Black Ice ✓ | Deathsworn #1

Chapter 32 ∞ First Laugh

To say my life changed with these two morons wasn't an exaggeration. There wasn't a day of peace as of late with them barging in on my business left and right. My teaching of Maun of sign language wasn't really serious—just some casual drops of vocabulary. Nevertheless, whenever I spoke to him, I would use signs. It depended entirely on him if he was going to learn or not, though. My mistresses displayed brow-raised curiosity towards what I was doing, but they didn't really say anything.

Maun, anyhow, was absorbing it all like a sponge. It was hardly a week and he could already form basic sentences and questions.

I regret teaching him because, now, he just wouldn't shut up. This little muffin was as persistent as they come. I tried to ignore him—and avoid him—as much as I could, but the moment he would catch me, he would latch on like a freaking leech.

Erenol was another problem. While dancing lessons with Mistress Neilly had kept her sufficiently preoccupied, she would always find a time in the day to pester me and talk about nothing but dancing—it's what made up most of the topics she blabbered on about. Thankfully, she had some little sense. She would usually start talking about the weather. I now always know what she's going to end up bringing up about next. I learned to find a way to slip off before that.

"The festival's going to start soon," Erenol said happily. "Remember when we went out to enjoy one six years ago or something? That was our first time together, right?"

I stretched my leg forward, right over the stairs of the front porch. This spot was shaded from the sun and had the coolest breeze blowing through. I didn't feel like sitting under my favorite tree at the moment because the weather was turning cold. I tended to fall asleep when I felt too comfortable and if I did that in this weather, my mother would begin scolding me.

"Mmnh. That was for the spring. This one's the autumn one. I think," I replied as I worked to get some shade into the sketch I was drawing. I had a decent aptitude for the visual arts, but I don't have much will and effort to improve on it. This drawing, painting, and sculpture thing happened to be another one of Mistress Neilly's strengths. Watching her work on her stuff was enough for me to learn from.

If I devoted enough time to practice this thing, I might reach the level of Mistress Neilly someday. There was nothing impossible with enough hard work, but I was unfortunately lazy. The moment I lost the desire, I'd be throwing away this sketch I've haphazardly begun doing and forget all about it. I had always been very self-critical, so the moment I was dissatisfied, I lost every bit of inspiration from my veins.

"I wonder if we'll get to doing it again this year," she whispered.

I managed to get some shade in, but the whole drawing ended up looking very awkward in the end. I twisted my lip in dissatisfaction and threw the sketch pad to the side, weary. "Probably not. It's too risky. Especially with the kind of chaos that'll be happening, we'll be even more helpless. The mistresses will not allow us to leave this time around. It's just too dangerous," I told her.

"Yeah, I figured," she said. "I'm really grateful they took me in, though. I wonder what sort of trouble they had to go through?"

"Even if you ask, they probably won't tell you. You know how adults are," I stated with a sigh. "Better just not ask any questions."

"Yeah..."

"Why do they want you anyway?" I asked, referring to those men who'd assaulted us. "Any particular reason why they're going after you?"

"Because I just happen to be unlucky enough to be born to the father I have. All other reasons are irrelevant," she muttered. "I freaking hate him. I freaking hate this country. Sometimes, I wish I was born to a family like this."