The pair waits for a few hours in the tavern before setting out once more.
Their destination lies in the town's outskirts, from where the peasant farmlands can be easily seen. The house is made of stone, small and enclosed within silhouetted clusters of tall trees.
"You have a house of your own," Marigold declares, which is more of a question than it sounds.
"I was able to save enough to buy it," Steven replies with pride, his lips vaguely forming a smile. "Oh, but it's quite cheap, since it's far from town," he modestly adds.
"Which makes it ideal for a hiding place," the black-haired girl says.
The young man nods.
"To be honest, I thought I was going to live with you, Miss Doreen and Mister Hamish," Marigold remarks.
Steven’s face tenses up. "I cannot let them be involved."
Marigold checks herself, suddenly feeling shameful. "Oh. Of course; I’m sorry." The thoughts in her head take on a sudden transition as well. 'Will he be living here with me, then? He did tell me that, didn't he?' A blush stubbornly creeps up her face. She decides to keep her head down for the time being.
Steven unlocks the front door, steps inside and lights up the lamps. Marigold follows.
The house is amply filled with simple furniture. The floors are made of polished hardwood, and the stone walls are unpainted. There is a space for receiving guests, a kitchen, a pantry, and two bedrooms. From the kitchen backdoor, there is a small space for a garden, and across it is an outhouse.
Marigold walks around the yard, then goes back through the backdoor. She sees Steven emerging from one of the bedrooms.
"The backyard is perfect for a vegetable patch," she says excitedly. A shadow of a smile appears in Steven’s expression at the strange sight of Marigold speaking eagerly of planting in the middle of the night.
He adjusts his sleeves. "Can you do gardening?"
The girl pauses for thought. "A bit. Oh, and thank you for helping me with moving my things."
Steven grins. "I'm making up for earlier."
Marigold rolls her eyes in jest. "I can see that."
The young man turns serious. "You ought to rest. You can look around the place tomorrow."
"You're right," Marigold replies, feeling the exhaustion in her limbs. "You too, Steven. You are more tired than I am." After locking up the doors, the two bring the lamps in their respective bedrooms and retire for the night.
The need for rest enables Marigold to sleep deeply and soundly through the night, that by the time she wakes up, the sun is already high up. She comes out of her bedroom and sees Steven sitting at the table eating breakfast. He is fully dressed for work.
"Is it late?" The girl sleepily mumbles.
"Yes. I am late for work as well," Steven says.
"I'm sorry," Marigold manages to reply as she stifles a yawn.
Steven stares at her blankly. "It's not your fault."
The girl blinks her mauve eyes at him. "If you say so," she drawls absentmindedly as she seats herself across him. She extends a hand towards the basket of bread and takes a piece, but instead of eating, she drifts back to slumber sitting up.
Steven watches the whole scene with amusement. A playful smile tugs at his lips upon spotting a chance at mischief. Marigold's hand loosens its grip on the bread, and Steven exploits this by deftly snatching the food from the girl's grasp.
"You should be eating that bread," he calls out to Marigold in a voice loud enough to wake her with a jolt.
The girl's eyes fly open. She instinctively raises her empty hand to her mouth and gets surprised upon biting off air. She stares at her hand dumbly for a moment, then looks up to the boy sitting across her, who can barely keep himself from snickering. Then she realizes, and her face contorts with displeasure.
"You took my bread, you trickster!" She helplessly whines.
"Well, you weren't looking after it," Steven retorts with an impish grin and takes a bite out of the bread he filched. He chews on it in a deliberate manner, his eyes closed in exaggerated delight.
The girl clenches her teeth and narrows her eyes at Steven. The bread theft is of no consequence, actually. Her day has just begun, and this boy is already muddling her thoughts without even trying anything.
She sulkily nibbles on another piece of bread and lets her companion pour her a mug of milk. Her mind is wallowing in a morass of bliss, disappointment, and foolishness. It is obvious how he is treating her now like a child (they are of the same age; how dare he!), yet a daft part of her relishes the attention, and a silly part of her laments that his actions never mean something more. 'He should have no right to be this familiar with me,' she complains inwardly—a weak attempt of forcing reason to take over.
After some moments of eating peacefully, Steven speaks first.
"I know I said something about living together before," he begins. "But I will not be coming here often."
Marigold's thoughts settle a bit at the words. "That would be apt so as to not raise suspicion easily regarding my whereabouts," she agrees. "Would that mean that I can't go out of the house, too?"
"Your hair being different now helps in keeping you undetected," Steven says. Marigold mentally praises herself for conceiving the idea. "I advise you against going out often though, especially to town." The young man folds his hands. "The house is well-stocked with provisions. I will have someone from the guild come to restock and bring things you need, so do not worry." Marigold responds with a thoughtful nod.
Steven stands up from his seat and gathers his things. "I have to go now," he declares.
"Take care," is the girl's casual response. She lifts the mug of milk with both hands and stares as Steven grabs his coat and hat on his way to the door.
'He won't be back anytime soon,' she thinks. A sudden urge to brazenness hits her.
"I just realized," she speaks in her clearest voice as the young man reaches out for the door handle. Steven turns to her in surprise. Marigold is holding the mug to her lips, wearing a smirk on her face.
"This seems like a well-justified plan of keeping me captive here," she teases in a lilting tone.
Steven returns the smirk. "Does it?"
Marigold looks in his eyes, unblinking. "Has anyone ever told you that you don't play fair?"
To that, the black-haired boy tips his hat and leaves.
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