes and thought. The palace. The library. Tall shelves. And books—— The memory burst forth. Like a rabbit springing from a cupboard. It wasn't complete, but it was vivid. *A political marriage.* It wasn't Karen's thought. It was someone's words. Words spoken somewhere in the court, words that had reached Karen's ears. *I think it would be good to marry Lady Lyell to Count Vitoza.* *We need that to secure the southern territories.* It was a woman's voice. And Karen knew that woman. A favored advisor within the court? Or perhaps a lady-in-waiting? Another voice responding to hers—— *Lyell has already suffered enough.* *Are you trying to use her again?* It was a man's voice. Low and heavy. Her father? The Duke? Even that name wasn't clear, but the owner of that voice had tried to protect what was Karen's. But—— Karen sat on the bed. She wrapped her face in her hands. The memories kept flowing. As if a dam had burst. *It was a wedding.* A magnificent ceremony hall. White and gold. Karen was wearing a dress. A wedding dress. And beside her—— Count Vitoza stood. His face wasn't clear. But his hands were certain. The hands that had held Karen's hand. Cold, rigid hands. *Congratulations, Lyell.* His voice was heard. *Now you are mine.* Karen lowered her hands. The memories after that were clearer. Like reading the last page of a book. Intrigues within the palace. Count Vitoza's brother was coveting power. A succession dispute was occurring. And Karen——Lyell——was at the center of it all. *You're in danger, Lyell.* Someone said it. Was it advice? Or a warning? *As Vitoza's wife, you've become a threat to both sides.* Karen's hands trembled. And the final part of the memory appeared. *Poison.* Just one word. But that was all. Karen had awakened in the palace bedroom. No—she hadn't awakened. She tried to get up from the bed, but her fingers went numb. Her vision blurred. And Count Vitoza's face appeared above her. His expression was one of regret. Or perhaps coldness. Karen couldn't tell. *You knew too much about me, Lyell.* Those were his final words. And then black rushed in. —— Karen jolted upright in bed. Her heart lurched. In the village bedroom. In her own bedroom. There was no candlelight, and outside the window was still the village. She raised her hand. The gold was now unmistakable. It covered her entire nails. As if painted with gold. *The novel hasn't ended.* That's right. Karen realized. It wasn't an ending. It was a cycle. A breath named the village. A breath named the palace. A breath named a dream. And the boundaries between all of them were becoming blurred. Karen looked outside through the window. She saw the village. But behind it, the spires of the palace were becoming clearer. The gold on her nails began to illuminate the room. *Then who am I?* Karen whispered. It was not a question. It was the beginning of an awakening. # Lucian Cardo Lucian Cardo dismounted and surveyed the village. *Surveyed* was the right word. The height of the buildings, the color of the stone walls, the location of the well, the direction from which the smell of livestock drifted. He converted everything into time and distance. It was work he had done for ten years as the Emperor's emissary. There were no women in this village. More precisely, there were no young women. Lucian leaned against a tavern post and bit into country bread. It was hard. It had clearly been baked two days ago. The villagers stared at him, then quickly looked away. A stranger in black clothes was dangerous. They knew this instinctively. "Where's the inn?" Lucian asked. The tavern keeper bit his lip. "That way. At the end." That was all. Lucian left a coin on the counter. It was more than enough. That way, tongues would loosen. The village was small. One straight road and three side paths branching left and right. About two hundred residents. Farmers and a blacksmith, a carpenter, and old women selling something or other. When Lucian pushed open the inn door, he already knew most of it. "Do you have a room available?" "Yes, we do." The innkeeper didn't blink. That was a sign of a lie. Lucian climbed the stairs, examining the ceiling. The spacing of the rafters, the degree of wood shrinkage. This inn had been expanded about five years ago. And in recent months, someone had frequently used one room on the second floor. There were footprints in the dust on the floor. Light footsteps. Short stride. *Rael.* Lucian opened the door. It was empty. The bed was neatly made, but there was a clear head impression in the center of the pillow. Blonde hair. He turned his gaze to the window. Not toward the village, but the opposite direction, overlooking the forest. On the small table beside the bed sat a glass of water. The water had gone bad. From five days ago. Or perhaps six. Lucian left the room. When he encountered the innkeeper, his expression remained impassive, but the owner's face had gone pale. "You don't seem to have many guests." "No." "That blonde guest?" Silence descended. The innkeeper's throat moved. But his mouth didn't open. Lucian looked at his left hand. There was no wedding ring. There was one on his right hand. It meant his wife had died. How long ago could be determined by the color of his finger. About two years. "Did you have a daughter?" The innkeeper's pupils trembled. "I did." Past tense. Lucian turned away. Now he understood. Why there were no women in this village. And why Karen—Rael—had stayed here. At the opposite end of the village, at the forest's edge, there was a small house. Lucian didn't ride his horse. He approached on foot. He muffled his footsteps. Ten years of experience had seeped into his feet. Now he didn't even need to think about it. What he first saw from behind the house was earth. Freshly dug grave earth. Not just one, but several. Lucian bit his lower lip. "I do not dig graves." A voice spoke. Lucian slowly turned around. A woman was standing there. A woman in black clothes. Her fingernails gleamed gold. His heart beat once. "Karen." "You called me by another name." Her voice was cold. But beneath it flowed something Lucian could also sense. Fatigue. Despair. And something else, something stranger. "Why are you here?" "This is a place I keep returning to. Every time. Every time. Whenever the village appears." Her eyes turned toward the graves. "At first, I came without knowing. Then my body came automatically. Then..." She paused. "Then I remembered." Lucian observed her. Something had changed since their last meeting. The gold of her fingernails was deeper, and her eyes were a different color. "The Emperor wants you." "I know." She answered too easily. "Then will you come with me?" Karen laughed. It wasn't laughter. It was like the sound of breaking glass. "What happens if I go? Your Majesty's emissary?" Lucian didn't answer. "Every time I start in the same place. Every time I make the same choice. Every time it ends the same way." Her gold fingernails reflected the sunlight. "You came to do the same thing every time. So I have no choice but to dig graves." "Graves?" "Memories." She turned her gaze. There, instead of graves, was something more intricate. On each grave was carved a date. The same dates repeated over and over. Lucian didn't understand. But his body knew. That something was wrong. And that it wasn't the problem of the woman he had been chasing. "I must take you with me." Lucian said. Karen lifted her head. Tears were flowing from her eyes. Golden tears. "I hear this every time. And every time I go with you. And every time—" She stopped. The village trembled. No, it wasn't the village that trembled. The world trembled. Lucian bent his legs to steady himself, but his feet were no longer on the ground. It was sand. "Now it begins." Karen's voice grew distant. "Again."

Chapter 2