Chapter 7
god’s statue, the panicked Ashley suddenly quieted down. She knelt devoutly, as if by reciting her prayers aloud, she could atone for all her
In front of the god’s
sins.
Olivia usually only came to church for Sunday services and rarely
by prayed with sincerity. But today, she prayed even more fervently than Ashley.
Alden watched them, his gaze calm and unreadable, his dark eyes deep and expressionless, chilling to behold.
Perhaps it was because the prayers were too obscure and dull–after a while, Aiden simply turned and walked away.
He had no desire to look upon those solemn statues, emotionless and unmoved, so he wandered into the church’s backyard.
There were no statues in the backyard, only hundreds of Sanctuary Lamps flickering with flame.
A rum in a black robe moved among them, refilling the nearly extinguished lamps with oil.
The wavering candlelight flickered in Aiden’s eyes. Suddenly, he asked, “What’s the point of Lighting a San
a Sanctuary Lamp!”
Without pausing her work, the nun replied gently, “Many people cannot get what they pray for in this life, so they light a lamp… to pray for the next.” “Can the next life really be granted?” he asked.
“If it were that easy,” she said quietly, “there wouldn’t be so much suffering in this world
Aiden lowered his eyes. “May 1 light a lamp as well?
“For whom?”
“Cecilia”
The nun’s hand faltered. Oll dripped from her fingers, staining the pristine hem of her robe.
She said softly, “Cecilia’s lamp has already been lit.”
Who lit in?”
Her calm eyes met his across the rows of flickering lights. Her voice was filled with compassion.
“Cecilia lived a life full of pain
“She once knelt before the god’s statue, unmoving for days, praying for the safe return of her husband who went off to control a flood.”
“She also once prayed before a Sanctuary Lamp, asking for peace for her child who died too young.
“Sha experienced every land of suffering life could offer. I knew there was no flood in the Midlands, only brigands in the mountains. But I did nothing to stop her. I didn’t want to meddle in the affairs of mortals and tangle myself in karma. That was my fault, too.”
“Now, all I can do is light a lamp for her to pray for her next life, and to seek forgiveness for myself.” Aiden stood dated “Sister if one lamp can redeem your sins, then how can mine ever be forgiven?”
The nur didn’t reply. Instead, she looked past him–hier gaze focused on something behind Aiden.
He turned around and was startled to see the saine bard who had once blocked the gates of the Norfolk estate, The bard didn’t look at him, but addressed the num, “Sister, I’ve conte tu
usen Hale.”
Aiden followed the two of thin, all the way into the wooded hills behind the church.
Beneath a tree stood a small burial moud, marked with a simple stone grave
There was no full name on it–only one word was carved: Hale.
Aiden’s body trembled uncontrollably. His voice broke as he asked, “Who… who is buried here?”
No one answered
He stopped forward and grabbed the cross on the non’s chest. “Tell me. Who is it?”
The un let out a l
Lalong, Weary sp
“Mr. Norfolk, you’re a clever man. Haven’t you already guessed?”
Ceciliad only prayed for two things in that church Once for him, and once for their child. Chapter?
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There was no need to say it aloud. He already knew
He had seen that child once. The eyes and brows resembled him, the nose and lips resembled her.
Aiden shut his eyes, and a tear slipped down his cheek. His voice was hoarse. “This child… why doesn’t he even have a last name? Not Norfolk, not even Ford…”
This time, it was the bard who answered.
“Mrs. Norfolk once said: ‘No one would love this child no matter what name he bore. Better to have no surname at all—at least then he won’t be found in his next life, won’t have to suffer again.”
Why did she name him Hale?”
“The name was given by me,” the nun said, hands folded in prayer, her face serene.
were always too plain. She asked me to give the child a name—a name that meant peace and health. So I
“Cecilia said she was uneducated and her names wer chose Hale.”
Alden stood frozen. His hands were clenched so tightly that his neatly trimmed nails dug into his palms. Blood seeped from between his fingers.
He turned to the bard. “May I have the letters Cecilia wrote… all of them?”
“Of course. They were always meant for you.”
Cloper?
