READING GUIDANCE
" This is a direct sentence in the present time."
" This is a direct sentence in the past time."
' This is a character's inner thought in the present time.'
' This is a character's inner thought in the past time.'
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the present time.]
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the past time.]
HAPPY READING!
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After that dreadful yet confusing day, when she had faced all those thrilling situations in a place she shouldn't have been, the very next day, imperial officials arrived at Daniel's Trading Company and asked her to come to the Imperial Palace once more. It was confusing, but she went — what else could she do in that situation?
Two ministers awaited her: the Minister of Finance and the Minister of International Trading. Both were well past their middle years, yet still sturdy and gallant despite their age.
"My name is Higrid Pecunia, and this is Sir Asthon Namas," said the finance minister. As usual, Haya was involved as her interpreter. "Shall we discuss the proposal you once presented, Ms. Irisha?"
At that moment, she wanted to complain about their lack of courtesy — arriving at her workplace without prior notice and suddenly revealing their intention to cooperate. It was hardly polite, and the fact that they hadn't even apologized made it worse. Yet, this was a hierarchical world, and who was she to challenge it?
Over time, things had improved. That sudden meeting with the ministers had eventually led her to become the right hand of the finance minister, specializing in matters concerning independent companies. A new division was created under her leadership, and she built her own team. Each day was hectic, especially as her job involved stabilizing the state's financial income — but she had survived, and even five months later, she was still standing.
"Use your jacket and put on your favorite blanket. Can you walk by yourself?" Irisha asked Arisha, who was dressed more warmly than usual. Despite it being a weekday, Arisha didn't seem excited to go to school. She looked sullen, her cheeks flushed.
"I don't want to walk."
Irisha placed a hand gently on her forehead, noting the slight fever, and smiled softly.
[Okay, then. I will hold you up.] Irisha lifted Arisha easily, and the little girl immediately relaxed in her sister's embrace, holding her tightly. Irisha patted her back gently, preparing to go to work as casually as she could, despite how difficult it was to carry a child while moving.
But Arisha had never acted like this before.
She had always been healthy, rarely sick. The last time she had been ill was perhaps when she was a baby, shortly after they had arrived in this world. Arisha had never acted spoiled or complained, never asked for anything from Irisha, and had always been considerate and understanding. Even now, she remained remarkably mature for her age.
'...She's still a child, though,' Irisha thought. She realized she had taken her little sister's understanding for granted. Two days ago, she had finally seen what Arisha had been enduring in her small body. When Arisha cried and apologized so desperately, it had shattered Irisha's heart — reminiscent of the old lady in the village who had once tried to take her away. Arisha had learned that if she misbehaved, people would blame her sister and try to take her away. That was why she acted maturely, avoided childish behavior, and carried so much on her own.
'You are only eight years old, Arisha,' Irisha thought, frowning painfully as she held her little sister. 'And... you love me so much,' remembering how Arisha had refused to leave her side all night and had repeated it so many times.
"Don't leave me, sister," Arisha whispered, her cheeks flushed and her fever high. She had spent the past two days by Irisha's side, trying to show how important she was, refusing to be apart.
[You just don't understand how important you are to me.] Irisha brushed her hair gently and kissed her forehead. [So don't worry. Do the things that make you happy, and never carry your heartache alone, okay?] Arisha, despite her fever, stopped crying and slept soundly through the night.
Irisha wanted to take a break from work to care for her until she fully recovered. But an imperial letter had arrived, politely requesting her urgent presence at the palace. She knew she shouldn't take their courtesy for granted — it was best to comply while they were still being reasonable.
When she asked Arisha about it, the little girl's reaction was a mix of surprise and excitement.
"You are working there?" Arisha asked while eating in bed. "My friends are always talking about how cool the palace is."
[Yes, and if you're strong enough to go, I'll bring you with me.]
"I want to!"
Irisha smiled. [Then go to bed early tonight so you'll feel better tomorrow.] Arisha nodded and went to sleep earlier than usual. Her fever gradually subsided, but that morning she still felt weak, so she fell asleep again in Irisha's embrace.
'...Is it really okay?' Irisha wondered, feeling slightly worried. Even Haya's wife had offered to take care of Arisha, but the little girl refused to leave her side. She sighed. 'I'll try this once and keep an eye on her. If her condition worsens, I'll go back home.' Despite the risk, Arisha was her priority above all else.
"Ah." As she stepped down the stairs, she passed Ms. Miranda as usual, who looked even more uncomfortable and awkward than before.
After hearing Arisha's story, it had become difficult for them to maintain their relationship. Irisha didn't want it to be this way, but the other party didn't feel the same. She handed Ms. Miranda a letter she had prepared the previous day. Ms. Miranda looked at it in confusion but eventually read it carefully.
Irisha had written clearly that she would be moving out of the house and didn't expect any further conversation that might make Ms. Miranda uncomfortable. She gave a gesture to excuse herself and opened the front door.
"Ms. Irisha!" called a cheerful voice from outside the gate. A lady in an Imperial worker's suit waved at her. The imperial carriage behind her was not only large but strikingly eccentric for a commoner's residential area. "Are you ready?" she signed fluently.
Her name is Tara, and she had been assigned as Irisha's interpreter three months ago. Irisha was surprised—someone outside of her company had suddenly become so fluent in sign language. Yet she was also confused; she didn't need another interpreter, since Haya and her team from Daniel's Trading Company were already capable. When she asked Tara about it, Tara explained:
"...I just applied for the position of sign language interpreter, which specifically required a woman," she said. "It's the first time the Imperial has opened such a position for a woman, so I applied and am very grateful to have been accepted! My family is proud of me, and I will do my best. But... is there something wrong?"
She was so happy and excited about her new job that Irisha didn't press further. In the end, the staff at Daniel's Trading Company became busier after she took the position in the Imperial Palace. Considering this, Irisha felt it was the right choice to accept Tara.
Tara was also kind and cheerful; Irisha had grown comfortable with her in just three months. "Is she sleeping? Is her fever still high?" she asked, showing the same loving care Irisha felt for her sister. Looking at Arisha, who slept soundly in Irisha's embrace, Tara added, "I've already prepared your sister's necessities in the palace so she'll be comfortable, but is there anything else I should do for you?"
Irisha smiled. [Thank you. I have some documents on the fourth floor that I need to bring with me. Could you help me carry them? I couldn't bring them while holding my sister.]
"Of course, Ms. Irisha," Tara said, signaling to the coachmen. Ms. Miranda ran toward them, looking confused, and spoke in her usual sharp tone.
Tara gave her a single look, interpreting silently. "This lady asked why the Imperial Carriage is here. She also asked if something is wrong with you," Tara said, her eyes narrowing. "Excuse me, but you are speaking to the right hand of the Finance Minister of the Empire. You should mind your manners."
Ms. Miranda's confusion deepened. "What do you mean? She's just deaf and mute. You might have the wrong address."
Tara stared at her, her gaze sharp with quiet resentment. "...Ms. Irisha, should we take care of her?" she asked. Even though she did not fully understand Ms. Miranda's words, she could imagine their meaning. She remembered the day Arisha had a fight with a friend—how Ms. Miranda had gone out of her way to write to Irisha, expressing her discomfort at having the child in her home and suggesting that Irisha send her away. She had warned that it would be better not to tell Rosan about the incident, out of respect for Rosan's kindness. Ms. Miranda had also said that Irisha should not take Rosan's generosity for granted, that she should ask forgiveness from Arisha's friend's family, and that it would be best to take Arisha to somewhere "appropriate," where so-called normal people could care for her properly.
'...She literally used the words "normal people" and "correctly take care of my sister" in that letter.'
Was Irisha angry? Of course. But more than anger, she felt pity toward Ms. Miranda. Sometimes she wondered if people who treated her that way would act the same toward anyone with a disability.
[...It's okay.] Irisha said softly. [I will move out of this house, so there's nothing more to discuss.]
Tara nodded, and another coachman helped Irisha into the carriage. Tara scanned the surroundings, noticing many eyes watching in disbelief. "...Next time, we will not accept this kind of behavior, Miss," she said to Ms. Miranda, who still stood pale in her little garden. "Ms. Irisha is someone personally hired by the Crown Prince himself. Mind your words when speaking about her."
Then Tara nodded, while another coachman helped Irisha into the carriage. Tara scanned the surroundings, noticing the many eyes watching, disturbed by something they thought impossible. "...Next time, we will not accept this kind of behavior, Miss," she said firmly to Ms. Miranda, who was still in disbelief. "Ms. Irisha is someone personally appointed by the Crown Prince. Mind your manners when speaking about her." She left Ms. Miranda pale in her small front garden. Tara knew she had overstepped, acting on her own opinion rather than an official order, yet it was impossible not to act when she saw so many people harboring the same old prejudices against Irisha.
'...I regret it every day for what I once thought,' Tara admitted to herself, watching the woman she had once underestimated gently brush her little sister's hair. The scene made her smile, for Irisha was not only loving but truly remarkable. She stood confidently before Imperial officials, voiced her opinions boldly, and earned respect in a rigid, patriarchal hierarchy.
[I am just deaf and mute, but that's it.] That simple sentence carried so much weight. From that day forward, every moment Tara spent with Irisha became thrilling and meaningful, a source of daily inspiration.
***
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"Ms. Arisha, we will make you many delicious snacks. Would you like to come with us?" asked the imperial maid, kneeling in front of Arisha, who clung tightly to her sister even after arriving at the Empire. She had been so excited upon waking in front of the palace gate, eagerly taking in her surroundings, but when Irisha said she needed to go for a while, Arisha had hugged her tightly and refused to let go.
The maids exchanged confused glances, looking at Irisha for guidance. She, too, was slightly bewildered—she had not expected to have to lead a meeting while the Crown Prince was present.
"...Just let her be. Bring sweets and snacks for the child," the Crown Prince had said, and Tara poked her to relay the message.
Irisha looked at him, now speaking with his assistant, and then back at Tara. "You may start now," she signed casually.
'...He's already fluent in sign language too?' Irisha thought, amazed. Especially knowing how tight his schedule was as Crown Prince, being able to communicate like this was both surprising and impressive.
"Then, Ms. Irisha will distribute the documents for today's meeting," Tara said, aided by other staff passing them around. "Please open to the first page. We are now going to discuss the agreement with—" Tara interpreted Irisha's words to the officials and other important members present.
"Ms. Arisha, here is your hot chocolate," whispered one maid, approaching during the meeting. Arisha glanced at her sister before smiling at the maid, who smiled back. [Thank you,] she signed. [You should say it too, Arisha.]
Sitting on Irisha's lap and holding the hot chocolate wrapped in a fur cloth, Arisha nodded shyly. "Thank you, Miss."
The maid's delight was evident; it was the first time Arisha had spoken directly to her. "My name is Hannah. Please feel free to ask me anything. I'll be right over in that corner, Ms. Arisha," she said kindly.
Arisha blushed and nodded again. "Thank you." Her politeness and cuteness made the maid feel warm inside. Irisha observed it all, thinking how lovely her little sister was—small for her age, polite, and affectionate. A child like her was impossible to resist.
"Ms. Irisha, about the demands... don't you think this could be risky?" asked an official, making Irisha glance at Tara, who slowly interpreted the question. Holding Arisha and explaining on the blackboard was difficult, and some attendees grew impatient.
"Tell her she doesn't need to rush," the Crown Prince said, instantly silencing the room.
Tara nodded, relaying the crown prince's message to Irisha. She bowed slightly before returning to the blackboard, continuing her presentation. Arisha rested her head gently on Irisha's shoulder, her small body leaning against her sister as she watched. From that position, she could see the adults in the room, listening patiently and treating her sister with respect and kindness. No one gave her judgmental stares or looked down on her. Slowly, Arisha began to understand that her sister was truly respected here, even in the grand, intimidating hall.
"What does this mean?" the Crown Prince asked, his hands moving gracefully in sign language. Irisha's arms ached slightly as she held Arisha close, trying to manage both her little sister and the discussion at once.
Arisha, resting her head on Irisha's shoulder, turned her gaze to the tall, prince-like man—so much like the characters from her storybooks—watching intently as he signed with patience and elegance. His golden eyes met hers for a brief, silent moment, and she blinked in awe, taking in how effortlessly he communicated.
[...Please wait a moment,] Irisha signed, adjusting her hold on Arisha.
Arisha slowly loosened her cling and reached out toward the Crown Prince, fascinated and curious. Irisha and Tara exchanged surprised glances, but before Irisha could intervene, the Crown Prince gently lifted Arisha into his arms, holding her securely and smiling at her as if she were part of the palace itself.
" Pardon me, Your Grace—" Tara tried to take Arisha back, but the Prince, smiling slightly at Arisha, said, "She looks like a mini version of you." He didn't use sign language, leaving Irisha momentarily confused. "Tell her to continue. Her sister will be with me."
Tara, a little puzzled, nodded. Irisha watched as Arisha rested her head against the Prince's chest. [Please forgive me,] she signed, though Arisha seemed unconcerned, her trust in the Crown Prince absolute. Many in the hall were surprised—never in their years serving the Imperial family had they seen the feared Crown Prince hold a child so gently. But over time, they were beginning to get used to it.
' It was not the first time,' said Tara, watching the Crown Prince return Ms. Irisha's little sister to her chair. He carried the same air that fascinated everyone in the hall. Those who worked alongside Ms. Irisha already knew—the secret of the Crown Prince and the new commoner in the palace was now a public one. Tara smiled, observing the woman who remained attentive to her little sister, yet continued leading the meeting flawlessly, accomplishing everything with remarkable poise.
***