Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 70

70.

"For Nordin!"

Men with large drinking cups shouted joyfully around a great bonfire.

The moment Iranna rediscovered their old name, she told Kahn and the tribe. Now they would be called Nordin, not barbarians.

As word spread, they slaughtered several sheep, roasting and steaming them, bringing out liquor, bread, dried vegetables and fruits—eating and drinking at once.

The center of attention was Ibelin. Though Kite sat beside her, they focused on her.

"Here, eat more—you're too thin!"

They heaped plates with meat, bread, fruits, and vegetables, pouring drinks to the brim.

"Eat! Drink!"

Someone shouted, and another laughed. Everyone was excited.

"Long live Lady Ibelin!"

"Thank you—for giving us back our name!"

Such voices often rose. Though Kite held a far higher title, here Ibelin was far more cherished. She glanced at him, worried—but he was calm.

"Are you alright?"

He seemed puzzled.

"About what?"

She couldn't say more.

"Try this with the lamb—it's good."

He handed her a sauce pot, attending to her.

On a night like this, she drank. When she finished, someone refilled—midway, Kite took it and drank for her, earning applause.

"Yes—a man should protect his beloved!"

Word of their engagement had spread.

As the night deepened, couples began to embrace.

Ahem!

She looked away—but the scene was everywhere. Unsure what to do, Iranna approached.

"Are you tired?"

"No—I'm fine."

"They're overjoyed and overexcited. If you're tired, I've prepared a ger for you—let me guide you."

"Can we leave early?"

"Of course—you've already enjoyed enough."

A festival was about eating, drinking, and laughing—and she'd done plenty. Iranna guided them to the ger.

"A guest ger—the desert nights are cold, so I've lit the stove."

Even with the stove, smoke wouldn't suffocate—the roof was partly open.

"Sleep well."

She bowed and left.

How thoughtful.

She'd been feeling tired. Ibelin entered the ger—though a guest's, it rivaled Kahn's.

"Here, guests are treated well."

Kite said, closing the door.

"Oh—I see."

She nodded—then looked at him.

"Why did you follow me?"

"Couples are given one ger—so it's not strange we're together."

"But we haven't had an engagement ceremony!"

And it was all fake! She protested in alarm, but he remained calm.

"We slept together on the way—it's a bit late to be modest."

That was why she was more conscious—lying in the same sleeping bag, all sorts of thoughts had raced through her mind! She glared at him.

"Ah—here are blankets. They don't use beds much—this is to lie on, this to cover."

He calmly spread one below and one above, then began removing his outer coat.

"Ah!"

She turned away.

"Why are you undressing!"

"It's warmer to undress and sleep close—it's custom. We should follow it."

His sly voice made her clench her fist.

"Ibelin."

He whispered near her ear.

"It's fine—turn around."

"Can I ask what's fine?"

She pouted—he laughed.

"Really—I'm not fully undressed."

She turned skeptically—he still had pants and shirt on, only his thick outer coat removed. Relieved, she took off her own coat.

"You take the blanket."

He offered kindly.

"I'll use the sleeping bag."

There was the sleeping bag from the journey.

"Are you sure?"

A thick blanket would be better than a well-made sleeping bag. She caught herself—am I trying to invite him in?

As expected, he didn't disappoint.

"Want to sleep with me that badly?"

"No—I don't. At this rate, I'll never get married!"

"I think it's too late."

"It's not!"

Kite was a good man—not the mad dog rumor made him. But being with him would require much compromise. She wasn't ready.

And I don't fully understand my own heart.

He'd never fully expressed his feelings. Without a confession, she couldn't ponder and answer. So for now, she'd clear her mind.

She wriggled into the blankets.

Warm.

There was a heat pack, making it toasty—Iranna must have prepared it.

Her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, and she drifted off.

"Good night."

He said—but she couldn't answer.

---

Ibelin saw children beyond iron bars—white-clothed like sacks, whispering.

"Will we die?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to!"

They were terrified. Among them, a silver-eyed child.

"He might survive—his results are best."

She heard, but didn't understand.

Looking around, it seemed like a prison—but not ordinary. Children were captive, opposite was a table of strange drugs, surrounded by adults. The foremost spoke.

"How goes the artificial seer experiment?"

"We're trying—but it's difficult. Two died today."

"These children were precious—try to keep them alive!"

"Apologies!"

Artificial seers?

She approached the table, watching them.

When time came, they took children one by one and injected them—some writhed in pain, some gritted their teeth. The silver-eyed boy endured too. His half-dead eyes held no hope.

She realized: this was someone's past.

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