"So—who will be using it?"
Marin glanced quickly at Olive. The perceptive advisor caught her meaning immediately and nodded.
"I'll wait outside."
"Thank you."
Once he'd departed and they were alone, Surenn's violet eyes sharpened with interest.
"Lady Marin, hold still for just a moment."
She produced a long measuring tape and began taking Marin's measurements—arms, shoulders, waist, the span of her grip.
"But the sword isn't for *me*."
Marin raised her arms obligingly to make the process easier.
"Yes, I understand."
Surenn nodded but didn't stop measuring.
Marin wondered if she should simply bring Garnet here instead.
"When forging a sword, is it better for the owner to come in person?"
"Ideally, yes—but then it wouldn't be much of a *gift*, would it..." Surenn caught herself mid-sentence. "Oh? I'm sorry. That was presumptuous of me."
"It's all right. You're from the Sanders Empire, aren't you?"
In the Sanders Empire, the distinction between nobility and commoners was far less rigid than elsewhere. Respect was earned through wealth or power, not bloodline. Nobles bowed to wealthy merchants; commoners with influence spoke freely to aristocrats without fear of consequence.
Surenn's gaze sharpened.
"Oh? That's actually supposed to be a secret. Who told you?"
*Careful now. Can't exactly say you read it in a novel.*
"I guessed from the way you speak. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have pried."
When Marin apologized with genuine contrition, Surenn burst into laughter.
"Ha! Don't worry about it. That's just how I talk—can't help it."
Marin exhaled with relief.
"You can speak casually with me, if you'd like."
"Oh, then let's be friends!" Surenn's face lit up. "You drop the formality with me, I'll drop it with you. Deal?"
"...*Friends*?"
The unexpected proposal made Marin's heart flutter.
"What, someone like me isn't good enough to be friends with?"
Surenn scratched awkwardly at the back of her head, where light lilac strands lay in slight disarray.
"No! Of course you are! I'd *love* a girlfriend—I don't have any!"
The words tumbled out before Marin could stop them. Once spoken, she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. *That came out far too honestly.*
Surenn's eyes went wide—then she threw her head back and laughed.
"Really? I thought the Duke's fiancée would be some haughty noblewoman, but you're completely honest! I like you." She grinned broadly. "It's settled, then. We're friends."
"I like you too, Surenn."
Marin smiled shyly and extended her hand. Surenn grasped it firmly with her large, calloused palm.
"Lady Marin has such delicate hands."
Surenn turned Marin's palm over, examining it with a blacksmith's curiosity, then stroked it gently. Her hands were rough from years of metalwork—but warm.
"If we're friends, why are you still calling me 'Lady'?"
"Just names are boring." Surenn shrugged. "I love nicknames. Olive Oil, the Handsome Alchemist, the Muscle-Bound Butler—I've got one for everyone."
"And what about Lord Gerald?"
"*Duke.*" Surenn's answer was firm, immediate.
"That's a bit boring."
"The one who pays me must be respected."
"...Logical."
Marin nodded seriously, and Surenn laughed, giving her a friendly pat on the back—not hard enough to hurt, but solid enough to feel.
"We understand each other perfectly. Do you drink, Marin?"
"Probably? I haven't had much opportunity."
"Then we'll have to fix that. Let's share a drink sometime."
"Yes!"
*Indeed*, Marin thought. *Nothing builds friendship like alcohol.*
"So—who's the sword actually for?"
"Lord Gerald's niece. About this tall—" Marin indicated with her hand. "—arms roughly this size. She's still young, so nothing too heavy."
"Excellent. That's plenty to work with."
"And could you set this stone into the handle?"
Marin produced one of the two opals the Duke had given her—the one with the green undertone, its surface alive with iridescent fire.
Surenn's eyes went wide.
"*Wow.* What kind of stone is this? I've never seen anything so beautiful."
"It's called an opal. Soon, all of high society will be clamoring for them."
Marin spoke with quiet confidence, and Surenn burst into delighted laughter, clapping her on the back again.
"Ha! You really don't hold back, do you? I like that!"
"Thank you."
*When a woman this striking praises me, why do I feel embarrassed?*
*Also, my back is starting to hurt.*
No matter how much Surenn restrained her strength, it was probably wise to avoid inviting further blows.
---
## — The Outbuilding —
Daya sat on her bed, gazing absently through the window.
Outside, the day was bright and clear—winter sunlight falling soft across the grounds.
Below, the unpacked suitcases still waited. Inside them: her mother's treasured possessions. Her father's keepsakes. The dresses her mother had prepared for Daya's debut, never worn.
She closed her eyes, and the Duke's words echoed unbidden through her memory:
*"Your mother told me in a letter about the vow she made when she gave birth to you—a vow she intended to keep for the rest of her life. And she kept it. So don't be angry at your mother. Be angry at me. You can be as angry at me as you need to be."*
Daya knew her mother had written to the Duke often over the years. There had never been a reply—not once. Had one of those unanswered letters contained a promise to protect her children for as long as she lived?
A sudden, sharp melancholy surged from the depths of her chest.
*Why did the Duke do this? Did he truly neglect our parents? Neglect* us*?*
Weighed down by heaviness she couldn't name, Daya rose from the bed.
She needed air. Needed to walk alone.
She descended the stairs and stepped outside—and found a middle-aged woman sitting on a bench near the outbuilding entrance.
Teacher Marin's mother.
Daya approached and dipped into a polite bow.
"Good day, Viscountess Shuvents."
The lady raised her head and smiled—warm, welcoming.
"Oh, how lovely to see you, Lady Daya Adria."
"You know me?"
"I've heard a great deal about you from Ruby."
"And I've heard about you from her as well."
A small smile tugged at Daya's lips despite herself. That sounded exactly like the outgoing, irrepressible Rubiena.
"My lady, would you care to sit with me? Perhaps we could talk."
"Yes. I'd like that."
Just as Daya moved to sit, the red-haired maid standing beside the Viscountess stepped forward and quickly spread a blanket across the bench.
"Thank you," Daya acknowledged the familiar girl with a reserved nod.
"My pleasure, my lady."
"Julia, it's rather chilly out here. Would you bring us some hot cocoa?"
"Of course, madam."
When Julia disappeared into the outbuilding, Daya turned her attention to the Viscountess.
*She sent the maid away deliberately*, she realized. *She wants to speak privately.*
"My lady... may I tell you a story?"
"Yes, madam."
Roenna's gaze drifted toward the horizon, her expression growing distant.
"A few years ago, my daughter was traveling to the capital for a debutante ball. My husband and eldest son accompanied her."
Daya's eyes dropped to the ground. She didn't dare look up.
*So she knows I've been avoiding my debut. Rubiena must have told her everything.*
"My health was poor at the time, so I stayed behind to rest. I planned to join them as soon as I felt strong enough." Roenna's voice remained steady, almost conversational. "I woke from a nap that afternoon, and my body felt remarkably light. 'Ah,' I thought, 'now I can travel to the capital and be with my family.' I called for the maid. 'Bring me something cool to drink—something to wake me fully.'"
She paused.
"The girl came running into my room and served me iced tea with trembling hands."
"Why was she trembling?"
Daya looked up, drawn into the story despite herself.
"I wondered the same thing. I sipped my tea and asked myself—why is she shaking so badly?" Roenna's voice grew quieter. "That day, there had been a carriage accident. My husband and son went to heaven. And my daughter... my daughter was wounded from head to toe. She wouldn't wake. For weeks, she simply... wouldn't wake."
The words hung in the winter air.
"I will never forget the taste of that tea. It was like swallowing fire."
Daya sat frozen, staring at the Viscountess's calm, sorrowful face.
"I... I didn't know."
"Since that day, my daughter still cannot bring herself to ride in a carriage."
"..."
Daya was truly speechless.
She thought of Marin—bright, welcoming, endlessly cheerful Marin. A woman who seemed like a carefree noblewoman untouched by hardship.
*It would never have occurred to me that she carried such pain.*
"After my husband and son died, our family fell into ruin." Roenna's hands folded quietly in her lap. "I was too weak to help. My daughter had to shoulder everything alone. She endured a great deal."
"Ah..."
Belated understanding gripped Daya's chest.
When Marin had mentioned money during their first conversation—when she'd been so frank about needing the governess salary—Daya hadn't believed her. Had thought it was some kind of act.
*I was wrong.*
"My lady... can you guess why I'm telling you this?"
"Because you heard I don't want to make my debut."
"Yes. From Ruby."
"She *is* my sister, but she talks rather freely."
"Please don't be angry with her." Roenna's voice was gentle. "She's worried about you. She came to me because she didn't know how else to help."
Daya nodded slowly, accepting the explanation.
"Whether you attend the debutante ball is entirely your choice. I would never presume to tell you otherwise." Roenna's gaze grew distant again. "But as a mother... I truly wanted my daughter to have that experience. It weighs on me still—that she never had the chance."
"..."
Daya lifted her head and looked at the sky.
Two white clouds drifted peacefully across the endless azure—serene, unhurried, impossibly far away.
"Do you think my parents... up there... would want this for me too?"
Roenna didn't answer with words.
She simply reached over and squeezed Daya's hand—firmly, warmly.
From that gentle touch, Daya's eyelids slowly fell closed.