Chapter 36
It was a quiet bedroom.
Even the bed was enormous, and the vast space that held it made Ninia seem small and fragile.
She sat on the edge of that massive bed, embroidering a handkerchief.
Several others lay beside her, each decorated with intricate patterns, yet none seemed quite satisfactory. She kept stitching, again and again.
“Ash tree and laurel… Maybe I should add wild rose too.”
As she connected each thread, her thoughts drifted to him.
She paused with the needle midair, then resumed, only to glance back at the pile of completed handkerchiefs.
Everything she was making — and everything already finished — was for one person alone.
Ninia wanted to choose the best one and give it to Tarahan as a gift.
“If I say it’s a token of gratitude… maybe he’ll accept it?”
But then she hesitated again.
Setting the handkerchief down beside her, she listened to the soft rustle of fabric, a sound soon swallowed by the gentle crackle of the fireplace.
One wall of the bedroom held a large fireplace.
The duke himself had never used it, but now it burned every day — for Ninia, who shivered even in summer.
As she watched the flames dance, Ninia touched her forehead and cheeks.
“No fever today either.”
Her temperature felt normal, her mind clear, her vision bright.
Outside the window, the trees that had seemed dry and lifeless were now budding.
It had been about two weeks since she’d fully recovered her strength.
Yet she was still in the duke’s bedroom — because he was not there.
“He went away on business,”
the maid had told her.
The last time Ninia saw Tarahan was the night they spoke together — her final night before he left.
And until he returned and granted permission, she could not leave this room.
Ninia looked toward the sinking sun below the window.
It seemed he would not return today either.
“…I knew he was busy, but still.”
She didn’t know exactly why he had left the castle.
Come to think of it, she never really knew what he did at all.
He was a duke sitting over a land freshly scarred by war — it was natural that he’d be busy.
She had simply accepted it, never asking what “busy” truly meant for him.
But living in his room made it impossible not to think of him.
His last words still lingered in her ears:
“Just as I no longer pray.”
Tarahan had known — that she no longer prayed.
That realization had startled her.
She’d thought he paid her no attention at all, yet he knew her better than she expected.
Even two weeks later, Ninia sometimes caught herself imagining that she was still speaking with him.
That night had been their first truly long conversation — something she once thought would never happen in her lifetime.
“…It wasn’t self-harm,” she murmured, thinking of the scar still marking her back.
She had hinted at the truth to her maid, who surely passed it to Tarahan.
But the scar on her back — that wasn’t something she had done to herself.
Occasionally, Ninia checked the scar in the mirror.
It spread like a vine of thorns, as if marking the place where the bond between her and the goddess had been severed.
When the wound was still fresh, her back had burned as if on fire.
In those moments, her thoughts always went back to the temple — to the goddess.
But now, the pain reminded her of someone else.
Tarahan.
She bit her lower lip on purpose.
The faint sting that followed only drew his image more vividly in her mind — the man who was absent.
The window was growing dark now.
Even in summer, the northern nights came cold and early.
It was best to draw the curtains before dusk to keep the warmth in and not waste firewood.
Ninia rose quietly in the still room.
“…Huh?”
Out beyond the window, she noticed faint lights flickering one by one — torches.
That meant the inner gate had opened.
It was the first time they’d been lit since his departure.
“Could he be back?”
Her heart quickened with hope as she gazed at the distant, candle-like lights.
Moments later, Rosa entered the room, bringing news that almost matched Ninia’s expectation.
“The master will return to the castle before sunset tomorrow. He sent word to have supper prepared.”
“I see.”
Ninia nodded, trying not to show her disappointment.
It wasn’t tonight, after all.
“Tomorrow, then.”
Still, it was a hopeful message — not a sorrowful one.
As Ninia whispered this to herself, Rosa spoke again, watching her carefully.
“There will be a dinner, my lady, so you’ll need to prepare as well. But… um.”
Ninia looked at her in puzzlement. Then she realized what Rosa was hesitant to say.
“I’ll return to my room. You can help me prepare there.”
This was Tarahan’s bedroom, after all.
It wouldn’t be proper for her to dress here.
When Ninia spoke first, Rosa bowed deeply in agreement — and a faint look of relief crossed her face.
“Shall we… move now, my lady?”
“Yes, that would be best.”
As Rosa answered politely, Ninia found herself wondering again.
Perhaps because of her illness, the servants now treated her far more gently than before.
She didn’t know why.
Casting one last glance around the vast, empty bedroom, Ninia decided easily.
“Then I’ll go now.”
Tomorrow Tarahan would return.
She would need to prepare for the dinner anyway — better to move now.
Following Rosa’s lead, she left the bedroom.
Having been confined there for so long, even the dimly lit corridor felt new.
Her gaze drifted toward the opposite wall — the place where she had once seen Lady Mierne.
Ninia recalled the scene she had almost forgotten:
Mierne thrown aside harshly, and the marquis who had helped her up and disappeared into the darkness.
That was the last she knew of them.
Count Laid had also vanished after the disturbance in the annex.
Had they left the castle entirely?
She could ask the maids, but somehow she hesitated.
“Um…”
Rosa had stopped on the stairs, looking up at her.
It was the first time the maid had spoken to her first — and her usually cold gaze held a trace of hesitation.
Ninia waited silently for her to continue.
“I heard… you helped Violette.”
“Ah.”
For a moment, Ninia had to think who that was.
Then she remembered — the maid who had been serving tea before Lady Mierne that day.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Rosa bent deeply at the waist, her brown hair falling forward.
Ninia blinked, a little flustered.
There was no special reason she had helped — it simply hadn’t felt right not to.
“No, it’s nothing… I just didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
It was the truth — she had only wanted to prevent unnecessary pain.
Helping when she could, that was all.
When she finished speaking haltingly, Rosa looked up again — a faint smile crossing her lips.
“Still, you helped. You could have been struck by that marquis’s daughter, yet you stepped in anyway. You didn’t think, ‘Servants like her deserve it.’”
Ninia was momentarily speechless.
Not because she was offended — but because Rosa’s tone had changed so completely.
So this is what she’s really like, Ninia thought.
The maid who had always seemed cold and expressionless — now she looked different, almost human.
“I have something for you, my lady.”
Before Ninia could respond, Rosa reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a small pouch.
“It’s tea leaves — from the garden behind the castle. The gardener called them lavensha leaves. These are the very first shoots, dried just yesterday.”
When she untied the string, Ninia saw the tender green leaves inside.
Even from a distance, a fresh, vivid scent tickled her nose.
She recognized the name.
Lavensha was a hardy plant that grew easily anywhere — not rare, but beloved by common folk for its simplicity.
“They’re not much, but they’re better than the old tea we’ve had stored away,” Rosa said, holding the pouch out.
Ninia hesitated, then accepted it.
It was light — yet it carried warmth.
“Thank you. It smells lovely.”
She tucked the small pouch carefully away.
As her eyes lingered on it, Rosa studied her with a complicated expression.
“Could someone like her really have stolen the master’s glory?”
At first, none of the servants had doubted the rumors.
They all owed their lives to Tarahan.
Without him, they would have frozen to death or been slaughtered by swords and arrows.
Worshiping him like a god was natural.
Then one day, the former saintess appeared — taking his honors, and even becoming his wife.
But now, standing before her, Rosa could see the truth for herself.
That faint, gentle smile — like sunlight about to fade.
Soft and pale, perfectly suited to her delicate skin, paler even than that of the northern folk.
No matter how the servants treated her — coldly or kindly — the duchess accepted it quietly, without complaint.
Rosa had once thought it an act.
But over time, she realized it wasn’t.
“You must have been tired of the same old tea,” Rosa said softly. “But really, that was the only kind we had.”
“I didn’t mind.”
Her voice, calm as ever.
Whether met with warmth or coldness, Ninia never changed.
If not for her own narrow judgment, Rosa thought, she might have understood this woman much sooner.
And that simple kindness — that unshakable gentleness — pricked at Rosa’s heart.
