I run into the house and quickly shut the door. How can he say it that resolutely? He's gone from supporting character to main hero in three seconds. And why the hell am I getting this embarrassed anyways? Did I really think it sounded that cool?
Either way, I need to find out what exactly my father is up to in town. Normally, it'd never be my business but if both Adela and May are talking about it, it must be something related to what is happening in the Nassin region. Field Magistrate – and one directly reporting to the king?
I first try the study to see if my father happened to leave any letters or used parchment on or in the desks. Nothing on the desk, and each of the drawers were locked. It's at times like these I wish I could utter a certain Hawaiin sounding greeting into the lock or flatter it to open. I certainly could open it by other means – by blasting the sucker open with [Wind Sphere]. Yeah . . . that'd bring too much attention and a bit excessive to boot.
"Lady Raelle?"
I nearly fall out of my father's desk chair, gripping onto the arm rests, my head whipping around to look at an inquisitive May standing at the door's threshold.
"What are you doing, Lady Raelle?" May asks.
"I was . . ." I say, trying to formulate a response. "Just looking for father and wanted to see what he was working on."
May steps into the room, nodding with understanding.
"Our Lord is on business in town," May explains. Her eyes look to the right – what did that mean? Truth? A lie? I really should have listened to that podcast on crime more carefully!
"Business? Is everything alright?"
"O-of course everything is alright! It's about winter supplies, I'm sure of it," May says, her eyes now upturned left. Suspicion confirmed – well, it had already been confirmed by Fvenn but May's reaction made it certain. How do I get more information though? I didn't dare go to town; not because of the several hour walk but the fact I'm already on watch, albeit it freedom is gradually returning to me.
I picture that past, distant memory. When I still called him papa rather than daddy or father. The fear of a much younger Raelle, probably no more than a year old surprisingly for her size, not sure where papa was going or how soon he'd be back. I combine this with my own worries – my past self knows about war, both from Earth's history and the current events fighting over dwindling resources, politics, ideology, and money.
"L-lady Raelle!" May rushes over to me, hugging me tightly. Hot tears run down my face and onto her maid's habit.
"Is . . . is . . . is he going off to war again?" I ask in between sobs.
"No, no. Your father's going to be alright. I'm sure of it," May replies, shushing me with the soft pat from the back of her hand against my cheek.
"I don't want him to d-die," I say. Part of me felt guilty for hamming the acting, but the other part has these exact fears. Raelle's love for her father has become my love for her father. It's hard to tell now where Raelle's thoughts and my own differ. Do they even?
"Your father is simply speaking with the magistrate about field provisions and the knights beneath him. I do not see him leaving anytime soon. I promise," May says. "But don't tell Adela or Our Lady I told you, okay? Everything is going to be alright."
May kisses me on the forehead and I blink in surprise. May does as well.
"Sorry, I often kissed my younger sister when sister when she was sad. Forgive me, my lady," May apologizes, bowing her head.
I shake my head, wiping the drying tears from beneath my eyelids. I'm so sorry May for making you feel this way – even when I yelled at you in anger. The kiss and apology touches me; perhaps she had worried losing me in the attack would have been like failing her own sister.
"Thank you, May," I say and hug her tightly, my head resting against her chest.
I officially adopt you as my unofficial sister, May. I will never speak ill of you again.
May pats my head, looking down at me with a smile.
"I really must get back to cleaning though," May says.
We separate and I hold out my hand on a whim, pinky extended.
"Before you go," I say.
"Huh?" May asks. She blinks questioningly at the extended offer. "Did you hurt your pinky, my lady?"
"No," I say, my face turning red. "It's called a pinky promise. I promise not to tell anybody."
It definitely doesn't translate to this foreign word, but I feel it necessary to do. May turns her head in curiosity but smiles and obliges. Our fingers hook together and we shake.
"I'm going to go off to study now, bye!" I grin and run off, leaving May to return to her duties.
Father came back later that afternoon. In addition to his meeting with the Field Magistrate, he apparently also gathered additional supplies for winter which is only weeks away. I don't know how bitter the winter will be in a manor devoid of electricity, nor had I ever lived in a home before with a fireplace – thank goodness for central air! How volatile is the winter in this world I wonder?
. . .
The afternoons continue to grow cooler and the evenings colder with each passing day. I am slightly getting the hang of limiting the release of my Eth.
Practicing once again in the field beside our home, I concentrate on a gradual release of Eth. Before I had been opening it like a gas valve on a gas grill and igniting it with the surrounding Ether. This constant activation is taxing on the body, but with a little bit of effort I can squeeze out just enough to circulate the air in my hand.
I cast [Wind Sphere] and marvel at the small little dust devil balancing on my palm. However, it waivers after about ten seconds, dispersing in all directions in a small puff of air.
"Well done," Silda says. "Remember to hold that feeling and visualize it in your mind. As long as the image holds, so will your flow."
I nod before plopping down onto the grass with an exhale, the coming winter breeze cooling the sweat pouring down my cheek.
My mother sits down next to me. I look up at her; her gaze is directed off into the distance. After a few minutes of silence, she speaks.
"I think we can continue your runic studies and broaden your repertoire of spells."
"R-really?" I look up with some excitement.
"We will alternate between channeling control and calligraphy in the mornings, followed by spell craft in the evenings," my mother explains, thinking out loud. " [Wind Funnel] and [Moisture] will be next, and then perhaps . . ."
[Wind Funnel] and [Moisture]? [Wind Funnel] is practically only useful for suspending objects, and [Moisture] really only good for helping put out a fire or summon water without the use of Water domain spells. I fall back dejectedly, looking up at the sky.
"Why can't we learn something else though?" I ask. I can name so many different examples of spells for more offensive and defensive purposes. [Fire Palisade], [Fire Ball], [Tornado], [Wind Slash], [Water Pillar], [Hydro Cannon] to name a few. But I can hardly do that without raising my mother's suspicions. Those spells are not in the novice books up in father's study – nor any book of runes that describe them. As such, I'm constrained to the pace at which my mother sees as the best.
"Like what?" Ysilda asks, arching an eyebrow curiously.
"I don't know . . . something I could have used on my direboar to protect myself," I say with a shrug.
Ysilda lets out her breath but not in irritation or disapproval.
"It pleases me you wish to learn. I know that what happened was a traumatic experience. You do not wish for it to happen again," Ysilda says. "But your education will take many years. Even mine continues after nearly a century. What I teach you now will prepare you for the Vasque Thaumaturgical Academy. You must have a firm foundation if you are to represent our family."
I blink for a moment, questions raising in my mind.
"Mother . . . how old are you?" I ask. I know my father must not be any older than his late 30's, early 40's. Perhaps not the most pertinent question, however, based on Ysilda's gaze.
"Old enough to know that I want you to succeed. The next four years –"
"The next four years?"
I sit up in opposition.
"Yes, the next four years. By then we will have finished the novice spells of Wind and Water."
"But what will I do if I get attacked again? If someone tries to hurt one of us?" I ask. I know I'm using this recent memory as a weapon to defend my point, but if it helps me speed up my education I can handle putting salt in the wound.
Her gaze turns from kind of stern.
"I will not let anything like that happen to you again. Nor will you put yourself in such a situation," mother states.
"But I need to –"
"That is enough!"
Y'silda's eyes flicker for a moment in their magical intensity and she looks away.
"You should rest for the rest of the day. We will continue tomorrow."
My mother stands up and holds out a hand. Even though the finality in her voice angers me, her eyes show a sheen of concern. I can't keep pushing these buttons. I just have to continue on my own through self-study and experimentation if possible. I grab her hand as she helps me up, leading me back to the manor.