Cunning Fish of the Forest - Chapter 10

“Araneth.”

“Yes.”

As my mother gracefully moved away from the small table where she had been arranging teacups, her footsteps—neither too loud nor too quiet—stopped in front of me.

I lowered my eyes, fearing she might read my true intentions, and just then, Mother held my hand. Her hand, soft as cat fur with no strength, gently touched my cheek.

“Look at me, Araneth.”

The Ludig family is often likened to the colors of sunset, with auburn hues and a golden glow akin to egg yolks. In contrast, my mother, a daughter of the Priam family, inherited their stark, cold black hues. Her black eyes and hair matched her perfectionist nature perfectly.

As she caressed my cheek, I genuinely felt guilty for deceiving her. The harsh truth surged up to the tip of my tongue, threatening to escape. But I managed to swallow it down, pushing it deep into my conscience.

“Do you really dislike the engagement that much?”

“I do. But would it change anything if I said I dislike it?”

“No, it wouldn’t. If not you, then Roni would have to go, and we might not even be able to switch to her.”

My recent frequent visits to the chapel must have seemed suspicious to her. Had she scolded me as usual, I might have swallowed the lies more sweetly. I am too foolish to either resent my mother for nurturing only the thorns of truth with her kindness or to become an honest and good child.

“Is the fact of being betrothed too much for you?”

“I don’t go to the chapel because it’s hard.”

“Then why?”

“Because I like it there. It gives me peace of mind, and my worries fade away.”

“I see.”

After her response, my mother continued to stroke my cheek for a while longer before finally letting her hand drop. Her sharp gaze did not miss my pouting lips, but even if a thousand needles in her look pressed me for the truth, I endured.

“It’s praiseworthy to seek peace of mind from God.”

“May I go there again?”

“God alone knows what you will do there, but fine. Your mother will be busy with guests.”

Though I sensed my mother’s permission was given with some reservation, she had granted it nonetheless. Before she could change her mind, I quickly expressed my gratitude, awkwardly managing a slight curtsy that I had nearly forgotten.

From the look on my mother’s face, it was apparent I hadn’t done it quite right.

“Go on.”

“Yes.”

“Wait. And don’t run.”

Mother only briefly checked my slightly faster pace but didn’t stop me. My heart raced ahead of my senses. I left her bedroom on tiptoe, as if dancing.

Once I had carefully closed the door behind me, my previously hidden legs beneath the skirt sprang into action. As I ran, clutching the ends of my skirt, feelings of liberation and guilt intertwined and overwhelmed me.

“Miss!”

“Later!”

Whenever I nearly tripped, the maids gasped so loudly they almost stopped their chores. Yet, despite the heightened emotions, I never actually fell. Once outside the castle, where no scrutinizing eyes could follow, I even slipped off my cumbersome shoes.

I didn’t want to be any later. Clutching the awkward shoes in one hand, I sprinted along the stone walls, dodging between laborers carrying dead pigs on their shoulders and deftly slipping under milk canisters hung from long poles.

The main castle and various towers where my family primarily reside were within the inner castle, while the outer castle, enclosed by exterior walls, housed the servants’ workplaces and living quarters.

There was a shortcut to the chapel behind the rear gate where goods like fruits, alcohol, milk, and meats were delivered. Guards stationed at this entrance monitored the numerous carts coming and going.

I exchanged a knowing nod with a familiar guard and ran barefoot down the cart path. Occasionally, people who recognized me paused to tip their hats, but in my hurry, I only half-acknowledged them, pretending not to see the others.

When the path is filled with the scent of blooming purple wisteria, it’s a sure sign that spring has fully arrived. And when those ripe wisteria blossoms begin to fall, that’s when the rumored fiance is expected to arrive.

“Miss Araneth!”

Ger, who had discarded the broom’s bristle end and kept only the handle, stood up and waved at me. The chapel with its sharply pointed roof was the only place that promised to shelter me from the spring.

I swallowed the thorns of truth to protect this place. I made the most of my fleeting freedom to the fullest before it could wane in less than three months—that was the daily routine I so desperately wanted to preserve.