Chapter 8
Celia’s hands trembled as she kept introducing dresses, the number of silver coins in her palm steadily increasing. She now held over ten silver coins—far too many to carry comfortably—so she hurriedly tucked them into her pocket. Just then, Calliope smiled sweetly and shook her head.
“You’ve been incredibly kind, but none of the clothes really speak to me.”
Her head tilted slightly, one hand resting gently on her cheek. The pose was angelic—but her strangely glowing red eyes sent a chill down one’s spine.
Calliope turned her gaze to Romanda, who stood awkwardly a few steps away. Though she said nothing, it was obvious from her expression that she was silently criticizing the shop owner.
Romanda’s attitude wasn’t exactly admirable, but Celia had worked with her for a long time. She felt a bit of attachment and tried to think of a way to defend her. And then—
“Ah, one moment!”
A dress came to mind. Celia darted to the back of the shop and retrieved a box from storage. Inside was a white dress made of high-quality silk—one Romanda had poured great effort into crafting. But it was too plain for noble ladies and too expensive for commoners, so it had been tucked away after failing to sell.
“How about this one?”
Celia’s eyes sparkled as she presented it. The truth was, Romanda wasn’t without skill. She just focused too much on selling what she thought would move quickly, rarely showing her full potential. Though noble girls had dismissed the dress as “too simple,” Celia saw it differently. It wasn’t plain—it was elegant in its lack of excess.
A truly comfortable, wearable dress for outings.
Calliope ran her fingers slowly over the soft white fabric and, for the first time, offered a faint smile.
“This one’s nice.”
“Right? I thought you might not like flashy decorations, so I brought this out.”
“You’ve got a good eye. How much is it?”
“Eighty silon.”
Eighty silon—eighty silver coins. Cheap for a noble, but expensive for a commoner. It sat squarely in between. Calliope nodded, and Jack—who had up until now only handed over silver coins—finally pulled out a gold coin. Celia beamed as she accepted it, thrilled that they’d found something the girl liked.
“Just a moment! I’ll get you twenty silon in change—”
“Hm? No, that’s fine.”
“Pardon?”
Calliope laughed aloud, and Jack, understanding her meaning, sighed and pulled out another gold coin.
“That’s her final tip. Count the dress with this one.”
Celia almost screamed, but managed to clamp her mouth shut. She had already received over ten silon in tips. The dress cost eighty silon, but she remembered that the other dresses on display averaged around ten silon. In essence, she’d already earned the price of one average outfit—just from tips.
One copper coin was 1 bron. 100 bron made 1 silon. 100 silon made 1 golon.
“I-I’ll get your change.”
With trembling hands, Celia pocketed the gold tip and rang up the dress. Calliope paused for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, go ahead and give me the change.”
Jack accepted the returned twenty silon with a strange look, slipping them back into his pocket. Calliope, pretending not to notice, took the lightweight garment bag and headed for the door. Jack reached out and took the bag from her as if snatching it away, and offered to call the coach. But she waved him off and began walking toward their lodging, with Jack following close behind.
“…Why did you take the change after giving her all those tips?” he asked.
“What, did you regret the tip? That amount doesn’t even count as real money for someone like you.”
“No, that’s not it. I just figured… you wouldn’t take the change.”
“I was just being petty.”
She liked the shop assistant, but the shop owner had left a bad taste in her mouth. That’s why she’d tipped the clerk generously—but only bought one dress, and even took the change.
The shop owner sold the dress at full price and got nothing more. Meanwhile, the employee, just for being kind, had earned far more than the dress was worth in tips.
She hoped this would teach Romanda not to speak so carelessly in front of customers again. It was one thing not to like a customer who wouldn’t spend much—that was business. But openly insulting them in front of their face? That was just wrong.
If she had been just a poor commoner girl, those words might have seriously hurt her.
“It’s partly for the sake of the poor girls who’ll visit that boutique in the future.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I didn’t say it for you to understand. Wasn’t expecting you too anyway.”
Jack felt a flash of irritation—but, as someone who’d spent most of his life as an attendant, he swallowed it back like a professional.
“Well, it was a good day for that shop girl. She made a few months’ wages in one afternoon.”
There was a gap, of course, but on average, commoners earned between five and ten silon a month. The more fortunate ones earned around fifteen. In a trade like tailoring, where skill was needed, a senior staff member could make over twenty silon monthly.
“Sometimes, it’s not a bad thing to be generous.”
“But it wasn’t your money you were generous with.”
Calliope laughed deliberately at the sulky edge in his voice and replied with amusement.
“Aren’t you the one who told me I could spend the family’s money freely? And now you’re trying to keep tabs? Hearing you talk like that makes me more determined than ever to collect every bit of that fortune I was promised. Thanks for the motivation.”
Jack chose to hold his tongue.
Calliope strolled casually to their inn, which turned out to be decent enough—modest, but clean. The sort of place a well-off merchant or struggling noble might frequent. While Jack confirmed their reservation with the staff, Calliope let her eyes wander around the dining area on the first floor.
“Would you like anything to eat?”
Jack approached once he was done checking in. Calliope shook her head.
It’s been so long since I’ve been here.
But she didn’t say the words aloud. Instead, she turned away from the dining room and headed up the stairs.
“I’ll rest for now. I’ll come down for dinner later.”
“Understood.”
Calliope ascended all the way to the top floor—the fourth—and stopped in front of the largest room. Jack naturally opened the door for her with the key he’d received, then quietly closed it behind her, preparing to get things ready for tomorrow’s departure. As he headed back down the staircase, he tilted his head slightly.
“Wait… did I ever tell her which room number I got?”
The thought struck him for a moment, but he dismissed it, assuming she must have overheard during his conversation with the staff.
Inside, Calliope placed the garment bag Jack had left next to the bed and opened the window. The sun hadn’t yet set, and the streets below were still alive with chatter and footsteps. She rested her arms on the windowsill, quietly watching the lively scene unfold.
Vendors hawked cheap trinkets. Children laughed and shouted. Shoppers haggled over prices.
Everything was bright, warm—so unlike the cold and still Barony of Hubert in the north. Even though it was the same season, it all looked and felt completely different.
That contrast… somehow irritated her.
She closed the window again.
She couldn’t laugh freely like the people below. Yes, she’d been given time—thanks to turning back the clock—but her heart only grew more restless.
“It’s fine. Isaac should still be in the capital. He hasn’t left yet.”
Since returning, Calliope had developed a habit of muttering to herself like a madwoman. It helped her hold onto her thoughts, to go over her plans again and again, so she wouldn’t forget a thing.
She bit down on her thumbnail, gnawing anxiously. But no brilliant solution came to mind—only possibilities she kept playing out.
“…If it comes to it, I may have to follow him.”
Click. Click. The soft sounds of her biting continued.
She wanted to save him from death.
But fate was not something easily overcome by mere will. If, in the end, she had no choice but to accept his death, then at the very least—his final moments had to belong to her.
“You’ll die in my arms if it comes to that. You already left me once. I won’t allow it a second time. I won’t. I absolutely won’t.”
Snap. Another sound. Calliope looked down at her finger.
She had bitten too hard. Blood welled between her nail and skin.
Only then did she realize how frantic she had become. Taking a deep breath, she settled her thoughts and lay down on the bed.
“No… I shouldn’t think like that yet. There has to be a way. There must be.”
She closed her eyes. Her body, worn from days of travel, quickly gave in to sleep.
Calliope woke up to the feeling of hunger. Her mood was as low as ever, but her stomach didn’t care. It rumbled like clockwork.
She glanced at the garment bag near the bed. The new dress would be better saved for tomorrow’s departure. No need to change out of her worn clothes just for a meal. She left the room as she was.
Coincidentally, a group of guests who seemed to be staying on the same floor was passing through the hall. Calliope walked past them indifferently—until one of the men called out in a booming voice.
“Oh! So this little lady was the one staying in our usual room?”
Calliope paused and turned to face the man who had pointed her out.
He had auburn hair with a hint of red, and eyes to match. He looked, in every way, like an ordinary man—but something about him tugged at her memory. She stared at him in silence, trying to place it. The man, startled by her steady gaze, quickly waved his hand.
“I guess I was a bit too loud. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I’d hope not. There’s no reason to, is there? I paid for the room, fair and square.”
Her tone was sharp and unyielding. The man scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.
Calliope’s eyes scanned him from head to toe. She didn’t recognize his face, but his voice sounded oddly familiar.
Just then, the red-haired man beside him stepped forward and offered a polite apology.
“We’re sorry, miss. That room you’re staying in—it’s one we’ve often used in the past. It’s usually empty, so we were curious when we saw it booked this time. My brother here tends to speak without thinking sometimes.”
