One side burned with fanatical passion, the other chilled with implacable cold. If only there had been some balance between the two.
“No. My feet are dirty right now… Can you wash them first?”
“Do as you wish, sir. Marie! Marie!”
The Duchess called out brightly for the maid she had just stabbed, her tone as carefree as if nothing had happened. It was obvious she was not in her right mind.
Instead of Marie, another maid named Laura appeared, following Ethan inside.
“Bring water to the sanctuary to wash,” the Duchess ordered.
“Madam, what do you mean by sanctuary…?”
“My little prayer room! Hunt himself declared it a sanctuary, the best beyond compare! He told the agent as much!”
“Congratulations, Madam,” Laura murmured.
Her eyes flicked to Yunsol with thinly veiled suspicion, as if she too believed the Duchess had been deceived by a fraud.
But the Duchess was oblivious, radiant in her delight.
Madness or not, for now she was Yunsol’s only ally.
“I’ll be right back,” Laura said.
“Hurry. Then come along, sir.”
The Duchess gestured toward Yunsol. She hesitated, reluctant to go back there—her gut told her the dark stains on the floor were all blood.
Yet the Duchess swept ahead, speaking with the exaggerated courtesy of a noblewoman.
“In truth, I was ashamed of the modest size of my prayer room. Compared to the grand temples of the capital, it is little more than a hut. I thought it was no wonder Hunt did not heed my prayers.”
It wasn’t that small, Yunsol thought. Larger than her own studio apartment by far—though the furniture and ornaments, once fine, were now ruined and looked like nothing but heaps of trash.
Ethan trudged behind them, his tone sharp.
“If you had left things as they were, it would be far more presentable than now.”
The Duchess stopped and looked back. “Are you blaming me?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
Oh no, not again, Yunsol thought wearily. Was it really necessary for them to fight at every turn?
“To be honest, Mother, this is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“I told you repeatedly to decorate the prayer room properly, befitting a divinity. But you ignored me.”
Yunsol had to bite back a laugh. Couldn’t they save their family squabbles for when she wasn’t present?
“So you destroyed everything instead? Planning to buy new furniture?”
“Yes.”
Why reveal things like that in front of an outsider…?
Ethan rubbed his face in exasperation.
“Mother, how many times have I told you? We don’t have that kind of money. We can’t even hire craftsmen for repairs.”
“What are you saying? What kind of family are we? We should be honored just to serve the Blakes!”
“Mother, please…”
I am an audience. I am an audience. I am only here to press “Next,” Yunsol reminded herself, as if she were just following along in a game.
It was easier that way—pretend this was all just scripted dialogue she couldn’t change. A shame there was no skip button, though.
“Stop with these excuses. I’m not blind!” the Duchess snapped.
Yunsol’s gaze drifted again to the dagger in Ethan’s hand. When would that unsettling object disappear?
“Do you think I don’t see you trying to undermine me? Sometimes I wish your little brother would never return—”
“Madam!”
Yunsol cut in sharply. She had noticed the tendons tightening in Ethan’s hand around the dagger. His face burned with a fierce, dangerous emotion unlike the irritation he usually showed his mother.
Her shame forgotten, she blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“My legs… they ache from standing so long.”
“Oh! Forgive me, sir. That was my thoughtlessness. Please, come inside quickly.”
The Duchess, thankfully distracted, guided her forward once more.
“Did my prayer room truly receive Hunt’s approval? Such a shabby place always weighed on my heart.”
Yunsol gave her a reassuring answer. At least now, no one else interfered until they reached the so-called sanctuary. She breathed out in relief.
The room was bare. Rain leaked through broken windows, and a cold wind lashed inside. Shivering, Yunsol rubbed her arms.
Then a heavy jacket settled across her shoulders. She looked back—Ethan stood in his vest, the dagger still in hand.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He ignored her, addressing his mother instead.
“Isn’t there anywhere else? Surely not every room in the annex is like this.”
Tch, what a personality, Yunsol thought, then hesitated. Well… he did lend me his jacket.
“I wouldn’t know. I only use my bedroom and prayer room. Laura! You’re here!”
Laura entered, carrying a basin, a jug of water, and a rag.
“Is there a place for the agent to rest?” the Duchess asked.
“Yes, Madam. How about the second-floor reception room?”
“That will do.”
Together, they headed upstairs. With Laura present, there were no more quarrels.
But the second floor was worse—windows boarded shut, corridors steeped in gloom. Even walking barefoot was treacherous. Yunsol soon lagged behind.
“Agent?” the Duchess called.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Yunsol replied. “It’s just dark. I’ll follow slowly. Don’t worry.”
“Oh no. Laura, fetch a lantern—”
Before the maid could leave, Ethan strode back and swept Yunsol into his arms. She barely managed a glare.
“How long must we waste time? Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, carrying her forward.
He didn’t hold her securely, and she dared not cling to him. Her body swayed precariously.
Still, it was better than being slung over his shoulder like luggage.
Dizzy, she opened the map interface. Her position moved forward, but all three companions were marked with ominous question marks.
Opening the quest window, she saw new entries:
■ Nearby Quests
▸ The Blake Family’s Lost Property (1)
▸ Ethan’s Ring
▸ Ethan’s Father
▸ Laura’s Comb
▸ Laura’s Needle
▸ Laura’s Silver Spoon
Ethan’s father? The name itself was unsettling. A short description would have been nice before she accepted.
By then, they had reached the reception room, and she closed the window.
The place was worn but more intact than the others. As expected, the windows were barred.
Ethan set her down on a chair while Laura prepared the basin.
The maid knelt to wash her feet, but Yunsol pulled away quickly.
“I’ll do it myself. Laura, light the candles instead. Hand me the towel.”
Laura glanced at the Duchess, who nodded. “Go on.”
Yunsol folded Ethan’s jacket neatly and held it out to him. He stared down in silence.
“I’m grateful I could borrow it.”
Ethan exhaled shortly. “Keep it.”
“I don’t need it now. I’m fine,” she said firmly.
He snatched it from her hands. For a moment she thought he meant to lash out—but instead he draped it back over her shoulders.
“Do you feel no shame, walking around half-exposed?”
The nerve of him! Yunsol seethed, teeth clenched, but resigned herself.
She washed and dried her feet quickly, still wrapped in his jacket.
Laura returned, lighting candles one by one. With the room brightened, Yunsol finally felt human again.
Her freshly washed feet hovered awkwardly in the air. She didn’t want to set them on the filthy floor, nor sit cross-legged like a child.
Ethan sighed yet again. Always sighing.
He scanned the shelves, grabbed two books, brushed the dust away, and set them down before her. She placed her feet gratefully on top.
“…Thank you.”
He dismissed her words with a scoff. She hadn’t expected any better.
“Now then,” Ethan said, cold as steel. “Prove your so-called abilities.”
