Winter-Ascend (1)
And so time passed until the day of Winter-Ascend itself.
The city was swept up in the heat of the festival.
Unlike the modern world, this was an age with precious little in the way of entertainment. For the people, a festival was one of the few truly special days that broke the monotony of daily life, and Coldon—which had been huddled in on itself with the early first snow—finally stretched itself awake.
Thanks to the foul weather, Coldon’s residents normally stayed cooped up indoors whenever they had no work, but today they poured outside and stoked the festival’s energy. Of course, it also helped that the snow, as if showing a bit of mercy for once, refused to fall.
Festivals had a way of stirring even the most withered consumer spirits. To fan that flame, hawkers bellowed advertisements from every building and street corner to drag customers in, while clowns, theater troupe hands, and bards raised their voices even louder in search of coin and attention.
As noisy as Coldon was, Winterhome was no quieter. Winterhome was, first and foremost, a fortress and the residence of the Felwinter family. Naturally, no one without permission could enter. But because it was Winter-Ascend, the tightly shut gates had loosened a little for certain visitors.
Those recommended as sacrificers who would offer tribute for Coldon’s Winter-Ascend—blacksmiths, bakers, jewelers, hunters, adventurers, cooks, and the like. Influential figures, nobles, and leaders from cities, villages, and tribes to whom Alfred Felwinter had personally sent invitations. And merchants who had paid dearly for entry rights or who would supply the foodstuffs to be used in Winterhome while the festival was underway.
Add the existing servants, maids, and laborers into the mix, and the castle was so crowded and loud from early morning that one almost marveled it managed to keep any order at all despite its size.
Karem had absolutely no desire to shove himself into that human horde, yet he was one of the sacrificers himself. Looking down from the Mage’s Tower, he grimaced and muttered,
“It’s incredibly noisy.”
“Of course it is. Most of them are connected to the sacrificers, but the numbers are the numbers.”
“But… are you sure you should be here?”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
Crunch.
Godwin dunked a carrot into Maoines and ate it as he asked. In his left hand was a large bowl of Maoines; in the other, several carrots. The dignified, witty presence from their first meeting had completely vanished, replaced by an utterly approachable, almost shameless ease. He looked at Karem with pure innocence, as if wondering what the problem could possibly be.
Karem was left speechless.
Naturally, just because it was a festival did not mean everyone could simply relax and enjoy it. The staff of an amusement park had to work so the guests could spend money and have fun. And Winterhome’s guests were, almost without exception, people of considerable status, wealth, or skill—often all three.
Yet here was the host’s own son, who could in some sense be considered one of the festival’s organizers, lounging around like this? Of course it was wrong, but Karem decided to probe carefully just in case.
“You’re the eldest son of the Felwinter family, after all.”
“Do you really think there’s anyone in this castle who doesn’t know my name and rank?”
“Shouldn’t you be meeting the other nobles?”
“Ah. That.”
As if begging him not to even mention it, Godwin frowned and waved a carrot. From that attitude Karem sensed the pure relief of a high-school senior who had just been freed from mandatory late-night study hall.
“I’ve already got a splitting headache over it, so spare me.”
“So you ran away.”
“Wait, how did you know?”
“Where is Sir Victor?”
He had only met Sir Victor once, yet the thought came naturally: Victor was probably both Godwin’s escort and the man assigned to keep an eye on him. Godwin’s reaction drove the nail home.
Tsk. Godwin clicked his tongue lightly and looked out beyond the castle walls. The meaning of that unmistakable gesture needed no explanation.
Karem felt the pressure he had initially felt toward his superior gradually melting away.
“By the way, Karem. Where was Atanitas rushing off to in such a hurry?”
“She went to give the Flower of orbs installed in the grand hall one final check.”
“Hmm. Sounds like a lot of work.”
And Karem thought he had a pretty good idea of the full picture. In other words, Godwin had found the business of meeting and entertaining other nobles and lords so tiresome that he had dumped it all on other people and fled here. That was clearly why he had contacted them out of the blue so early in the morning. And the oil and assorted eggs he had brought as gifts were just an excuse because he wanted Maoines.
The reason Catherine had allowed the visit with that peculiar look on her face was that she had already figured all this out, and she was not wrong. Karem felt a faintly unsettled sense that the host and guest roles had somehow been reversed.
He had poured his heart into those dishes while racing against limited time. And of all the many dishes he had prepared, it just had to be the Maoines?
“Does the Maoines suit your taste?”
“Yes. I’ll be honest with you.”
Godwin waved a carrot thickly coated in Maoines.
“I keep thinking about this sauce so much that I can barely manage a proper meal.”
“I’m glad it pleases you.”
“Ha… I should have rationed it on the way back instead of almost finishing the whole thing. No—if only I hadn’t given a taste to the head chef…”
“Pardon?”
He had eaten almost all of that huge amount on the way back? The sheer suction power of his Maoines consumption was so appalling that Karem actually started to worry.
The basic ingredients of Maoines were three: oil, vinegar, and egg yolk. The yolk’s role was merely that of an emulsifier used in small amounts. In truth, Maoines was essentially a little vinegar and a great deal of oil, making it little more than a lump of fat. And fat was as good as flesh. Exaggerating only slightly, one could say you gained twice the weight of the Maoines you ate, so high was the calorie count.
It was no coincidence that northern Europeans who loved oily foods like Maoines tended to put on weight dramatically as they aged compared to their younger years.
Come to think of it… Karem casually glanced sideways. Godwin’s clothes, as he scooped Maoines with a carrot, looked a little tight. And that jawline once sharpened by a carefully trimmed beard seemed a touch fuller now, didn’t it?
Karem offered a light warning in passing.
“If you eat too much of that, you’ll put on weight.”
“Hm?”
Godwin, who had been crunching away at the Maoines-coated carrot, paused. Come to think of it, his clothes had felt a bit snug this morning…
Surely not?
Godwin was the current duke’s eldest son. In other words, barring any major issues, he would succeed Alfred Felwinter. As the ducal heir he was naturally busy managing a wide range of schedules. At the peak of his youth, with a constitution that already ate a great deal, and with vigorous activity on top of that, of course he was always hungry—and he had never once failed to be praised by others as manly.
And yet he had managed to keep a reasonably slender figure. If clothes custom-made stitch by stitch by a master tailor were starting to feel tight…
Godwin pondered for a moment. He set the carrot down in the Maoines bowl and felt his stomach. Then he reached a conclusion.
“This is, you see… that.”
“That? What do you mean—”
“You could call it a pouch of experience, filled with everything I’ve been through.”
“…So you’ve gained weight.”
“I said it’s a pouch of experience. Why, even Iona has quite an impressive pouch of experience, doesn’t he?”
Karem nodded without thinking. Iona, who would be busy handling guests in Winterhome right now, certainly did boast an impressive belly. But a “pouch of experience”?
Karem held reality out in front of Godwin.
“…If you ate almost all that Maoines, of course you’d gain weight.”
“No, to be honest, Karem.”
“I’m listening.”
“The bowl was a bit large, yes. But I eat more than that in a single day. Would a little thing like that really make someone gain weight?”
“Most of the weight of the Maoines in that bowl is oil, so of course it would make you gain weight. You ate several bowls of it.”
“Anyway, I refuse to accept it.”
While Godwin, denying the sudden diagnosis of rapid weight gain, and Karem, emphasizing reality, went back and forth, footsteps approached beyond the door. Mary opened it, and Catherine stepped in right behind her, pulling off white gloves.
“Lady Atanitas. Mary. You’ve finally finished?”
“Whew, yes. But Godwin—you still haven’t left?”
At that, Godwin nodded as if this were perfect timing.
“Right. I can just ask Atanitas.”
“Hm? About what?”
“Do I look like I’ve gained weight to you as well?”
“What? All of a sudden?”
Karem quickly explained the situation. Only then did Catherine, who had been handing her gloves to Mary, give a look of understanding and sweep her gaze over Godwin from bottom to top. Then she spoke.
“You’ve definitely put on a bit more weight than before.”
“Mm… I didn’t want to admit it, but…”
The solemn reality pointed out by an archmage. Godwin had no choice but to accept it—that he had gained weight. He closed his eyes for a moment and reflected on himself. Since the main ingredient of Maoines was oil, of course eating a whole bowl of oil would make one fat.
“All right. In that case, Atanitas.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“Could I get some more Maoines?”
Hadn’t he just admitted it a moment ago? Despite the looks from Catherine and Karem, Godwin steadfastly held out the bowl. And the bowl that had held the Maoines was carried away by Mary.
As time passed and evening drew near, every corner of the castle gradually brightened with candlelight, torches, and all manner of magical tools. People slowly began to gather in Winterhome’s central plaza.
The plaza, which one would normally have doubted could ever fill completely, was now flooded with people pouring in like an incoming tide. In the center, a great bonfire blazed within a long, wide, lavishly decorated table, sending sparks mixed with smoke up into the sky.
In the seats of honor arranged to look down over the plaza sat members of the Felwinter family—including Alicia and Godwin, though not Alfred—and the distinguished guests. On the platform below, Iona and Alfred stood conversing, attended by servants and priests. Behind them, the sacrificers who had prepared offerings of every size waited for the ceremony to begin.
Standing among that mixed company of sacrificers of every status, race, and age, Karem quietly marveled to himself. Winter nights fell quickly, and it was the same here. Yet as twilight settled over the gloomy sky, the magical tools installed throughout Winterhome began to glow with a soft light and illuminate the surroundings.
The advancing darkness, the ancient elegance of Winterhome, and the gentle radiance of the various magical tools blended together into a dreamlike atmosphere. A sudden thought crossed Karem’s mind.
Had Catherine been involved in all of this? As far as he knew, magical tools were finicky things that each required a mage’s personal touch.
And Karem’s thought was completely wrong. The magical tools lighting the castle had originally been stored in Winterhome all along. But with no way of knowing that, Karem decided to rate Catherine’s efforts even higher than before. Maybe I should make her something special when this is over, he was thinking, when he noticed the volume of the surrounding chatter dropping and straightened his posture.
Alfred had stepped up onto the platform.