CH-070

The three children — Lesley, Carwen, and Seamus — sat in a row on the long bench.

While Shulec had his back turned to get the corn for them, the three young lads couldn't sit still for even a moment.

Carwen kept jabbing the other two with his elbow, nudging them with his knee, even kicking at them with his shoe — all the while whispering urgently for them to seize the moment and bolt.

But the instant Shulec turned back, the three of them were immediately sitting bolt upright, as well-behaved as the most angelic choir children under their priest's watchful eye.

Carwen and Seamus had once glimpsed Shulec's stern, authoritative side — back at the lawn before the wedding — and even though he had never actually done anything to them, something deep down still made them uneasy around him.

He'd invited them into the kitchen, and they hadn't dared refuse. Now they sat there with a small piece of buttered corn handed to each of them, looking at each other, unsure what to do next.

Lesley hadn't noticed the apprehension in his two brothers, and hearing Shulec say "eat it while it's hot," he simply opened his mouth and took a bite.

This nearly gave Carwen and Seamus heart attacks.

"Hey — Lesley, how could you just start eating!"

"If Mama finds out we let you eat something like this, we're dead…"

The two of them were full of consternation.

But this distress didn't last long, because Lesley was taking bite after bite without stopping.

After all the time they'd spent together, they knew that while Lesley's reactions to most things were quite muted, even with food he wouldn't show any particular expression. But if he didn't like something, he'd only eat two or three bites and not touch the rest.

And they couldn't help glancing over at Father Simeon and Deacon Ramon, who were already on their second ears of corn and scrambling to be first — the temptation of the food in their own hands breaking through their caution and wariness once more.

Carwen, too proud to be outdone, took a disbelieving small nibble. The kernels that had looked so hard from the outside turned out to be far softer once in his mouth than expected — warm and slightly glutinous, a milky sweetness spreading across his tongue. Carwen immediately sat up straighter.

Seamus, noticing Carwen had taken a bite and wasn't saying a word, yanked at his arm, hungry and anxious: "Is it good? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Not that good — don't eat it," Carwen said, and then made a show of reaching over to steal Seamus's corn.

Seamus turned his back on Carwen. Before eating, he sniffed at the corn back and forth many times, the way a puppy examines an unfamiliar food — only once he sensed no danger did he take a bite from the middle, which looked the best. His first bite didn't quite break through the tough outer skin, but his tongue caught a wave of sweet fragrance. So he worked up his nerve and sank his teeth in properly. The soft, starchy center burst out, and he exclaimed, "This is so sweet and delicious! The outside is a little tough to chew through, but the taste—"

The moment the words were out, Seamus worried he might have offended Shulec, and immediately snuck a look at him. He found Shulec smiling at him, and in that instant it was like a spring breeze; Seamus's wariness completely dropped away, and his mood lifted all at once.

Shulec said, "This variety of corn is a tougher one. If you steam it first in a cast-iron pot with a little water, it softens up more… but if you're not in a hurry to leave, I'll make you popcorn — how does that sound?"

Carwen had never heard of this food, but the nearly completely stripped ear of corn in his hand told him that if Shulec was thinking of it with Seamus's tastes in mind, it would surely be even more fragrant and delicious.

Because Seamus was extremely picky about food. He'd rather go hungry as a small child than eat anything he didn't like.

Carwen spoke up for all three of them at once: "We're definitely not in a hurry."

Shulec smiled.

Father Simeon and Ramon beside them were long past conversation, focused entirely on eating. In the blink of an eye, both of them had already finished their third ear.

Meanwhile Shulec was setting up a pot, preparing the sugar, butter, and corn kernels.

Father Simeon remarked, "…Father Alis really does spoil children."

In principle, giving them a corn cob would have been enough. The child hadn't even said it wasn't good.

Ramon nodded. "Exactly. My sisters Weya and Xiya have been spoiled rotten by Lord Alis — they tell him every idea they have and expect him to make it come true. These days, when we talk to them, we're not nearly as useful as Lord Alis."

Father Simeon said, "That also shows that Father Alis carries real weight with the children."

Lesley, overhearing this exchange, couldn't help falling into a pensive mood: he would soon no longer be a child, and would stop being the object of Father Alis's special attention.

In truth, Shulec still had some resistance to the concept of deliberately building emotional connections. Though he was genuinely fond of seeing Father Alis.

Although he still very much wanted to see Father Alis, Lesley always had all manner of complicated thoughts about it.

He would start to feel anxious when he thought about going to find him; he would feel ashamed at the possibility of tearing up; he also had a suspicion that the priest had long since seen through his lies and was simply waiting for him to fully arrive in Dunstan before making his distance clear.

None of these thoughts had come out of nowhere — there was evidence to support each one.

He knew well enough, rationally, that the priest treated him the same way he treated other small children. The priest had his own life and his own duties and would not revolve around him. But Lesley still felt a deep sense of loss.

At first, having returned to Dunstan without receiving any news from Savoy, Lesley was not surprised and quietly waited for winter to arrive. Occasionally, the memory of how he had approached the priest once with trembling hope and said those things that sounded like longing for closeness would keep him awake at night.

But as winter arrived ahead of schedule, Lesley waited in Dunstan without receiving a single letter of invitation.

His mood had started to shift, bit by bit.

He began to think that perhaps the priest had never really liked him much to begin with — that because Father Alis had his own sense of duty and moral code, he could not refuse a child who was visibly making himself pitiable, and so had responded with a couple of perfunctory words.

How else could it be that the priest never sent him a single letter on his own initiative?

Even though he had promised back in August that they would go ice fishing and sledding together when winter came, Father Alis had apparently already forgotten.

Even if Lesley had been willing to come back to Savoy early the moment he received a letter, he would have started packing without hesitation.

But winter had come, and now, and still the priest had sent him not a single word.

Father Alis definitely looked down on him.

Or perhaps — the possibility that Finnian had been working against him behind the scenes was quite high.

Finnian was crafty as a fox — he had shed all his former irritating habits, learned to act cute and endearing, was quick-handed with chores, pleasant in speech, and decent-looking enough, with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth like everyone else. Managed to get by just fine.

And more importantly, Finnian had said, "Father Alis doesn't like me anymore."

Looking back on it now, that was probably true.

Otherwise, why, the day they stood inside the church, had the priest only called Finnian's name?

Lesley grew increasingly grieved, feeling he had no right to expect anything from the priest anymore.

But just as he hardened himself to let go of that attachment, he couldn't help doubting — what if his feelings simply hadn't reached the priest?

What if one more try would change everything?

He had once worked up the nerve to write a letter to his father, and not one had been answered.

What if Father Alis was the same — the kind of person who was cold on the inside? What if the priest didn't actually want to receive his letters and would find him clingy and tiresome?

And so, dragging things out one day after the next, by December he found that he had gone quite a long stretch without really thinking about the priest at all.

Unlike waiting for his father — where he had always been full of hope, unable to let go of even a scrap of it.

He had grown up. He had learned to let go of the expectations he placed on others.

That was, until he heard that Father Alis had accompanied Finnian to the entrance examination, and that Finnian had scored the same as him. After that, all the feelings he had been suppressing about Father Alis churned back up again.

Father Alis had surely forgotten about him.

Or if he hadn't forgotten, then the ever-scheming Finnian had taken up every inch of his attention.

It was all Lesley's own fault for not doing enough before…

The tangle of self-pity, doubt, resentment, and stubborn pride had left Lesley restless and unable to sleep.

But he didn't know what to do to make Father Alis notice him — to give him a little extra favor.

Keep acting well-behaved? What if he saw through it?

Maybe it was safer to do less, make fewer mistakes…

And then, right at the peak of this brooding, the priest had simply appeared before him like this, smiling, asking if he wanted to eat something good together.

In that instant, every knot of emotion dissolved like spring ice in the wind.

The resistance — he couldn't even remember what it had been about.

But now, listening to Ramon and Simeon's idle chat, Lesley slid back into his spiral.

Father Alis likes little kids.

Perhaps the reason the priest looked after him now was that he was still young. When he was a bit older, would Father Alis forget who he was?

Since coming into the room, Father Alis had barely glanced at him.

This sense of possessing something and fearing its loss settled as a sour knot in Lesley's chest, making his fingertips grip tight.

At this moment, inside his head, a single absurd thought crystallized: he looked exactly like a clown, didn't he?

He should not be sitting here continuing to eat. He should stand up and leave right now.

But just as this thought surfaced, a sharp, loud "pop!" exploded out of nowhere — like a stone striking an iron plate — startling everyone in the room.

Only Shulec remained perfectly calm.

What followed was a rapid-fire drumming from the cast-iron pot, like a staccato beat.

Seamus's face started going pale. "This… whatever this sounds like, how is anyone supposed to eat it? Are we being punished?"

Carwen found the courage to sidle up next to Shulec. "What's making that sound in there?"

Shulec asked, "What did I put in the pot?"

"Corn kernels?"

Carwen remembered the corn kernels, the sugar, and the butter, but he understood that Shulec was asking him to guess at something, so this answer was really answering the previous question. "It makes this much noise?"

The drumming sound didn't last long — about ten seconds and then it quieted, with only the occasional solitary "pop," and then it was still.

Shulec opened the lid of the cast-iron pot, and a wave of caramel fragrance billowed out ahead of everything else. Then they saw it: inside the pot, swelled up like small golden clouds, the things were pressing against each other in a jumbled rush, spilling over each other toward the edge of the pot.

"…Can I have one first?" Carwen reached in directly.

The taste was fragrant and crisp and sweet, and even without biting into it, it seemed to simply dissolve at the touch, like a cloud, melting on the tongue.

Carwen immediately grabbed two pieces and put them into Lesley's hands, then into Seamus's hands. "This is good! I've never eaten anything this good."

Lesley had absolute trust in anything Shulec made, so he didn't hesitate for a single moment.

Seamus, this time not the least bit cautious, put the popcorn in his mouth without ceremony. The heat and the crisp, airy texture exploded on his tongue in an instant — a rich, creamy sweetness spread slowly outward, fine and gentle, like tiny streams of warmth curling through his mouth, making him involuntarily close his eyes to savor it properly.

"It's so fragrant!"

His eyes lit up. He moved in excitedly, circling the cast-iron pot, imitating Carwen's movements, beginning to pick up one piece after another, eating them with an expression of utter satisfaction.

The adults nearby had been eyeing the pot for a while already.

Father Simeon reached in to grab a handful of popcorn and was immediately burned. "Ow—" he yelped, snatching his hand back.

Ramon saw this and couldn't suppress a laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement.

The tense atmosphere eased considerably, and the children laughed too.

Lesley was about to walk closer when Shulec turned toward him and said, "Lesley, come with me for a moment."

At these words, Carwen and Seamus looked toward Shulec, chewing their popcorn absently.

Shulec turned to the two of them and explained, "I have something to give him. Lend me Lesley for a minute."

Without waiting for a reply, Carwen and Seamus watched Lesley trot off after Shulec, and without a second thought simply continued eating their popcorn hot from the pot edge.

Walking on the snow, Lesley felt as though someone had tipped over a jar of honey inside him — sweet all through. But he didn't show it. Standing at Shulec's back, watching his figure ahead, he asked as calmly as he could, "…What is it?"

"Back in August, didn't I say I wanted to invite you to come play in the winter?"

Lesley was startled to hear this, then quickly said in a deliberately casual tone, "I don't remember that."

One couldn't quite tell if it was stubbornness or pride, but Lesley couldn't bring himself to admit he had been waiting for a long time.

Shulec saw he wasn't putting much weight on it, and felt some relief.

He had always been troubled by the idea of not being able to keep a promise.

"I had originally wanted to wait until Finnian's exam was over so we could all go together, but Carson City had two heavy blizzards and the roads were all blocked. And the letter I sent apparently got lost — I didn't know how to explain it to you…"

"It's all right." Lesley cut Shulec off quickly. "You don't have to worry about me. I wasn't really that bothered about not going sledding, or ice fishing, or even about missing the hot spring."

Shulec paused at this, then gave a low laugh. "You don't need to be that understanding."

Lesley didn't think he was being particularly understanding — he found it a bit strange that Shulec would say so. He lowered his head to think, and without noticing, his eyes landed on the footprints Shulec had left in the snow. Almost without thinking, he began planting his own feet inside them, one step after the next.

He didn't know why he was doing this. But it felt like a game he'd invented for himself, small and private, and strangely peaceful.

Shulec up ahead didn't notice Lesley's small game and continued speaking: "This time, knowing you'd be in Dunstan, we thought about bringing you a gift and a letter. Because we probably won't be able to see each other again until next spring."

"……"

Mm.

Lesley didn't respond, just gave a quiet acknowledgment and kept stepping carefully into each footprint, missing not a single one.

Shulec said, "I've been worried about you all this time. You said you'd write, and then I just kept waiting without hearing anything. So I had no way of knowing whether something serious had happened. I'd been meaning to find a way to come and see you, and running into you like this — that's definitely fate."

"Fate?"

Lesley didn't think it was fate.

It was because he had spotted Shulec on the street and followed to see what was what. That was how this had happened.

If there was a word for it, Lesley would have called it "effort."

And Shulec had only said it as a throwaway line, not expecting Lesley to react to "fate." So he honestly added something to make Lesley feel better: "In other words — it means the Lord God lets you have what you want when you want it."

He elaborated: "Look — your brothers here get along well with you. That's already set my mind at ease considerably."

Lesley didn't actually need their concern.

He was just about to take another step forward when he saw Shulec suddenly stop, and he stopped too.

"Why aren't you walking beside me?"

Shulec's question left Lesley at a loss. He couldn't exactly say he was doing this because it made him feel settled, could he?

He knew the answer would sound odd, so he stumbled out a reply: "…Because… the wind… the wind up ahead is stronger."

Shulec immediately understood. "You're cold, are you?"

Lesley, now with nothing else he could do, nodded.

Seeing him nod, Shulec said, "Then hold out your hand."

Lesley's heart gave a lurch — was he going to hold his hand?

Should he refuse?

But Shulec had already reached out toward him: "Like this — hold out your hand."

And so Lesley stretched out his own hand.

Right at the moment when he was so tense his head was beginning to swim, a little fox appeared from nowhere, already airborne. In an instant, something warm and soft and solid and fluffy settled into Lesley's outstretched palm.

"Use Naxi to warm your hands."

Naxi hadn't even processed what had happened before it found itself sitting in someone else's arms, its small paws still held in mid-stride from just a moment ago.

As it was staring at Shulec's face, its little feet were unconsciously paddling at the air a few times, then curling back into its own fur.

*

When Lesley headed back with Carwen and Seamus, he was still carrying the gift Shulec had given him.

Along the way, Carwen and Seamus were still savoring the popcorn and corn: "We have to come back tomorrow!"

Seamus quickly agreed: "They seem to be staying until the end of the consecration ceremony. If we come back every day, maybe we'll get to try other things too!"

Then he suddenly remembered: "Ah — no. Lesley goes running in the mornings. Mornings won't work."

Lesley said calmly, with his usual flat affect, "…If you want to go to the church, we'll skip the morning runs for now."

The two boys erupted in cheers.

Seamus clapped his hands, while Carwen actually gave a little jump.

Lesley watched them, and found himself inadvertently smiling a little.

But before the smile had quite reached his whole face, the steward who had come out to meet them suddenly spoke: "The Duke arrived from the military camp this evening and asked me to remind the three of you to join him for the winter hunt."

All three froze at once. Their expressions all stilled, as though someone had hit pause — they had completely forgotten that person existed.

Half a second later, all three faces simultaneously crumpled — like biting into popcorn and hitting a solid, un-popped corn kernel in the middle.

How annoying—!

Can't he just do it himself?