As they say, you should always look on the bright side of things. Obviously, I'm terrible at that, but I can't deny how convenient it is to stay in my room, in a robe, without needing to brush my hair while I recover.The medicine in this world is miraculous; it quickly allowed me to speak again and erased the visible marks of the attack from my neck.
Malcol comes whenever he can. He's been teaching me to play Orbis, a board game similar to chess. The board is made up of silver and black hexagons, with a handful of intricate crystal pieces—some transparent, others reflective and black. As soon as I caught the rhythm of the game, I started winning every match. To be fair, he isn't bad at strategy; he's simply still very young.
"This is the fourth time I beat you today. How about we teach Magdia and Eleni and play against them? Like a mini-tournament or something," I suggest, raising my eyebrows at Eleni, amused by her tiny scandalized expressions.
"With your maids?" Malcol frowns, utterly confused, as if I'd suggested teaching a couple of puppies to play.
"Of course. A few practice rounds and they might even beat us," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, challenging the little rascal.
"My lady…" Magdia exclaims, alarmed from her favorite corner where she pretends to go unnoticed.
I raise a hand to silence her. Malcol watches the situation with growing curiosity. Eleni, standing beside my chair, looks anxiously between Magdia and me.
"If either of them manages to beat us, I'll give them a valuable accessory they can sell. Unless they turn out to be too good… in that case, I'll have to stop before I run out of things to give away." I look straight at Magdia as I say it, and I know she's taken the bait—her eyes are already calculating the pros and cons. "And of course, you're forbidden to mention any of this, Malcol. Absolutely nothing that could get my maids in trouble, or I swear I'll never speak to you again. I swear it by the great god Soter."
Everyone gasps at my final words.
"Alright," Malcol agrees, though clearly bewildered by the situation.
Over the next two days, Malcol stared at Eleni as if she were some kind of mythical creature when, after a few practice rounds, she managed to beat him in more than half of the matches. Even Magdia beat him twice—barely, but still. For my part, I only lost twice against Eleni.
I couldn't deny how entertaining it was to witness their expressions of frustration, amazement, and delight as they threw themselves into the game; to laugh at Malcol's sharp comments mid-match; and finally, to see him acknowledge Magdia and Eleni not as maids or subvivientes, but as people. Nothing more, nothing less—people, in Malcol's eyes.
I start feeling so comfortable that I teach the tadpole the songs I remember. In this world, only religious songs are sung, so they're both astonished and fascinated by my supposed talent for composing—and equally scandalized.
"Outside you don't exist, only inside," I sing like a madwoman, spinning with my arms spread out.
"Outside," the chorus replies, using a fist as a pretend microphone. "Outside I don't protect you, only inside. Outside."
And so I build a home within these walls I now make my own. Distinctions blur under affection and trust; I wrap myself in the illusion that nothing else exists, that the future isn't waiting to drown me. At least during the day, I can pretend.
But night always reveals desires and fears the day manages to disguise.I dream of my family gathered around the table, arguing, shouting, laughing between bites. They share their food while I no longer have a plate, and little by little, no matter how much I scream or bawl, I turn into an empty chair.
Other times, I wake with the chilling sensation of being watched. In the dimness of the room stands a massive creature—a deformed humanoid worm made of pinkish flesh—staring at me as if dissecting an insect. Sometimes I glimpse an old birdcage in its hands, inside which flickers a tiny point of light, both blue and silver. It lingers only for an instant; before I can blink, the creature vanishes.
But now, the vision that repeats the most is the one where I'm being strangled, mercilessly, with brutal strength. It can start like any ordinary dream, catching me off guard. Sometimes it's the prefect, sometimes Regentus Mallory, or an unknown figure with a shadowed face. But no matter the face, it is always cloaked in visceral hatred that cuts off my air as surely as their hands. The moment can stretch endlessly or end in an instant, until I wake up screaming and crying, swallowed by darkness, the phantom pain burning in my throat.
Before the mirror, I examine the deep circles under my eyes as the afternoon light filters into the room.
"My lady, if you still haven't slept, you should ask for something for the insomnia, or your eyes will turn into pits," Magdia scolds me like a grandmother while holding up a yellow dress and a bluish-white one.
"We're feeling poetic today, huh, Magdia?" I say, choosing the pale dress.
Magdia huffs and goes to fetch matching accessories, though I likely won't wear any. I sit as Eleni approaches with hair oils. As soon as she opens them, the air fills with a lotus-like fragrance.
"My lady," Eleni mutters as she begins working on my hair, "please don't take it the wrong way. She just worries about you," she mumbles while starting a braid. "I—I began braiding without asking, and if you want something else, I'll undo it. I'm sorry, I—"
"You know I don't mind, as long as it's not too tight or complicated," I interrupt before she can unravel herself in apologies.
"I know," she whispers, giving me a fragile smile that I return.
I relax in the chair and pick up the note Lady Mallory sent this morning to reread it.
"Lady Laila,Since you have recovered, we must meet to continue discussing your future engagement. I await you in the greenhouse for afternoon tea. I will send an escort for your safety.With the lord's approval,Katlya de Mallory."
I slowly fold the note between my fingers. I don't need to read between the lines to know it's an order dressed as courtesy. I sigh and crumple it, throwing it onto the floor. I wouldn't be preparing to attend if I didn't know they'd barge into my room otherwise.
Truthfully, I had planned to show up in my robe. After all, I'm supposed to be recovering. But Magdia made such a fuss, saying she'd prefer I go naked rather than leave the room dressed like that. According to her, it'd be less shameful for a lady's maid.
"I'm done, my lady," Eleni says, stepping back so Magdia can present the accessories she brought.
Magdia sighs in disappointment when I choose a single silver brooch instead of letting her turn me into a walking display of bows and jewels. The brooch is shaped like a bird about to take flight over a crescent moon.
"For the love of the gods, my lady, if you're only going to wear the emblem of House Noxirian, at least choose the one with gemstones," Magdia grumbles, arms crossed.
"Don't worry, Magdia—I'll pray every night for forgiveness for such an offense," I joke, catching Eleni's expression in the mirror and lifting my brows in shared mischief.
Eleni tries to cover her laugh with a cough, but Magdia shoots her a glare sharp enough to kill. In the end, it's me who can't hold back my laughter. Magdia is about to scold us when someone knocks on the door.
Eleni opens it, and I find myself face-to-face with a young knight who bows deeply.
"Lady Mallory, by order of Lady Mallory, I will be your escort today. I am at your full service," he declares solemnly.
"Thank you," I reply out of habit, only to see him blink in confusion. I quickly correct myself in a commanding tone: "Let's go, unless we want to keep Lady Mallory waiting."
I don't say goodbye to Magdia and Eleni—I don't want to confuse the escort any further. Instead, my focus narrows on the growing panic twisting tight in my chest with each step away from my room.
What if the guard suddenly decides to attack me?
I force myself to reason. Impossible. He's a trusted escort sent by Lady Mallory. But what if she ordered my removal?
I take a deep breath, trying to convince myself it's just paranoia. I know it is. Deep down, I know. But knowing doesn't make the feeling go away.
The walk feels endless. Every shadow stretches too far; every sound echoes too loudly in my mind.
We finally reach the greenhouse. My escort halts at the glass doors, and the guard stationed there opens them, bowing as I step inside alone.
The humid, sticky heat clings to my skin, carrying the smell of an enclosed jungle—a mix of mold and rotting leaves that crawls into my nose.
Lady Mallory sits at the same outdoor table as before. She looks as perfect as always, not a single hair out of place.
The tea table is already set. The only difference from the last time is the flowerpot in the center, holding a black-violet bloom that reminds me of my mother's butterfly orchids.
I sit once more under her scrutiny. But today I'm not in the mood for this game. Instead of meeting her gaze, I let my eyes wander around the space.
Beside what looks like a small cabin lies a patch of uncultivated soil. The earth has been turned, and several trays filled with seedlings are stacked on top of one another. Among them, I spot a rake and small gardening trowels.
No matter how hard I try, I can't picture the woman before me working here—kneeling on the dirt, covered in soil and sweat, planting all this. Yet I know she does. No one else comes in here.
"How are you?" she asks, straight-backed and firm, as she pours the tea.
I want to laugh. I've always found that question absurd when no one expects an honest answer. Just another useless social construct.
"Excellent. Never been better, if you ask me."
She observes me for a moment and sighs, ignoring my jab.
"No preamble, then: Perceptora Inerida is dead," she announces as casually as commenting on the weather.
There was no trial. No judgment. To execute an Excelso, at the very least there should be a formal process. And she wouldn't kill herself so easily; she's not that type of person.I don't know how to respond. I simply stare at her. I try not to reveal anything, but I know it's impossible.
"She hanged herself, using her cell bedsheets, of course. It's the least she deserved for laying a hand on my son. You understand that, don't you?" Her tone leaves no room for doubt.
"I understand," I lie—because I truly don't.
After all, my thoughts on the way here no longer seem so paranoid.
"In that case, I brought you a gift," she says, sliding the flowerpot toward me.
"Thank you," I reply, confused. "I think."
"I was born into House Tertius, did you know that?" she begins, reclining slightly in her chair. "The Regentus Corvel's eighth daughter. His territory was among the weakest. He had eight daughters before the gods finally granted him a male heir."
Most would have given up after the fourth or fifth daughter and named one as heir. There's no law against it, really—just a social convention, something meant to be broken only in extreme cases when all other options have been exhausted.
"In the end, he only secured favorable marriage alliances for four of his daughters, the prettiest ones. I was not only the lastborn, but also the least fortunate. From a young age, I knew I'd be sent to the Order, like my three sisters who also failed to secure a match."
I didn't pity myself. It was what it was.
"Instead, I studied. Hard. Enough to excel when I entered the Order, and I did. I quickly rose from Novitiatus to Adeptus, and they chose me for the Development and Conservation branch. I became one of the finest botanists."
"Perhaps you don't know this, but botanists are the ones who improve and preserve the plant species needed to terraform a planet properly. We force life to grow where it shouldn't. We're not gardeners—we're creators of functional ecosystems."
"But neither my father nor yours understands that. They think it's all watering greenhouse flowers—a woman's hobby, nothing more."
"When my father's new mines enriched his territory, he tore me away from the Order and everything I'd achieved, simply because he needed a daughter to trade as a bargaining token. A 'commercial deal,' he called it."
She scoffs softly.
"He ignored—like they all do—that a botanist can accomplish what even the Supremus Architectus cannot with a Kalyx stone: modify living organisms."
"In other words, someone with my knowledge can alter a flower to make it poisonous. A new variety no one knows about: a petal can induce a coma; an entire bloom can be lethal." She gazes at the flowerpot she gifted me.
"That is why the mind—not strength—is the most lethal weapon."