Surviving as a Terminally Ill Heiress - Chapter 34

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 34

Huie hefted a wooden sword nearly as tall as himself and swung it with surprising grace.
He looked ready to topple at any moment, but the instant the thought crossed my mind, he crashed into the dirt with a solid thud.
“Oof……!”
Before I could even finish a sound, he was already moving.
Huie scrambled to his feet in one motion.
He brushed the dust from his hands and knees on his own, then gripped the wooden sword again.
I, meanwhile, had only half-risen before settling back down with a sigh.
Goodness, I’d just sounded like an overenthusiastic parent.
And yet, watching him now……
‘When did he grow so much?’
Just weeks ago, he would have wept and run into my arms at the first tumble.
I rested my chin in my hand and studied him quietly.
Those soft ash-grey locks of his looked like a baby bird’s down. My Huie.
And his eyes, nose, mouth—all so bright and alert.
His frame was sturdy now; at fifteen, he’d already grown as tall and broad as a grown man.
His nature would grow quieter with time, I sensed, but something in him would never change.
My gentle, tender brother would remain.
‘Sister…… do we really have to leave?’
Even when I’d driven him away from home with harsh words, that was the extent of his resistance.
Though his strength and height had come to surpass mine.
He’d kept his head down and asked softly if he couldn’t stay and work here, if he truly had to go.
My chest tightened.
The memory alone made it ache.
Winter was coming.
Our future was uncertain, and I was dying.
‘Don’t be so clingy. By your age, I was already running between taverns and kitchens, working to keep us fed. You need to grow up.’
So I’d been harsher still.
‘Now please…… figure out how to live without me.’
I hadn’t wanted to speak that way.
I’d wanted to say they could live well without me.
Fortunately, an opportunity had presented itself—a small merchant company that came to the Capital periodically was looking for an errand boy.
Though they traveled the kingdom, it seemed far better than the work available in the Slum.
The Merchant Guild Master, who had children of Huie’s age, had promised me he would look after their meals and wages.
With that assurance, I could send them out into the world without guilt.
My Huie and Dido.
Where had they gone with him? How far had they traveled? Had they seen the ends of the earth?
Had they come to resent me?
And yet, would they still love me?
“Sister, I’m done!”
Now there was no way to know.
All I wanted now was to be there to see where their journeys would end.

* * *

“So what does our youngest like?”
What could I give to him?
I poked Dido’s rosy cheek, and his brow furrowed slightly.
He batted my hand away without even glancing at me.
He was that absorbed.
In the painting before him.
Ambrose Mansion held many paintings and sculptures within its walls.
Dido studied a different work intently each day, and today he’d chosen this one.
I let out a soft, wry laugh.
I’d given up trying to force words from him.
Dido seemed to be the type of child who moved at his own pace, no faster.
‘That’s fine. As long as he’s healthy.’
I’d decided to give myself a little grace too.
So there I sat, crouched beside Dido in front of the painting for quite some time.
Then, suddenly.
“Do you like it, Dido?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Would you like to see more?”
Only then did Dido look at me.
He tilted his head as if confused by the question.
I smiled to myself.
I hoped he’d find something he loved.
‘Of course, my boys will be geniuses at whatever they do.’

* * *

Where I took Dido was the academy.
I’d heard of it during Madame Madison’s lessons and remembered.
The Kirke Academy of Arts—Athera’s finest, and under Ambrose patronage.
A place that gathered all forms of artistic pursuit, painting and music alike.
The moment we stepped down from the carriage, the Administrator hurried out.
Having been informed of our arrival beforehand, he led us through the doors.
Once inside, music drifted from somewhere.
Dido, holding my hand, shook his head back and forth.
Adorable—he was trying to locate the source of the sound.
I laughed softly and ventured deeper with him.
“This way features our collection on display, while the opposite wing houses our patron artists at work. Which would you prefer?”
“We’ll view the collection.”
The choice wasn’t difficult.
No matter how well-behaved Dido was, I wasn’t about to haul a three-year-old into working studios.
Especially not where Ambrose’s patronage was the only thing keeping the lights on.
‘If I barged in unannounced, they’d probably think the Ambrose heiress had come to inspect them.’
That wasn’t something I wanted.
Dido and I walked across white marble.
The Administrator pointed out the viewing route, then withdrew.
We strolled through the gallery at a leisurely pace.
It was beautiful.
Even someone like me, who knew nothing of art, could see that.
Some pieces spoke with quiet reflection, others with passion. They were paintings that talked.
‘Strange. Is this what talent is?’
If so, I certainly had none.
I was skilled at sewing, but painting was never my forte.
Even my calligraphy came from constant practice under my mother’s instruction—I’d worked harder than anyone knew.
‘But Mother could do everything.’
A courtesan dancer, she moved beautifully, could play several instruments, and sang at a professional level.
She painted too. She’d sketch the three of us sometimes—though I think she regretted never finishing our portraits.
Where had her talent gone?
I was standing before a painting of a mother holding a child when I let out a laugh.
“……Huh?”
My hand felt empty.
Looking around, Dido had wandered off somewhere.
In front of the White Dove Sculpture.
Oh no.
The moment primal unease struck me……
Crash!
My youngest had caused a catastrophe.

* * *

“I’m terribly sorry. I’m so very sorry……”
I bowed so deeply my head nearly touched the floor.
With one hand, I pressed down on Dido’s tiny head as well.
The Administrator looked distinctly uncomfortable.
As he should. After all, I was the Ambrose heiress, and this academy was supported by Ambrose.
My apology likely made him more uneasy than the accident itself.
But something about this man seemed different.
‘Is he angry? Of course he’s angry……’
The owner of the shattered dove sculpture.
The young Sculptor stared at his broken work with a blank expression.
Perhaps he was barely restraining himself from rage.
An artist’s creation had been destroyed.
The result of time and care I couldn’t fathom had been shattered.
What if it were a work that could never be remade?
I felt dizzy. Beyond the financial cost, I was terrified it might be something that couldn’t be compensated in material terms.
“I…… I’ll provide whatever compensation you ask. Just tell me.”
“That’s all right.”
His refusal came clean and sharp.
Was he that angry?
Or was he thinking that if I weren’t an Ambrose heiress, he’d feel completely different?
I stood there at a loss, frozen.
Then Dido, slipping from my grip, pointed with one small finger at another intact sculpture.
It resembled the broken dove.
“Pretty.”
What?
Did Dido just speak?
I was so startled I went rigid, and then he pointed at the fragments on the floor.
“Not pretty.”
Well, of course not—you broke it.
Wait, you can say “not pretty,” but you couldn’t say “pretty” before this?
It was then that the Sculptor, who’d been watching quietly, pointed at something.
“What about that one?”
Dido followed his finger.
There was another dove.
Dido scrunched his face and let out a single sound.
“Bleh.”
“Ha, haha……!”
The Sculptor burst into laughter.
He seemed startled by his own amusement.
The weariness that had marked his face vanished in an instant.
Both the Administrator and I looked on, bewildered.
“So the little one has an eye for it.”
The Sculptor placed a hand on Dido’s head.
Dido’s brow furrowed slightly before he shook his head to dislodge the touch.
For Dido, who disliked being touched by strangers, he endured it fairly well.
But what was this about?
“Truly, no compensation is necessary. That piece was never satisfactory to begin with.”
“Pardon?”
“The sculpture your son broke.”
The explanation was thus.
The Sculptor had presented a series depicting a dove gradually taking flight.
But of the three sculptures, only one truly pleased him.
The very one Dido had called beautiful.
The one that shattered was the piece he’d been unhappy with, and the one Dido had dismissed…… the Sculptor admitted was a last resort, a final attempt he’d done more out of desperation than conviction.
In other words.
“The boy has talent.”
I nodded blankly.
I wasn’t particularly surprised.
My brothers were geniuses no matter what they did, after all.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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