System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 261: Blood and Jasmine in the Garden
Bright late-autumn sunlight spilled down from the central courtyard of La Valette Castle, shining over the flowerbeds below, full of fragrant, riotous blooms, roses, flowering crabapple, camellias...
A woman stood on the narrow path between the beds. Her pale green low-cut gown set off the graceful lines of her figure. At her feet sat a redwood cradle that creaked softly now and then, and in her hand a watering can tipped lazily over the flowerpots.
“That is Lady Luisa,” the maid Hill Vea explained in a low voice to the two Witchers at the garden entrance, pointing toward the woman in the distance. “Since what happened to the young master, my lady has been terribly downcast ... Every day she comes to the garden to ease her mind a little.”
“Would we be disturbing her if we go in now?” Roy asked.
“Two masters, I must first ask the lady herself,” Hill Vea said apologetically. “But I think, with the young master’s safety weighing so heavily on her heart, she will be willing to cooperate with the inquiry.”
The Witchers nodded and watched the maid walk into the middle of the garden. Then Roy turned to the members of The Sea Scorpion’s Enigma troupe beside him and quietly instructed them to wait outside. After all, in name Aveline and the other two were still accomplices in Aryan’s attempted murder. Luisa, as the mother of the victim, would naturally not welcome the sight of them.
...
“Achoo.” Roy rubbed his nose and looked at the two women in the distance. From his angle, he could only see the baroness from behind, but even that was enough, the rise and fall of her waist and hips, the swanlike line of her neck, all proved she was a striking beauty.
“She gave birth to a girl only a little over a month ago ... and her figure’s recovered this fast. Gifted indeed.” Roy gave a quiet sigh of admiration. In his old way of thinking, no matter how pretty most women were in youth, childbirth always left a heavy mark on that beauty.
Their figures would soon lose shape, their waists thickening like casks, that was the most ordinary change of all. Especially with country women, once the child was born, who still bothered keeping their figure just to please a mud-shanked husband who spent every day in the fields?
“I wonder how exactly this noble lady keeps herself so well.”
“Kid, do not forget, she is also the mother of a boy in his teens...” the bald Letho added in a low voice, something odd flashing in his eyes. “And she is not yet thirty this year ... twenty-seven, twenty-eight? By that reckoning, Lady Luisa bore her first child at seventeen or eighteen, at the age when a girl is in full blossom...”
Letho broke off as Hill Vea came back toward them and gestured with one hand.
“Two masters, my lady asks that you come over.”
...
Roy swept his gaze around. The garden held no fewer than ten kinds of flowers, cotton rose hibiscus, chrysanthemums, yet the largest share by far was taken up by white jasmine.
“Jasmine, symbol of steadfast love. Did the old baron plant it like this on purpose?” Roy’s mouth twitched. The sight suddenly felt deeply ironic. The age gap between baron and wife was far too wide, and no old husband keeps a young wife with coin and flowers alone.
Sooner or later, the old man grew horns.
“These flowers...” After only a few steps, Roy’s nose twitched. The thick sweetness of the garden had already made a strong impression at the gate. Now, nearer the heart of it, the fragrance was overwhelming, everywhere, wrapping around them like seawater.
Roy and Letho’s senses, far sharper than ordinary men’s, were almost wholly swallowed by that scent. There was no room left for any other smell.
Anything in excess becomes a calamity, and flowers were no exception. Compared to this, the Witchers would almost rather smell a proper measure of blood and meat. At least that kept their wits keen and clear.
Both men frowned at the same time. Then the elegant woman turned to face them, and their faint displeasure was replaced by astonishment.
It had to be said, heaven had favored this lady. At twenty-eight, most pale-skinned women could not help but show the first fine traces of age, yet the baroness’s skin, browned by the sun to a healthy wheat-gold, remained smooth and fine as milk and silk.
She wore no rings or earrings. Her black hair was simply gathered behind her head. Her brown eyes were bright, as if holding sunlight itself. Her lips were tender as freshly peeled water chestnut, and below them her neckline dipped low enough to show a tempting glimpse. With her slender waist and long legs, she was undeniably a creature of dangerous appeal.
“Charisma 9...” Roy, whose own Charisma was 8, suddenly felt diminished by comparison.
And from Scrying, there was no sign of magical sculpting on the baroness the way there was on sorceresses. Aside from that startling Charisma, her other attributes were unremarkable.
This was the genuine thing, a beauty born, not made.
“No wonder he lost his wits over her.”
“Witcher masters, I am Baron La Valette’s wife, Mary Luisa La Valette. Thank you sincerely for accepting this contract. The child has grown so thin he is little more than skin over bone. If not for the arcane support of the witch doctor, he would not have held on this long.”
The lady looked exhausted. Her face was dimmed with weariness, her voice slightly hoarse. Yet her gentle manner made one feel as though standing in warm spring sunlight, nothing like the lofty, pressing arrogance of her husband. As she spoke, she extended her hand to them, palm lowered.
The two men took her fingertips and kissed the backs of her fingers.
“Your ladyship need not fret overmuch. A boy as upright and kind as young master Aryan will surely be watched over by the gods. Perhaps this is only a trial, one meant to temper him into a finer knight than he would otherwise have become.”
“I hope so. But my poor Aryan is only eleven. He should not be made to suffer this.” At the thought of her unconscious son, sorrow gathered thick on Luisa’s lovely face. Her eyes reddened slightly, and her gaze turned unconsciously to one side.
There stood the cradle. In the swaddling within lay a tiny baby girl. The sunlight lit her plump pink cheeks. Red lips, white gums, sweet enough to melt the heart.
At that moment, the little thing was sucking on her own thin translucent pinky finger, her dark bright eyes darting between Lady Luisa and the Witchers, full of innocent curiosity.
The baroness gently pinched the little one’s cheek, then let out a deep breath and steadied her restless mind.
“Anais La Valette?” Watching the warm little scene, Roy’s heart stirred. This infant girl was no simple child. If things followed their proper course, after a chain of upheavals she would one day become Temeria’s sole legitimate heir.
Of course, no one present but Roy knew anything of her future.
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