Chapter 2
I Won’t Forget You
2023.08.02.
A way to extend her lifespan? At words that sounded like a miracle, Lowell frowned.
…That’snonsense.Stopit.…That’s nonsense. Stop it.
It’strue.SojustholdonuntilIcomeback. Ifyouendureuntilnextspring—It’s true. So just hold on until I come back. If you endure until next spring—
Isaidstopit!I said stop it!
At last, Lowell’s patience snapped. She yanked her wrist free from Peter’s grasp and shouted.
Youcansaythingslikethatbecauseyou’renotsickanymore!You’verecovered!Youcandowhateveryouwantnow!You can say things like that because you’re not sick anymore! You’ve recovered! You can do whatever you want now!
…Lowell.…Lowell.
Doyouknowwhatthephysiciantoldme?Thatitwouldn’tbestrangeifIlostconsciousnesstomorrow.Themaidswhohavetowatchmeeverynight,terrifiedImighthaveanotherseizure,saythey’resickandtiredofit.DoyouthinkIwanttobesicklikethis?Doyou?!Do you know what the physician told me? That it wouldn’t be strange if I lost consciousness tomorrow. The maids who have to watch me every night, terrified I might have another seizure, say they’re sick and tired of it. Do you think I want to be sick like this? Do you?!
She thought of it endlessly: if she had a seizure in the night, if her life dangled by a thread—
Would there really be anyone left who wanted to save her?
Everyone had grown exhausted by her long illness. Those who had slowly piled earth over Lowell’s living body were simply waiting for the moment to toss the final spadeful. Her breath needed to stop before the last shovelful could cover her. The question was only: when?
The bitter medicine she swallowed each day, the fever that rose so easily—all of it was torment. But what hurt most were the countless eyes upon her. Everyone watching her seemed to be waiting not for recovery but for her decline. The words get well soon, live long sounded instead like hurry up and die.
You’rethesame,aren’tyou,Peter!Youjustwantmetodiequicklytoo,don’tyou?You’reonlysayingthatbecauseyoufeelguiltyaboutleavingmebehind!Butonceyougo,you’llforgetmesoonenough—You’re the same, aren’t you, Peter! You just want me to die quickly too, don’t you? You’re only saying that because you feel guilty about leaving me behind! But once you go, you’ll forget me soon enough—
Her breath caught. Peter’s lips had pressed against hers.
It was brief, a fleeting touch—like a rose petal brushed against her mouth.
Only then did Lowell realize she was crying. Her cheeks were wet, and salt stung the tip of her tongue.
Through blurred vision, she saw the boy’s face—unscathed by illness, yet twisted with pain. Those blue eyes, nailed unwaveringly upon her, now as always.
Iwon’tforgetyou,Lowell.I won’t forget you, Lowell.
Tears slid down her cheeks, falling off her chin. Peter’s face grew clearer. Lowell had never once seen him cry, but perhaps because of her own wet eyes, for this moment he looked as though he too were weeping.
Waitforme.I’llcomebacktoyou…andI’llsaveyou.Wait for me. I’ll come back to you… and I’ll save you.
Could there be any confession more agonizing?
What Lowell knew of Peter was only this: he was of very high birth, and Peter was but a pet name.
And that Lowell was the person he loved most in the world.
He alone wished for Lowell to live into next year, when no one else did.
Before the magnolia leaves sprouted, she would be dead. She would rot away like fallen magnolia petals. That was Lowell’s own conviction.
Are all people in love this foolish?
To hope for a tomorrow she herself did not expect.
If he truly thought of her, of the exhaustion of her long suffering, if he pitied her, he should have wished for her death—like everyone else did, even her own family.
Yet Peter asked her to live. Could there be words more selfish, more foolish? Could there be words more wretched—and more overwhelming?
In the end, Lowell wept and laughed all at once.
…Alright.I’llwait.I’lltrymybesttolive.…Alright. I’ll wait. I’ll try my best to live.
It was a lie.
At last, Peter smiled brightly. His flushed cheeks and airy grin resembled dandelion fluff—so very beautiful.
Perhaps that conversation had some effect after all?
Lowell, who thought she would die that spring, did not. She was even able to see Peter off when he left, and afterwards her health slowly improved. By autumn she was well enough to attend the Harvest Festival.
And in the last month of that year—fire consumed the Hessen estate.
There were no survivors.
When fire broke out at the Hessen estate, everyone inside perished.
“It started when all were asleep. By the time anyone noticed, most of the mansion was already burning, so no one could escape. It’s presumed they all died trapped in the flames.”
So explained an imperial knight dispatched to manage the situation. None had escaped the blaze; every soul of House Hessen was declared dead.
Lowell sat dazed, listening to the mechanical words.
The knight said all were dead, but in truth one had survived.
Lowell Hessen. The only one outside, having gone to consult a physician.
She had just returned from a distant town, where she’d received a diagnosis that her health had much improved.
Had she arrived earlier, she might have run into the flames and tried something. But when she reached home, everything was already over. The fire. The deaths.
The joy she’d felt at the good prognosis crumbled in an instant when she beheld the burned estate.
No… it can’t be.
It’s not our house. It must be another mansion.
But denial changed nothing. The wooden mansion may have burned, but the iron gates and fences stood. Upon the gates, the Hessen crest was still etched clear.
Even after the fire was put out, the air reeked of smoke. Surrounded by death’s stench, Lowell collapsed on the spot, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.
The knight’s voice droned on in her frozen mind.
Her mother, her father, her brothers, the servants—all dead.
“…No. That’s impossible.”
Lowell, who had sat unmoving, suddenly sprang to her feet. Where the strength came from, she didn’t know—but in that moment, she even forgot her illness.
“No survivors? In a house that size? That makes no sense.”
She had grown up sickly and sheltered, ignorant of the world. But even she knew this situation was strange.
“There was no such thing as a time when everyone was asleep. They always took shifts—because someone had to watch me at night!”
Lowell often suffered seizures after dark. For that reason, her parents had always ordered the staff to rotate night watches.
Her being gone for a few days wouldn’t have changed years of habit.
“For the mansion to burn almost entirely, and no one woke? No one escaped from such a large house? How—how is that possible?”
She remembered vividly when the village mill caught fire at night. She had heard how people soaked towels in water, wrapped themselves, and ran out through the smoke.
That was a tiny mill with only a few residents.
But this vast mansion—and no one made it out? Not even one?
Impossible. Utterly impossible. How could there not be even a single survivor?
Unless—
“…Unless someone locked the doors from the outside…”
The words burst from her muddled thoughts, freezing her mind at once.
In that instant, she had found the answer. And it took but a heartbeat for her mutter to harden into certainty.
The imperial knight is lying.
They were barring everyone from approaching the ruins, claiming it was to preserve the scene for investigation. But how could she believe that?
Who knew whether they had been standing guard all along—keeping anyone from escaping the burning mansion?
Anger ignited swiftly.
Without hesitation, Lowell leapt at the knight, intent on seizing the liar by the collar and forcing out the truth.
“Easy there.”
But a hand shot out and stopped her.
Her fury at the knight instantly turned toward the hand that restrained her. She glared, ready to bite if need be—until she saw who it was. Then her anger fizzled like fire doused with water.
The man was familiar.
A middle-aged gentleman who sometimes visited her father. With one arm, he held her back and soothed,
“Calm yourself, Anette. I understand your grief, but this fire is not that man’s fault.”
“…Anette?”
At the strange name, Lowell reflexively echoed, but the gentleman spoke first.
“I apologize on her behalf. Please forgive the child’s rudeness.”
“N-no, Duke. Do you know this girl?”
“As you know, I was quite close to the Hessen family. This child’s elder sister served there as a maid—I even wrote her letter of recommendation. I happened upon her on my way and could not simply pass by. She’s grieving her family’s loss. Please understand her outburst.”
“…Ah. Of course, of course I understand.”
Understand? Her heart still boiled. But Lowell didn’t forget to sneer inwardly at the knight’s hypocrisy.
He had raised a gauntleted hand as if to strike her mere moments ago. But before a duke, he was suddenly all indulgence.
The one who had stepped in was Duke Jurgen Martinek.
As he said, he had long been acquainted with House Hessen, and so knew Lowell as well.
By now, Lowell realized what he was doing.
“Anette,” “her sister was a servant”…
Jurgen was lying without batting an eye. He was hiding Lowell’s true identity.
But why?
The answer came at once.
“The fire at the Hessen estate,” Jurgen said, “was arson.”
