WYRS 5

Chapter 5

“Milady! Milady!”

Just as Atul and Sanchez had finished lunch with a simple packed meal, a commotion broke out in the mansion.

The maids were dashing frantically through the garden, calling Freya’s name. Sanchez grabbed one of them and asked,

“What’s going on?”

“While I went to fetch dessert, the young lady disappeared. Have you seen her anywhere?”

“Well… Atul, do you know anything?”

Both Sanchez and the maid turned their eyes to Atul. He shook his head.

“In any case, if you find her, please let us know right away. The young lady’s tuberculosis flared up today, so we’re on high alert. I’m worried she may have collapsed somewhere.”

The maid’s face sank with worry, then she hurried off again to continue the search.

“Miss Freya may be lively, but she’s not the type to cause trouble… Strange. Anyway, let others handle the young lady’s matters. We need to focus on our own work. Time is pressing.”

Sanchez gave Atul, who kept glancing back, a light tap on the back. Atul, still holding the rattling empty lunchbox, was deep in thought.

On his quiet way toward the greenhouse, Atul suddenly lifted his head.

“I think I know where Freya is.”

“What? Atul! I told you to call her ‘Milady.’”

“Fre—… I mean, I’ll go find Milady!”

Atul practically tossed the lunchbox to the ground and bolted off. Sanchez’s face darkened as he watched his son’s figure grow smaller in the distance.

He knew Atul had grown close with Freya. Thankfully, the countess seemed to turn a blind eye to it, but such intimacy between them could hardly last long.

Still, cutting off Atul’s ripening feelings all at once would be far too cruel. Sanchez let out a long sigh.

He had never once regretted coming here. Even when his wife died during their flight, the pain felt like having his heart ripped out—but he would have made the same choice a hundred times over.

“It was bound to happen anyway, Sanchez. We did our best. So don’t look back—just keep living forward.”

Those were his wife’s final words. Sanchez had always carried them in his heart, yet today regret rose within him.

His once quiet son had lately spoken of nothing but Freya whenever he opened his mouth. Most of the stories were about her mistakes, but Atul’s eyes had shone with a light.

Even knowing that happiness couldn’t last, Sanchez couldn’t bring himself to advise his son properly. He couldn’t tell him that the heart he had planted had rooted itself in iron that could never be pierced.

Because it was the first time since coming here that he had seen Atul smile with genuine joy. Sanchez wanted to see that smile for just a little longer.

But delaying forever isn’t the answer either.

Sanchez snipped away dead leaves. He crushed the bugs clinging thickly to the green ones.

Left alone, they would gnaw away at the life of the plant, and next year no flowers nor leaves would bloom.

So it was necessary. For something to grow stronger, some parts had to be cut away. Hoping the process would hurt a little less, Sanchez raised the large garden shears.

Snip—.

A withered branch fell, severed by the sharp blades.

It was a cloudy day. Dark clouds smothered the sky, leaving the world in shades of ash.

Atul wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he sprinted up the hill. The maid’s words—what if Freya had collapsed somewhere?—wouldn’t leave his mind.

Panting, he reached the hilltop. No one was there.

But soon he heard the rustling of leaves, along with faint sobbing. Atul walked slowly behind a tree. A small figure sat with her back against the trunk, shoulders trembling endlessly.

“Freya.”

“Atul?”

Freya gasped and turned. Atul first checked her complexion. Her eyes were swollen from tears, but she didn’t look sick.

Only then did the tension leave his face. Breathing out deeply, he sat down beside her.

“What happened? Did the countess scold you?”

“…”

“Well. If you don’t want to say, you don’t have to. But promise you’ll tell me if you feel even a little unwell.”

Freya looked surprised at his lack of pressing questions. She wiped away her tears and tried to steady her breathing.

Atul said nothing until she regained some calm. It was Freya who grew restless with the silence, and finally she spoke hesitantly.

“My father… My father is coming.”

Shouldn’t that be a good thing? Atul thought that if he and Sanchez had been apart for long and then reunited, it would be joyous. But he didn’t voice it.

His silence seemed answer enough, so Freya continued.

“He’s coming for my birthday. But I’m sure that’s just an excuse. He must have heard I’ve been running around like a colt, and he’s coming to punish me.”

“A colt?”

“Joyce said so. That if Father saw me behaving so brazenly like a colt, he’d take up the cane right away.”

“What did you ever do that was brazen?”

“Just… everything. The games I play here are things I was never supposed to do.”

“But the countess never said anything, did she?”

“Mother gave me a final chance.”

“A final chance?”

“A chance to play like ordinary children. She said if I had no such memories, I’d break later on. When she was young, she also stayed here for a few years with Grandmother. She said whenever things were hard, she endured by recalling those memories. So she wanted to give me the same before I got engaged…”

“Engaged? You’re far too young to be worrying about that already.”

“Girls usually have their fiancés decided by ten. I’m already eight. After this birthday I’ll be nine…”

Even ten seemed far too young. By that logic, at eleven, he himself should already have a fiancée. The gulf between his world and hers struck Atul harder than ever before.

Tears welled in Freya’s eyes again.

“But Atul! I… I don’t want to leave here. I want to live here forever. I already miss this place so much it makes me want to die.”

She buried her face in her hands.

She’s leaving?

Of course. Freya didn’t belong here. That simple truth Atul had until now forgotten—or perhaps tried desperately to ignore.

Anger surged. He hated Freya for reaching out to him when she lived in a completely different world. He hated himself for helplessly taking her hand.

Most of all, he hated that he didn’t have the courage to tell her not to go. So he lashed out with harsh words.

“You knew you’d be leaving all along. Why act like it’s such a surprise?”

Freya gave a bitter smile. That frail smile stabbed into Atul’s chest like a knife.

“You’re right. No matter what I do, it’ll end up as Father wants. He always gets what he wants. Father is… Father is… hhh… hh…”

Suddenly, Freya gasped for breath. She swallowed hard, trying to go on, but her chest constricted and she couldn’t speak. The image of her father’s angry face flashed in her mind, and everything went dark.

“Freya! What’s wrong!”

“Kh—kgh…”

Freya clutched her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Her wretched illness had returned.

Her face flushed red. The whites of her eyes bulged with bursting veins. Atul grabbed her hands in a panic.

He had seen this before—on the ship to Elbador, when an old woman suddenly collapsed, gasping without warning.

His mother had stepped in then. She had been a nurse, and calmed the woman with practiced ease. Remembering that, Atul spoke in a steady whisper.

“Freya. Breathe. Follow me.”

Atul took a deep breath. Freya tried to imitate him, but fear had her body in its grip.

Atul grasped her stiff arms, then pulled her into an embrace.

“Freya, think of something good. Bring up a happy memory.”

He slowly stroked her back. With each gentle touch, her body began to ease.

“Let’s count together. Imagine the spotted foals lying on the hill. One spotted foal… two… three…”

“F-five…”

At first she only mouthed the numbers silently, but soon she said them aloud. As the numbers grew, her breathing steadied.

At last she calmed. But even after regaining control, she pretended for minutes longer that she was still breathless.

Because she liked hearing Atul’s soft voice murmuring, because his warm hand soothed her, she wanted to stay in that moment forever.

“Do you feel better now?”

Atul loosened his hold and looked into her eyes. His blue gaze was gentle. Freya remembered Elena’s words at lunch.

“Freya. The more you hesitate, the more it’s him who gets hurt.”

Freya gave Atul one last lingering look, then turned her head away.

“Milady Freya! Where are you? Milady! Milady!”

Voices called from below the hill. Freya rose to her feet.

Atul looked up, wide-eyed, as she brushed dirt from her skirt. She lifted her chin high and said,

“From today on, I won’t be coming up to this hill anymore.”