Chapter 21
“How careless of you.”
“I’m ashamed.”
Calliope offered a brief apology instead of trying to make excuses. Circe didn’t respond. Instead, she gave a calm order to the servants to remove the cabinet that had fallen across Calliope’s ankle. When her foot was finally freed, her pale ankle was swollen and flushed red. Circe stared at it for a moment before speaking softly.
“You’ll need treatment.”
“I’ll go see the family’s healer.”
“Very well. I’ll go with you.”
“Pardon? No, really, I can go alone…”
As expected, the Marchioness’s servants chose to obey her over the young lady of the house.
“Please excuse us. We’ll help you stand.”
Two maids supported her gently from either side, and Calliope rose to her feet, still a little dazed. Circe walked ahead without a word, and the maids followed, guiding Calliope along behind her.
There were four healers in the Marquisate—one for each family member. No one knew who might fall ill or be injured, so each person had their own. Of course, Ditron’s healer had been dismissed long ago. Now, Calliope found herself seated on the sofa in the Marchioness’s personal chamber—receiving treatment where few would dare to sit.
“Luckily, there’s no damage to the bone,” the healer said. “But I imagine it’s quite painful. I’ll use healing magic.”
Calliope paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then, she gently shook her head.
“No, thank you. Just give me medicine and some bandages.”
Circe sat upright on the sofa opposite her. Without even a cup of tea, she sat straight-backed and composed. A maid approached quietly and whispered something to her. Turning her head toward Calliope, Circe spoke in a firm, mildly reproachful tone.
“You’re being stubborn. There’s no need to endure pain in this house. Accept the treatment.”
“I need the injury for something.”
Your leg? Circe raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her further. The healer, puzzled, continued dressing Calliope’s ankle with medicine and clean bandages. Once the treatment was done, Circe broke the silence again.
“Kaphir caused trouble, didn’t he?”
Calliope glanced briefly at the maid who had whispered in Circe’s ear, then gave a calm, unaffected smile. She’d already pieced together what had happened. It was impressive how quickly she could read into such things—proof of how tightly she understood the workings of the household.
“I approached him too suddenly. The boy must’ve been startled. It’s partially my fault too.”
Circe said nothing. Calliope braced herself on the armrest and began to stand.
“I’ll call your maid. It’ll be difficult to walk on your own with that leg.”
“Thank you for your kindness. But weren’t you on your way somewhere, Marchioness?”
Circe was a busy woman. With the household’s power split so evenly, her workload was far from light. At Calliope’s reminder, Circe nodded. Still, she paused, asking one final question before leaving.
“And what exactly do you plan to do with that injured leg?”
Her gaze narrowed slightly, as if she were studying Calliope. It was obvious that, as someone responsible for managing the house, Circe was highly attuned to any unusual changes. Calliope realized she couldn’t dodge the question with vague answers as she had with Susan. So after a moment of thought, she made a direct request.
“Could you send the servants away?”
Without hesitation, Circe waved her hand. The healer, the attendants, the maids—all of them left the room like the tide rolling out. Calliope was quietly impressed by how naturally they followed her lead. She had always thought it—Circe had a remarkable talent for managing people.
“Could you pretend you sent me away without treating my injury?”
Circe lifted one eyebrow.
“And why would I do that?”
“I intend to approach Elder Ditron Anastas.”
Circe didn’t quite understand what the girl was up to. She tried to recall their first meeting in the dining hall. Even then, the child hadn’t seemed easily swayed. Could she pose a threat to the family?
Her sharp eyes swept across Calliope’s face. Understanding what she was thinking, Calliope gave her a slight bow of her head.
“I don’t intend to harm the family. This is personal. I only want to carry out a bit of revenge. Besides, don’t you—and the entire Marquisate, really—want to see Ditron Anastas removed from the house? He’s my only target. I don’t think that would be a loss for you.”
Circe Anastas may have been just as calculating as Illan—perhaps even more so.
When Calliope had first arrived at the estate, she thought Circe disliked her. And honestly, she had found Circe uncomfortable too. But as time went on, she came to understand something important:
Circe didn’t dislike her.
She simply didn’t care.
She didn’t care enough to dislike her. And that meant only one thing—there had never been a reason to.
So, Calliope chose to speak plainly instead of dodging with vague answers. Circe was the kind of person who, if something was beneficial to her, wouldn’t just turn a blind eye—she might even offer her help.
“Is this revenge for driving your mother out?”
“Well, you could say that.”
To be exact, it was also revenge for the way she was tormented and isolated in the past—and to protect the future of her betrothed. But before she could elaborate, Circe added another question, resting it directly on Calliope’s unwavering answer.
“Then I suppose that gives you a reason to resent me as well.”
Calliope furrowed her brows slightly at that.
“Why would I?”
“Because I took your mother’s place.”
“That’s a strange thing to say.”
Calliope meant it. Circe didn’t seem like someone who was wracked with guilt. She wasn’t the type. What Circe truly wanted to know was simple: did Calliope hold any hostility toward her? And if so, would she act on it? That was the only concern.
Calliope tilted her head, feigning indifference.
“You didn’t drive my mother out, did you? As far as I know, my father divorced her, and it was a few years after that when you married him.”
“That’s true. But people’s feelings don’t always follow such clean lines.”
“There’s no need to sever feelings, either. The only people who wronged my mother were Ditron… and…”
Calliope gave a bitter, involuntary smile.
“…my father, for failing to protect her.”
She wiped the expression from her face and lifted her head.
“I don’t have any particular feelings toward you, Marchioness. Just like you don’t have any for me.”
“I see.”
Circe nodded in agreement, satisfied with Calliope’s reasoning. She was someone who listened to logic—and Calliope had realized that far too late in the past. Circe, sitting upright with a cold face, looked at the daughter of her husband. She had known Ithiel.
A woman with a face like spring sunlight, who had captured the hearts of many men. Despite only being the daughter of a baron, she had earned genuine respect through her grace and character. But her daughter—something about her was different.
“I have a request, Marchioness.”
“Speak.”
“When the time comes, just once, I need your help. It’ll be a very simple favor.”
“How am I supposed to trust you? If you manage to remove Ditron without causing harm to the family, then I’ll be willing to help you. But you’re only fourteen—do you really think you can accomplish something that matters?”
Her face was like an icicle carved in the heart of winter. Every detail—her eyes, nose, lips, and gentle lashes—was exactly like Ithiel’s. But this girl felt like she was made of something else entirely.
“I don’t expect you to believe in me. I don’t plan on failing, but I understand if you find me unreliable. That’s why I said I wouldn’t ask for much. Just one thing. Just bring me one item. It’s not something you can buy in the marketplace, which is why I’m asking.”
“And what exactly is this item for?”
“I’ll tell you when the time comes.”
Calliope made a motion to stand, and Circe rang the bell on the table. The delicate sound carried, and the servants immediately opened the door, as if they’d been waiting for it. Among them was Calliope’s maid, Susan, who rushed in with a worried face to support her mistress.
“I’ll be going now.”
As the girl walked toward the door, Circe called after her, her voice calm.
“I won’t cover for you if you fail.”
Calliope didn’t turn back. She simply replied,
“How very kind of you.”
To the ears of the servants, unaware of the conversation’s deeper meaning, it might have sounded like the cold dismissal of a stepmother pushing away her husband’s daughter. But in truth, it meant something entirely different.
If Calliope’s plan failed or was exposed, Circe would act as if she knew nothing and offer no assistance. That could seem harsh—but in reality?
“Telling me in advance that you’ll turn your back—that’s a kindness in itself.”
“Young Lady, are you alright?”
Susan, who was helping her walk, asked carefully. Her voice sounded as though she feared the Marchioness had done something awful to Calliope—more than just hurting her leg. Adding a touch of somber acting, Calliope gave a gentle nod.
“I’m alright.”
Her pitiful expression made Susan look like she might cry at any moment. But in truth, Calliope was completely fine. Thanks to Kaphir, she had managed to secure a private moment with the Marchioness—and from that, she’d been able to ask for a favor. That alone was a valuable outcome.
“So, that’s how it is, hmm?”
Ditron Anastas let out a serpent-like smile as he listened to his servant’s report. He had just been told that Calliope, in the process of trying to save Kaphir earlier that morning, had injured her leg and—without receiving proper treatment—had been dismissed by the Marchioness.
The idea that she had foolishly fallen in the hallway only confirmed his belief: lowborn blood shows, no matter how you raise it. Still, this could be a golden opportunity. He figured he could now pull that foolish girl into his circle.
“Where is she now?”
“Ah, I’m not sure. I ran straight here as soon as I heard the news…”
“You idiot! Get out there and find out—now!”
