Alexia had long noticed that Miss Stuart had no mind for her studies. In fact, everyone in the room had noticed.
The gathering of four only officially began after the princess was forced to promise she would catch up on her missed assignnts and study ahead for the next week’s lessons.
Jenkins brought up the first topic: a problem he was facing.
“A Fantasy Flower? I never thought the Nolan diocese would have sothing like that. I can help you, Jenkins, but you’ll have to figure out how to get a lover’s hair on your own.”
From the corner of her eye, Alexia saw Julia place a hand on Miss Stuart, preventing her from offering so untoward advice.
“When you left Nolan City, my flower had already entered its second stage. I can’t bear the thought of giving up on it now.”
He scooped up the cat, who was sniffing at a nearby inkwell. He rembered tricking it into the bathroom last ti by drawing a few lines on its forehead, but that trick definitely wouldn’t work again.
“Has anything interesting happened in Ruen? I’ve noticed we’ve only been talking about ,”
he asked.
“All is peaceful. However, a holder of the Killing Mark has appeared here. Most of the local Benefactors have heard the news. Also, in the snowfields far north of Ruen, soone claid to have discovered A-01-1-8322, the Snowman Legion. But there’s no evidence to support this claim, and the church personnel sent to investigate haven’t reported back.”
Alexia said, her eyes fixed on the cat in Jenkins’s arms, her thoughts unreadable.
“A Cursed Item?”
“Yes. I believe Dolores might know more about it.”
She yielded the floor to Miss Stuart.
“Yes, I... saw so information in the archives. A-01-1-8322 is a Cursed Item that only appears in winter, and always near a human settlent. It consists of a large number of living snown. Once they gather in sufficient numbers, they attack human settlents in organized formations, behaving just like a human army.”
“So what kind of power do they use?”
Jenkins asked with interest. He was always curious about Cursed Items that posed no threat to him.
“The snown can use most low-level ice-based incantations, and they are quite strong. Whenever they conquer a human settlent, they use an extrely cruel thod to transform the people into more of their kind. However, they aren’t considered a major threat. All snown are terrified of fire. In theory, even a brave, able-bodied farr with a torch could easily win a one-on-one fight. Any kind of special fla is their fatal weakness. If they really have appeared, the church has more than enough power to completely eradicate them, as long as they can be found.”
In the middle of their gathering, a servant unexpectedly knocked on the door. If a strange man were discovered in the princess’s study, the gossip would likely reach Nolan within a week. Jenkins imdiately vanished and returned to Nolan, only to realize he had forgotten to bring Chocolate back with him.
Ten minutes later, when Alexia ssaged him that it was safe to return, he spotted the cat feigning sleep atop a bookshelf in the corner of the study.
Behind it hung a portrait of a regal young man in a red cape, smiling with his head held high. Jenkins suspected the artist had taken so liberties with exaggeration and flattery; aside from the colors, he found it hard to imagine a man’s complexion could be so fair.
“That’s my great-grandfather, Endesdor Stuart.”
Miss Stuart introduced him. “My grandfather told he was a very serious man. He passed away before I was born.”
The young man in the painting looked quite familiar, probably because Miss Stuart’s facial structure was so similar to his. Jenkins quickly lost interest and was about to share the story of his encounter with the dragon earlier that day.
“ow~”
A friendly reminder.
“No, it’s more than just familiar!”
A mory from a few weeks ago suddenly flooded his mind. The photo album sitting on the counter of Pops Antique Shop appeared clearly before his eyes.
“This is...”
Papa Oliver had only shown Jenkins a few of the pictures, but in one group photo with a blurry background, a boy’s face was at least eighty percent similar to the young man in the portrait. In fact, Jenkins was almost certain they were the sa person.
“Papa Oliver actually knew Miss Stuart’s great-grandfather?”
He never expected such an unknown connection between himself and his friend, but on second thought, a new question arose.
“Miss Stuart, may I be so bold as to ask,”
he began, pointing a finger at the oil painting, “what year of the Universal Calendar was your great-grandfather born in?”
Miss Stuart paused for a mont, then answered, “1753 of the Universal Calendar. My great-grandfather was nearly sixty when he had my grandfather, so even my father doesn’t rember him well.”
This presented a major problem. If the person in Papa Oliver’s photograph was indeed Endesdor Stuart, then Papa Oliver’s true age was completely inconsistent with his fifty-sothing appearance.
“It’s the last month of 1865 in the Universal Calendar, which ans... Papa Oliver is at least ninety years old?”
He scratched his head and turned toward Miss Stuart. As he walked, he held out his right hand, palm up. A palm-sized book materialized from thin air, gradually solidifying.
Julia carefully covered her mouth. Based on what she had learned by Dolores’s side, this had to be a Bestowal. She wasn’t surprised that Mr. Williams possessed such an item, only that he would display it so openly in front of everyone.
The book in Jenkins’s hand automatically opened to the first page. A black-and-white image appeared on the aged parchnt—the photograph from his mory.
“Miss Stuart, do you recognize this person?”
He handed the Book of mories to Miss Stuart. She took it gingerly, glanced down at it for a few seconds, and a puzzled expression crossed her face.
She looked up at the oil painting, then back down at the photograph printed on the parchnt. Her confusion turned to shock.
“Mr. Williams, this has to be my great-grandfather. Yes, look at this dal on his clothes. My great-grandfather gave it to my grandfather on his thirteenth birthday. I saw it before my grandfather passed away! Mr. Williams, did your friend know my great-grandfather?”
“No, I’m not certain.”
Jenkins shook his head and put the Book of mories away. He casually pulled a blank sheet of paper from the desk, and the photograph reappeared on it.
“I’m sorry, Miss Stuart, but could I trouble you to try and confirm this? Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. It’s not essential, but the other person in the photograph is very important to .”
Reviews
All reviews (0)