Cunning Fish of the Forest - Chapter 3

I had expected tonight’s dinner table to be a place of honor, having successfully ousted the tutor after the fence incident.

I was prepared to face punishment by only being allowed to eat dry bread for dinner. I was instead spared by Arox, who ensured I received freshly cooked lamb. Washing it down with goat’s milk and sandwiching the lamb between bread made for a rather satisfying meal.

Even our stern Mother refrained from scolding me about the torn skirt, perhaps not wanting to raise her voice on the day Arox returned from the academy.

However, my mind was absent from this fortunate dinner table. Father’s prayers at the center of the table barely reached my ears. If only Ahmet, sitting opposite me, hadn’t sneakily opened his eyes during the prayer to glance at me, I might have snapped back to reality much sooner.

“The compassion that allows us to fill our stomachs with these animals…”

Father’s prayer to the god Janeth was nearing its end. I sat there, blankly holding a round water glass, as if a bee was buzzing around in my head, telling me the handful of freedom I had been clinging to was ending today.

“Araneth.”

It’s hard to believe I’m the same person who yearned for freedom day and night. The moment the day of my entrapment was set, I resigned deep inside. The free days I had vaguely imagined were worlds apart from reality.

I, who once scoffed at women who couldn’t move without their husbands, now shrink like a scared clam at the mention of marriage.

“Araneth.”

It was Arox, sitting next to me, who snapped me out of my daze. Thanks to his elbow nudge and call, I cleverly grasped the situation around me. Just as I noticed Father about to scold me, Mother with a look that could kill directed at me, and Ahmet rolling his eyes in fear of being caught for his deeds, an uproar ensued.

“Araneth. You’re distracted even during prayer, and now you can’t even hear what your Father is saying.”

“I can hear you. I was just really hungry. I’m sorry.”

Though Mother is strict, her anger is short-lived, and she usually has a justifiable reason to be upset. Even as young as I am, I’m aware of that much.

But Father’s anger is different. Renowned for being a compassionate lord, there are two unbreakable rules with Father: be sincere during prayer time and always participate in family dinner.

Even if one is to receive punishment and not eat, they must still attend. Only Grandmother, the eldest in our family, is exempt from these rules. As a lord, Father is also a son. He wouldn’t dare disturb Grandmother, who lives simply tending her tiny garden and, for some reason, avoids family gatherings.

Given the current situation with talk of marriage, I found myself longing for the days when I was merely being punished. Seeing Ahmet shrivel up like a snail was also displeasing.

“The temporary chef we hired seems to be doing poorly.”

“There’s much to be done before the guests arrive.”

I was about to stuff some dry bread into my mouth when my ears perked up. It must be about the marriage. Ahmet’s shoulders rising at the mention of ‘guests’ confirmed it. Regardless of slip-ups, boasting is boasting.

Even as Arox’s comforting words turned out to be false, I remained calm.

I laughed at myself. It was amusing how I always thought of jumping fences without any practical plans.

“Neth…”

As I simply stared at the bread as if it were an ornamental flower, my younger sister Aronis tugged at my sleeve. Aronis, who speaks late and is more timid than others her age, followed me like a baby bird follows its Mother.

It’s no wonder even our Mother refrains from sending Aronis to a tutor. If I were to marry and leave for another family, she would likely spend days on end in bed. We’re in similar situations, having no one but each other to rely on.

Having found a reason not to marry, I finally picked up the bread, made by the new chef who temporarily replaced our injured head chef.

The bread was so dry that I lost interest after just a few bites. While my parents seemed to want to hire a new chef, I was against it. I hoped the upcoming guests would get to taste this new, unimpressive bread.

“Araneth.”

Imagining a guest complaining about the taste of the bread as if it were made of stone dust, and using that as a reason to call off the marriage, secretly amused me. Unfortunately, Mother caught me snickering. Feeling a scolding looming, I put down the bread.

“You’ve heard that important guests are coming in two months, right?”

Mother pushed her barely touched plate forward, her gaze intense. She had that same expression the day she lost one of her emerald earrings, a part of her dowry.

As Mother’s silent pause stretched, a twitch formed at the corner of my lips. It seemed everyone but me knew, as they settled down their spoons with faces suggesting it was time.

Ahmet, unable to keep still, conspicuously smoothed down his chest, probably relieved his advance notice to me hadn’t been caught.

In noble families, girls are expected to show ladylike grace by eight and have betrothed by ten, yet I’ve always felt oddly detached from that rigid world. Even though I’m part of it.