II. The Cousin’s Visit

The weather had been relentlessly sunny for days, so I found myself constantly stepping outside—either to slump against the wall like a feverish patient or to gaze at the sea.

Had I stopped there, it would’ve been fine. But drunk on my own emotions, my stomach swelled with pride. Hearing “Yere Ha, Yere Ha” over and over had gone to my head, and with all that talk about guarding the wall and duty weighing on me, I impulsively sought out my teacher. That was my mistake. I demanded more assignments. Claimed my studies were lacking. Asked for double the work.

‘More?’

My teacher, fresh from instructing Sandora, eyed me skeptically. Her stern expression suggested she was inclined to refuse. I should’ve walked away then.

‘The workload I give you now is already heavy enough.’

Maybe I’m just stubborn by nature, but being rejected only fueled my defiance. I remembered my grandfather’s words—You are my granddaughter—and that only stoked my determination. Babbling excuses wasn’t hard. I shut my eyes tight, wagged my tongue, and declared that I’d grown fond of studying.

‘Oh?’

Then, she handed me a book as thick as my forearm. “Memorize this by tomorrow,” she said, almost like a joke. But the way she added she’d check made it clear she wasn’t kidding. Thanks to that, my brain—already struggling to parse the text—nearly cracked. And as my brain cracked, my enthusiasm fled. My defiance slunk away quietly, leaving only me to deal with the aftermath.

At first, I was determined to crush my teacher’s smugness. How hard could it be to cram all day? I memorized line by line. I even tried tearing out pages and stuffing them in my mouth. Skipped meals. Clung to the task like my life depended on it.

“…Should I just quit?”

But no matter how much I memorized, my progress was as slow as a snail. I even considered swallowing the whole book, but before I knew it, the day had slipped away. The moon was already high, and I hadn’t even gotten halfway through. The ink I’d wasted trying to memorize passages mocked me.

Why was it that every time I studied, my body begged for a nap? What was supposed to be a quick blink of sleep turned into waking up at dawn, just as the owls were finishing their cries. The sun was about to rise, and staring at the book—still less than half memorized—I gritted my teeth so hard my molars ached before slamming it shut. What’s the point of looking at it now? I’m doomed anyway.

Maybe I should fake being sick.

No. That viper of a teacher—or was she an actual viper?—would see right through me. She’d just smirk and say, “Is that all you can manage?” There was no way out. I’d brought this on myself with my own stubbornness, and now I had to suffer the consequences. With a heavy sigh, I flopped onto my bed.

Still, it burned. For someone like me, getting this far was impressive. I yanked the blanket over my head, determined to sleep, when—click—the doorknob turned. Who would come in before sunrise?

A maid? Surely not, bringing breakfast already. The moment I thought it, my stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room. The intruder let out a raspy chuckle. Heh heh. None of the maids had a voice that rough. I shot upright, glaring at the door.

“Surprise!”

A boy—tall as a sapling, with hair as red as my mother’s and a ridiculous wildflower tucked behind his ear—thrust the bloom right under my nose. He was even squeezing his eyes shut, like he expected something. I reflexively took the flower. The boy grinned, wide and dumb.

“Your dear Edryd came all night on horseback to cheer you up! And this is the thanks I get?”

Edryd or whatever finally opened his eyes—yellow and utterly baffled—as his mouth fell open.

“Uh… who are you?”

What kind of idiot—? I was already pissed about the studying. Now this?

“I should be asking you that. Who the hell are you?”

“Me? You’re asking about me?”

“Are you incapable of forming a proper sentence?”

The red-haired boy clamped his mouth shut, looking genuinely wounded. I sighed and shoved past him, straightening the books I’d thrown around and capping the inkwell. The last thing I wanted was for some stranger to see my desk in disarray.

“Guess I got the wrong room,” he muttered, clearly realizing his business was with Sandora, not me.

“Second door on the right,” I snapped.

“Huh?”

“Are your ears stuffed with cotton?”

The boy flushed crimson, nostrils flaring. I was the one who should’ve been angry, yet here he was puffing up like an offended rooster. Unbelievable from the very first encounter.

“You—you’re being incredibly rude!”

“Get out.”

“By the gods!”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like I’d stabbed him.

I hated people like this the most—thick-headed, endlessly nitpicking, clinging to every word like barnacles to a ship. I wanted him gone, but he just kept circling my room like a confused puppy, making a spectacle of himself.

“You’ll regret this once you find out who I am.”

Kids who don’t leave when told need to be taught a proper lesson. When I raised my fist, the brat stumbled backward in shock.

“You’ll seriously regret this!”

“Still not leaving?”

He finally scampered off, but not without tossing back some nonsense about “you’ll see!” Ugh. This was clearly an omen that today would be nothing but trouble.

* * *

The next day, I learned that the intruder’s name was Edryd—the son of my mother’s brother, the current head of House Lante. He was Sandora’s closest friend, practically a sworn brother, and Grandfather had invited him to both cheer up Sandora, who’d been unusually gloomy lately, and introduce him to me.

“Let me see. You’ve only gotten this far?”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll teach you. Listen close. This part here means—”

“I said, give it back.”

Edryd acted like we’d known each other for years, even though we’d just met. I’d never been this… familiar with anyone my age. He kept popping up out of nowhere, snatching my books to tease me, and I’d chase him like a mad dog before kicking him square in the stomach.

“Ack—!”

He’d crumple dramatically, rolling around like I’d mortally wounded him, but it was all a game to him. Like I was some kitten he could rile up for fun. And the worst part? He loved it—grinning every time I bared my teeth and chased him.

“Hey—!”

Edryd, who had been darting around with my book, suddenly spotted Sandora. Closing my book, he immediately dashed toward the child.

“Dia!”

My red-haired cousin. Edryd threw his arms around Sandora, beaming brightly. He even bounced on his heels, saying how long it had been.

I tried my best to ignore them. Picking up the book Edryd had tossed aside, I settled in to read it carefully again, dictionary at my side. If there was anything I didn’t understand, I’d look it up myself.

“That kid’s funny.”

“Huh?”

I overheard Edryd talking about me. Sandora seemed flustered, even a little uneasy.

“I thought it’d take at least a week to memorize half of that, but can you believe it? She did it in a single day!”

They were talking loudly, fully aware I could hear them—or rather, Edryd was the one doing all the talking. Sandora stayed silent. His backhanded praise secretly pleased me, though I’d already forgotten half of what I’d crammed. That was a secret I’d keep to myself.

Edryd never stopped talking. He’d pick random passages and quiz me, and though I stumbled, I still managed to recall bits and pieces. That seemed to pique his interest. What had started as a joke or two had apparently become entertaining enough for him to stick around.

Sandora, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care much about me. The awkwardness, the hesitation—it was all on my side. At some point, the two of them disappeared into the distance, their chatter fading. Maybe Sandora had had enough of Edryd’s coltish energy. The silence that followed was unexpectedly unwelcome.

Eventually, I returned to my room. I always felt it at times like this—my world was so small, while Sandora’s was full of color. They had their mother, their late father, their grandfather, even a cousin who’d come just to cheer them up. Unlike me, stubbornly fighting life alone.

Through the window, I could see Sandora and Edryd strolling together. They looked close, yet Sandora’s expression remained somber. Edryd was the only one talking. A wave of sadness rose in me for no reason, and I closed the curtains. Somehow, I didn’t feel like reading anymore today.

* * *

My teacher often picked on my weak foreign language skills, though I knew she didn’t mean it maliciously.

“Your head might as well be made of stone.”

“The names are all twisted. They’re hard.”

“Everyone else memorizes them. If you don’t want to, turn around and leave.”

The moment her cold voice cut through the air, I buried my nose back in the book. It was a genealogy of nobles—listing everyone from the high-ranking Yereka families to insignificant minor lords. “You must learn this if you ever hope to function in society,” she’d said. To me, it made no sense.

“Teacher.”

Her arms crossed, her gaze—which had been fixed on me—shifted toward Sandora.

“Dia?”

Today’s lesson was supposed to be mine alone. I’d heard Sandora didn’t have to attend for a few days because of a visit from Edryd. According to Mother, one simply couldn’t leave a guest to feel lonely, or something along those lines.