Chapter 3
As the clouds that had been gathered here and there scattered, yellow sunlight poured down over the ashen field. Ian slid down the winding, sloped hill in one breath. His destination was clear. In the distance, a small-bodied donkey was nibbling at withered grass.
“Maeve!”
There was no answer from within. Ian, unfazed, kept running until he came to a stop in front of the donkey. He caught his breath, but the young donkey did not even glance his way.
Truly, it took after its owner in indifference. Passing the stake where the donkey was tied, Ian walked deeper into the forest.
“Maeve! I know you’re in there!”
The further he went, the taller the trees grew, bending over to look down at him. Through the densely packed trunks, a small clearing came into view.
A figure no bigger than his finger was chopping wood in front of an old tree stump.
Whether he called her or not, the woman did not so much as pretend to hear. Only when Ian appeared right before her did she finally lift her head to look at him.
Under her red curly hair, yellow eyes stared straight across at him.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?”
“I didn’t hear you.”
She replied indifferently as she swung an axe thicker than her forearm as though it were a mere stick, splitting the log cleanly.
Ian, long used to this sight, watched calmly and quickly took out what he had been carefully carrying in his arms.
Steam still rose from it. It was a roasted potato.
“Do you want some potatoes?”
“No.”
“This is a really rare potato. It’s not like the ones we usually eat. I bet you’ve never had one like this before.”
Ian had a knack for making his words sound irritating no matter his intent.
He was only trying to hide his embarrassment—and to remind her that he cared about her this much—but to the woman before him, it always had the opposite effect.
“Fine. Since it’s so precious, eat it all yourself.”
“……Is it true that you’re leaving?”
His attempt to lighten the mood ended up being in vain, and Ian, eyes full of sorrow, blurted out the question.
“Is it true? Are you really leaving? Why?”
“To heal His Highness the Prince’s illness. I’m going to the west to find the witch said to live there.”
Ian’s mouth fell open. It was clear he didn’t know the full story.
He let out a hollow laugh, as if speechless, then spoke again with a very serious expression.
“You’ve been scammed, Maeve.”
“It’s not a scam. I even went to the castle and had an interview. In front of a man called the executor.”
“Lies. That’s impossible. Why would they choose you? Of course, you’re…”
Caught by Maeve’s indifferent yellow eyes, Ian hastily averted his gaze and stammered out an excuse.
“I mean, you, well… to really serve His Highness the Prince, shouldn’t you at least have some guaranteed status—and proper manners, too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they just chose me because I can read?”
She answered, pointing with her chin toward the corner of the stump.
A book titled “Court Etiquette” lay there.
The interview had been simple.
The executor had asked Maeve a few basic questions, and then a woman called the head maid approached to examine her body from head to toe, muttering, “Filthy.”
The executor asked a few more questions, and when Maeve scratched her head and gave vague answers, he murmured, “Lacking in quality.”
They whispered to each other loudly enough for her to hear, and finally asked if she knew how to read. When she nodded, the so-called executor sneered.
Having mocked her right to her face, they then shoved the book on court etiquette into her hands as if throwing it at her and sent her out.
She only learned she had passed when she reached the castle gate. It turned out that being handed the book was their way of informing her she had been accepted.
“That’s ridiculous! It’s a scam! How much did they say they’d pay you?”
Ian’s eyes widened at the amount Maeve mentioned. Even his family, one of the wealthiest in the village, could never dream of such a sum.
Ian felt his pride was smart.
“Do you really believe in that nonsense about witches?”
“Witches exist, Ian.”
“What?”
Ian asked back, but instead of replying, Maeve fetched a much larger log and began striking it with her axe. Each blow split the wood cleanly in half.
Fortunately, Ian didn’t press the question any further.
“If you go, what about Grandma Morrigan? Don’t tell me you’re sneaking off without saying anything to her?”
“She’s the one who pushed me to at least go to the castle for the interview. I’m giving her half the money I received before I leave.”
The more Ian listened to Maeve’s calm explanation, the wider his eyes grew.
“That old hag sold you off!”
“No.”
Any pretense of politeness in his tone vanished instantly.
“But…!”
“I said no.”
Maeve stopped chopping and turned to Ian, cutting him off once again.
At her firm response, Ian belatedly realized his mistake and shut his mouth.
“Ian, you know I owe her. She took me in and raised me.”
“She treats you like livestock. If my family had taken you in, you’d have been treated far better than this. And… my parents would’ve seen you differently too.”
Maeve, expressionless, paused in splitting the firewood into small pieces and looked at Ian.
The son of the village headman—the richest family around.
True, he had a bit of an inflated ego and could be irritating at times, but he wasn’t a bad person overall. His looks were decent enough, too.
Because of that, Ian was popular among girls his age.
If a girl were to marry him, she’d likely live the comfortable life he so confidently promised.
Maeve looked down at the roasted potato Ian had brought.
The steam that once rose faintly from it had long since cooled.
“I can make money by selling the pig next spring.”
“……”
“There’s no need to force ourselves to leave right now. If we just wait a little longer…”
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