Chapter 8: Emissaries from the Capital
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“I wish you’d never been born,” she breathed in a drawn-out sigh. “If you had been a boy, you would’ve had some value, but no, you just had to be a girl.”
Day in and day out she would curse me with those words. Yesterday she had spat them out, today she sighed them, and she would probably yell them tomorrow.
But it was no different from when the rain fell; when the wind blew; when you awaited another warm day.
Aah, I’m starving. I squatted down on the roadside, gripping my empty stomach.
“For heaven’s sake, there’s no saving that ma of yours.” The lady from across the field squared her shoulders and turned her scary eyes on our hut.
That’s not true. Mommy’s kind. It’s just that I make her angry because I’m slow and can’t do anything right.
“Same goes for your pa. They say he’s a peddler, yeah? What’s going through his head to neglect his family all this time? C’mon, eat this. You’ll die at this rate, child.”
An ear-piercing shriek sliced through the fields just as the lady handed me a tiny dried sweet potato. “Stop that! How dare you do something so uncalled for to my child!”
“Uncalled for? It’s your fault for neglecting the child! Take a look at her! She’s almost five and yet she’s so miserably small! Her hands and feet are thinner and shorter than twigs!”
“You say that, but you’re actually plotting to steal this adorable child from me! I just know it!”
In that moment, my heart felt warmer than the air of a sunny day. See? Mommy really does love me.
Mommy shooed the old lady away and pulled me to the hut.
“For crying out loud, you can never be too careful. Throw that dried potato onto the road.” Mommy’s eyelids peeled back when she heard my loud gulp. “What? Are you saying some strange old lady matters more to you than your mother?”
Mommy smiled fondly at me after I had quickly tossed away the dried sweet potato so that it rolled in the dirt. “Good, good. Don’t put some garbage potato in your mouth. Someday I’ll fill your belly with an amazing feast.”
Aaah, I’m starving…
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UNEN’S eyes snapped open at the smell of roasting meat. The loud chorus sung by her gurgling stomach and the panic over realizing she had overslept immediately jolted her awake.
Rushing through her morning routine, she ran down the stairs and flew into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry!” she apologized, with a deep bow toward the back of the woman standing in front of the hearth.
Zola looked over her shoulder with a smile. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You said you were putting the finishing touches on that map last night. You worked hard all night, you deserve some rest.”
She was sautéing thin slices of meat with some carrots on the stovetop. Beside the pan was a large pot of soup and a basket of freshly baked bread. From the looks of it, Unen had lost the opportunity to help out this morning.
“I’ll draw the water—ah, looks like you did that already. Then I’ll feed the horses—”
“That’s been taken care of too,” Zola answered in a singsong voice. She was always the cheerful Clinic Mother, but she seemed to be in an especially chipper mood today. “Forget all that work stuff and take a look at this, Unen! Isn’t it a fine slab of deer meat? Looks yummy, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, it does.”
Zola told her to forget about the chores, but Unen had a hard time getting past her failure. Ever since Milosh brought her into his home three years ago, Unen fiercely believed it was her mission in life to help Zola out around the house in Simon’s stead, as he had lost his leg. Working outside the house didn’t contribute much considering the wages of a transcriber apprentice were barely more than a pittance. Unen wanted to avoid being a burden on Milosh’s family at all costs.
Unen gnawed at her bottom lip. She had burnt the midnight oil many times before, but this was the first time it had ever impaired her ability to work the next morning.
She knew the reason for the change; that accursed nightmare was at fault. And she’d had the nightmare because—
“It’s that fishy mage’s fault.”
“Talking about me?”
When she heard the voice of the culprit coming from the dining table, Unen spun around sharply, as if she’d been slapped in the face. Too startled to find the right words, all she could do was flap her lips like a puppet while pointing at Mouru sitting on the bench at the table.
In that very moment, the kitchen door opened and Ori stepped in. “I finished feeding the horses,” he reported to Zola.
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“They brought us a whole deer first thing in the morning. I shared some with the neighbors too. I invited them to eat breakfast with us since they were here, and they’ve been helping me out ever since. They’ve made life easy for me,” Zola hummed as she removed the frying pan from the stovetop.
Unen walked over to Ori and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Mouru speedily answered in Ori’s stead, taking all of the credit.
Unen turned a frosty gaze on Mouru. “You don’t look like you’ve done anything though.”
Ori also let his irritation show on his face as he scowled at Mouru with a sidelong glance. “I’m the one who brought down the deer and cleaned it too.”
“I helped you carry it, didn’t I?”
“That’s about all you did, and don’t think I didn’t catch you slacking off when we got back to town.”
That’s all he did before kicking back and relaxing at the dining table with a smug face? Unen raised an eyebrow at Mouru. Beside her, Zola began taking the plates out of the cupboard. Unen rushed back into the kitchen to help her set the table.
“I’m still pleased,” Zola reassured, “because Mouru told me lots of fun, interesting stories while I was cooking. I had a blast getting to talk so much!”
“I should be the one thanking you for a fun morning.” Mouru replied, acting as if he were a courteous, fine young man.
Now that I think about it, Master had called him a kind, fine young man when he saw Mouru carrying my bag on the way back from my errand yesterday. Master, you’ve been tricked! Unen screamed internally, barely managing to hold herself back from yelling the same thing at Zola. She restrained herself from commenting because she didn’t want either of them to think she would badmouth someone else without good reason.
Mobilizing her self-control, Unen placed the pot of soup on the dining table. She set out enough bowls for everyone from the cupboard and began to serve the soup.
“I’m sorry we inconvenienced you the other day because of this slowpoke,” Ori said to Unen, his tone apologetic. “I would’ve never put an employer in danger if he hadn’t shown up late.”
“That’s your fault for accepting unnecessary work at Harrow,” Mouru promptly protested.
“Your fault for collapsing over nothing.”
“Magic drains the life out of me! And hey, it’s not that I was late, but that you went on ahead without me. You’re horrible for neglecting and abandoning your bedridden partner.”
Neglecting and abandoning—those words sent shivers down Unen’s spine. She shook her head on reflex to rid it of the fresh memories left in her mind from the nightmare she had seen earlier that morning.
Ori continued to guilt-trip Mouru. He appeared to have pent-up resentment, which made him oddly talkative. “Bedridden, you say? You looked like you were having the time of your life to me.”
“That’s because, err…umm, the innkeeper’s daughter—”
“Ema.”
“Right, Ema, begged me to let her look after me.”
At least remember her name. Unen stifled her sigh.
“And who was it that said not to get in the way of his flirting?”
“Is that any reason to completely leave me behind?!”
“Hahaha! I see you’re popular with the ladies, Mouru,” Zola giggled, entertained by their argument.
Just then, there was a knock on the clinic’s front door.