What's Going On with His Eyes?(Maren's POV)

I knew at a glance who'd sent it, and laughed to myself.

What was there left for us to talk about now?

I didn't hesitate. I blocked the number, deleted the message, and acted as though nothing had happened.

"Whose message?" Mama asked with concern.

I smiled at her. "Spam. Once you're well, let's go traveling around the world. You've always wanted to see the aurora over the Southern Continent..."

Mama laughed softly. "All right. I'll work hard at getting better. But don't wear yourself out either."

Even if only for Maren's sake, she had to keep going. She couldn't let the girl's efforts be for nothing.

She hadn't yet seen her precious daughter married, with children, living a happy life.

"Don't worry. You know I've got plenty of strength." I looked at Mama, smiling. "And my new job isn't tiring at all. I'm just looking after one patient."

"Most days I only have to cook and give him massages. It's about the same as looking after you—easy for me."

"I know you're sensible. But whatever the job is, do it properly. Most important of all, don't let yourself be wronged..." Mama squeezed my hand, her voice full of worry.

My nose stung. I pressed my cheek to the back of her hand. "I won't, Mama."

I stayed with Mama in the ward for an hour, washed her face and hands for her, watched her fall asleep, and only then left the hospital.

Outside the hospital gates, the sun was brilliant.

A genuine smile spread across my face, and my gratitude toward Severin deepened.

Nearly back at the villa, my eye was caught by a gallery across the street corner. The glass display window was very bright, and a vivid landscape hung inside.

The river at dusk, orange-red light flooding the water, the color shading from deep to pale in fine, rich gradations.

I stood staring at the painting, the longing in my eyes something I wasn't even aware of.

Then I noticed a notice pasted beside the window: [Taking on apprentices and an assistant mural restorer. Interested parties please come in and inquire. Tel: xxxxx]

By the time I came back to myself, I had already saved the number in my phone.

I pulled my eyes away and walked on toward the villa, an old memory surfacing.

When I was small, living in the slums, the church was the only place that was free and open. On weekends and holidays they gave out little gifts or food.

I used to slip inside and look up at the brightly colored murals on the vaulted ceiling. To my eyes those paintings were another world, one I could never touch.

Later, as I grew up and got busy earning money to keep myself alive...

Brushes and paint were too expensive. I never even dared think about it.

Now I'd been blacklisted by Clementine, and no company in the whole trade dared hire me. The repair work was something I had no choice but to give up.

But what about painting?

When I got back to Aurelius Villa, Severin was still asleep.

I went quietly into the kitchen to make lunch.

In the living room, on the sofa.

Severin was woken by a rich, savory smell.

His eyes flew open, and the confusion in them sharpened into focus at once.

Instinctively he glanced at the clock on the wall. Twelve twenty.

Severin was rather astonished. It had been a long time since he had slept more than two hours at a stretch.

His gaze settled on the figure busy in the kitchen. If her massage could produce this effect, keeping her on seemed to be the right decision.

In the kitchen, I felt a gaze on me. I turned without thinking and met Severin's emerald eyes, and my heart jumped.

"You're awake. Wash up and lunch will be ready."

Severin inclined his head slightly and got up to go to his room.

I set the abundant lunch on the table and watched Severin come down the stairs.

He'd changed into a dark blue house robe, the collar hanging loose, exposing a stretch of cold white collarbone.

A few strands of hair fell over his forehead, still damp with moisture, and his emerald eyes were startlingly bright.

The veil of pale gray that had covered them before was gone. They were like a demantoid garnet washed clean by rain—clear, deep, carrying a sharpness that made you afraid to look straight at them.

When he looked at me, his gaze was precise and lucid.

My heart jumped. I dropped my head quickly, my mind full of questions.

What was going on?

Had his eyes recovered?

Severin sat down at the table and ate elegantly.

I hesitated, then said, "Sir, you look much better now."

It was the truth. Even the dark circles under his eyes had faded a good deal.

"Really." Severin raised his eyes to me.

"It seems you really didn't rest well last night," I said quietly. "I worked on you for an hour this morning, and you slept very deeply."

Severin narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

My face was entirely serious. "I think if I massage you every evening, you'd sleep better. Proper rest is what gives you the energy to handle your work."

Severin was thoughtful for a moment, and decided Maren had a point.

"Eight tonight. Come to my bedroom."

I froze.

The bedroom, the study, the treatment room—without permission I couldn't go into any of them. I hadn't expected to unlock one of the forbidden zones today.

Delighted, I said, "Understood... One more thing. Apart from the massages and mealtimes, may I have the rest of the time to myself?"

"Because I have to go to the hospital now and then..."

I watched him carefully, my stomach tight, unsure whether he'd agree.

"Suit yourself." Severin answered carelessly.

My eyes lit up. "Understood. Thank you."

Time at my own disposal meant I could visit Mama openly and aboveboard.

And it meant I could take outside work.

After lunch, Severin went to the study to deal with business.

I finished tidying the kitchen, changed my clothes, and went out, heading for that gallery.

The gallery was only fifteen minutes from the villa, not far at all.

I walked in. The walls were covered with paintings in every style.

There was a faint smell of turpentine and pigment in the air, not harsh at all—oddly reassuring.

I looked around and found no one in the main hall. "Hello?"

After a moment a man in his fifties came out from the back. "Here to look at paintings?"

"Hello. I saw the notice in your window. I've come to apply."

The curator looked Maren up and down. "Any experience?"

I told him the truth. "I've never had formal training, but I've loved drawing since I was a child, and I'm very sensitive to color. And I've worked as a repairman, so I'm good with my hands..."

I pushed my case as hard as I could, trying to move him with the sincerity in my eyes.

"Come with me." The man turned and headed for the workroom.

I followed quickly.

The workroom was big and roomy, but half of it was piled with paintings and every kind of painting tool.

The curator walked to a long table. Two broken fragments of mural lay on it.

Beside them were two 36-inch landscape paintings, which looked like they had some age on them.

"Since you're so sensitive to color, then tell me—how many colors can you see?" the curator asked. "Both of these are murals in need of restoration."

I stepped right up and looked closely.

The surface of the fragments was mottled and gray, as though they'd been peeled straight off a wall.

I spared no corner of them, and counted carefully. "Seven."

Surprise flickered in the curator's eyes. "Which seven? Can you name them?"

"The ground is lime white, with a layer of ochre over it. The ochre has a little yellow earth and vermilion mixed into it."

I pointed to the upper left corner. "Here there's a very thin layer of gray-green—probably moss or mildew it picked up later..."

The curator was surprised. He pointed to the two paintings beside them. "One of these is an original and one is a copy. Can you tell which one is real?"