Etienne’s condition worsened.
Ezekiel was frantic, but Mrs.
Babin merely scoffed.
She had plenty of experience raising a frail boy.
“A summer cold is nothing a bowl of hot meat broth with lots of pepper and a good night’s sleep can’t fix.”
Etienne barely managed to finish the stew she brought before falling back into a deep sleep.
With Etienne ill, Henry was able to join them for dinner.
Ezekiel sighed, making a mental note to find another chair the next day.
“Isn’t pepper expensive?” he asked.
Iris offered a faint smile.
“Henry is often sick.
We cannot afford to keep a large supply, but we always have a little.”
“I see.
I shall be sure to repay you when we rejoin our party.”
“It’s all right.
Father said he would buy more!” Henry declared loudly between spoonfuls of stew.
Ezekiel smiled.
But Henry’s words seemed to jog Mrs.
Babin’s memory.
“Speaking of which, it’s a real problem the Baron is so late…”
Every year in early summer, Baron Quillucsia traveled to a neighboring territory to purchase old barley.
“It’s essential for brewing beer in the winter,” Iris explained.
“And it’s cheapest around this time.”
“Beer?”
“The well freezes over,” Mrs.
Babin interjected.
In the dead of winter, when the river also froze, even drinking water grew scarce.
They could break the ice, of course, but beer was a necessary provision to supplement their calories.
It was another stark reminder of how self-sufficient this remote territory had to be.
Just then, Henry piped up.
“I have a question.
How do you become a knight?”
“A knight, you ask?”
Iris smiled gently.
“Henry, I told you that you can become one when you’re healthy.”
“But just getting healthy doesn’t mean someone will make me a knight!” Henry protested, kicking his legs under the table.
Mrs.
Babin shrugged at Ezekiel.
“The Baron was a knight at the imperial palace in his youth.”
“Ez is a knight for Duke Arbois, right?
Isn’t it incredibly difficult to become a duke’s knight?” It seemed the frail boy dreamed of becoming a knight himself.
Ezekiel smiled awkwardly.
“You can, if you train hard.”
“How?”
“…Well.” It seemed Etienne was right; he truly had no gift for words.
“Aww, that’s no answer,” Henry grumbled.
Iris chuckled and pushed his bowl closer.
“That’s because getting healthy comes first, Henry.
And to do that, you need to eat lots of vegetables.”
“I hate vegetables!
They’re bitter!”
“But knights eat them very well.
Look at Ez…”
Both Henry’s and Iris’s eyes turned to him.
On instinct, Ezekiel reached out, grabbed a handful of the cooked greens from his plate, and stuffed them into his mouth.
Mrs.
Babin and Iris’s eyes crinkled in amusement, while Henry’s went wide.
Ezekiel considered for a moment, then decided to press his advantage.
“Did you know you cannot become a knight at Duke Arbois’s castle unless you eat a lot of greens?”
“…Liar!” the boy challenged, his face a mask of disbelief.
But Ezekiel shook his head solemnly.
“It’s true.
Haven’t you heard that the Duke buys vegetables from his people at a high price?
It’s partly to support them, but also because his knights need to be strong.”
“…Is that true, Mrs.
Babin?”
“Of course it is!” Mrs.
Babin chimed in, seizing the opportunity.
“Think about it.
Where do you think the Baron sells the greens we grow in the spring?
In the Arbois duchy!”
In the end, though his expression remained doubtful, the boy reluctantly began to gobble down his greens.
He finished the entire plate, his eyes welling with tears, earning him a round of enthusiastic applause from Mrs.
Babin and Iris.
After dinner, Ezekiel managed the dishes with surprising skill.
Not only that, but he also found a broken chair behind the stables, brought it into the shed, and repaired its leg.
It was a simple fix—just a new wooden peg—but Iris, who held a lantern to light his work, was absolutely delighted.
“We can all have breakfast together tomorrow.”
“If my brother has recovered, that is.”
“Oh, right.
How is he?”
Ezekiel shook his head.
Etienne had slept through the evening, waking only long enough to be fed some stew before drifting off again.
It was the third day of rain, and his worries were mounting.
With two princes missing, the Duke’s knights were surely searching day and night.
If their disappearance dragged on, it would become a serious political issue.
He had even considered asking Iris for a map of the estate to try to find his way back, but he could not leave Etienne alone.
Iris patted his shoulder gently.
“He’ll be all right.
A summer cold usually breaks after exactly one week.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course, it would be best if he recovered sooner.”
Ezekiel finally voiced the question that had been nagging at him.
“By any chance… is your father very late?”
“Ah.” Iris flinched before offering an uneasy smile.
“He always comes back before the summer rains begin.
It’s very rare for him to be this late… but I’m sure he’s fine.”
He nodded.
“He’s probably just waiting out the storm somewhere.”
The straw in the shed gave off a damp, earthy smell, but the girl sat upon it without a second thought.
The candle in the lantern flickered, casting dancing shadows.
“He did mention he might be a bit late this time.
He went to find medicine for Henry.”
The boy was not just frail.
Iris carefully confided the true nature of his illness.
“Henry has Mana Sickness.”
“Ah.” That explained the unpredictable fevers.
Mana Sickness was an affliction caused by the inability to control the magical power within one’s body.
Some children were born with innate mana.
The lucky ones became mages; the rest suffered from the sickness, wasting away until an early death.
Ezekiel chose his words carefully.
“Becoming a mage… I suppose that would be difficult.”
“It tends to be,” Iris admitted, forcing a smile.
Magic was incredibly expensive.
Mages guarded their knowledge closely, charging exorbitant fees for tutelage, an opportunity granted only to those born with mana.
And even then, acceptance was not guaranteed, as the strength of one’s innate mana varied greatly.
It was pointless to pay a fortune to learn powerful spells if one lacked the raw power to cast them.
“But at least to learn how to control it…”
“We looked into that, but it’s too expensive.
And there are no suitable mages nearby.”
The cost of hiring a mage was astronomical.
The curse mage employed by Duke Arbois was said to be of only mediocre skill, yet his annual salary rivaled Lady Felicia Arbois’s yearly allowance.
It was no wonder there were no mages in this remote region.
“It’s not a problem money alone can solve, so we were about to give up… but he heard about a promising medicine for Mana Sickness and traveled a long way to find it.”
“I see.” Ezekiel stole a glance at Iris’s profile.
Her blue eyes, framed by a simple silver braid, were clouded with worry.
He found himself wondering how much his own father’s mage charged, whether it was a sum he could possibly afford.
He must have been lost in thought for some time.
A soft weight suddenly settled on his shoulder, startling him.
It was Iris’s head.
She had fallen asleep.
He flinched, his shoulders tensing, then froze, terrified of waking her.
But fortunately—or perhaps, unfortunately—she did not stir.
“…Iris,” he whispered.
There was no reply.
He considered calling her name again, but decided against it.
The soft patter of the night rain against the roof of the shed was strangely comforting.
Perhaps it was the warmth on his shoulder.
The knights of Duke Arbois arrived the next morning.