Chapter 10
Vidalia shivered under her friend's dark gaze; she had stayed outside for too long. Thoughtless Vidalia, she scolded herself, not noticing Arzhel's empty, somber eyes.
She composed herself and explained the situation. Understanding her hurried words, he sighed in relief, his eyes warming, and he smiled gently at her.
"You had me worried, scatterbrain," he said.
Vidalia tilted her head, confused.
"Why are you so relieved?!" she demanded, irritated. "We won't be able to see each other! The capital is three days away!" she whimpered, clutching the arm of the taller boy.
She heard Arzhel chuckle, which annoyed her even more. He was taking it too lightly. Did he not want to see her anymore? Thought Vidalia sadly, tightening her grip on his arm.
"You still don't understand?" he asked, lifting her chin gently. "How do you think I come to see you every week?"
"Well…" she trailed off.
How did he manage it? Vidalia didn't care much about what he did before, but it was true—it wasn't easy to get onto the Sullivan property. The manor was well-guarded; there were sentries everywhere at night. Yet Arzhel came to see her three times a week, sometimes even during the day.
She had been foolish!
"Don't you remember my lessons?!" Arzhel scolded. Vidalia jumped and lowered her head apologetically.
"Mmm… you, really," he sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
He rummaged in the pocket of his cloak, which rested on the girl's lap, folded instinctively. When had he covered her? She blushed pleasantly.
Arzhel found what he was looking for: a sparkling gemstone—surely expensive! Strange inscriptions were carved into it, intriguing.
He wanted to see her eyes light up right now—damn veil.
"This is a teleportation stone," he explained. "What's inscribed are runes. It's how I can come so often. The Sullivans don't have anti-teleportation protections, so it's quite easy to pierce a hole through their ego," he said with a satisfied smile.
Vidalia looked up at him. "But they don't know," she said innocently, tilting her head.
Arzhel groaned in frustration. "You're right."
"So it's like a teleportation portal?" she asked, examining the stone. "Does that mean we can see each other like this?" Her excitement returned.
Arzhel raised an eyebrow. "Not quite as often, unfortunately," he said. "But… what's a teleportation portal?" he asked, curious.
Vidalia froze, resisting the urge to bang her head against a tree. Portals hadn't been created yet! In the novel, the portals were imagined and built by the second prince when Angela was sixteen. Seeing the danger and difficulty in obtaining magical objects, the royal genius devised a way for people to avoid long, dangerous journeys. With his contacts in the tower, he created magical portals—for the wealthy but also for the less fortunate.
This spared citizens from relying too much on dangerous roads.
Vidalia should have been careful not to reveal anything about the future. If he realized she had predicted the portals before the prince created them, what could she say?
She looked into Arzhel's ruby eyes, shining with curiosity and impatience. Well, there wouldn't be a problem if she explained.
"The portals would have the same effect as the stone, but…" she explained what she knew. Vidalia was happy to be the one teaching her friend.
"This could make us a fortune!" Arzhel thought, golden eyes sparkling.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
A week passed, and the day of departure had arrived. Vidalia had worked hard all this time—between perfect misses and chores, she barely had a moment to breathe. With dozens of maids under her supervision, Vidalia wondered if she was awakening a little villainous streak.
A heroine becoming a villain? Not new—she wouldn't even be surprised if it happened.
Vidalia stumbled and nearly fell but caught herself on the wall. Good grief! She needed to eat before getting onto the cart, or she wouldn't make it through the day. She headed to the kitchen for a snack.
Later, with her stomach full, she climbed into the servant's cart. The others seemed excited to leave for the capital. There were six of them in total, including Vidalia, the youngest.
And so began three long days of being jostled every which way. Vidalia sighed and closed her eyes, finally resting before the disasters to come.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Nothing happened. The road was long and boring, especially with Princess Angela's tantrums, but they finally arrived at the Sullivan manor in the capital. Smaller than the main manor, but Vidalia didn't care.
Barely had they arrived than she had to unpack Angela's hundreds of dresses, while Angela read a book she treated as her greatest treasure.
As always, Angela complained about her room being too small. Vidalia looked around—it was just a few meters shorter than the main manor's room. But what about hers? Her other room was nothing but a simple converted closet.
Hoping she wouldn't end up in the storage room this time, Vidalia went to see the steward. Upon seeing her, he widened his eyes in surprise, appearing flustered. To Vidalia's great surprise, after a few seconds of hesitation, the old man smiled kindly.
"What brings you here, my girl?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.
Vidalia blushed, flustered. She looked at him as if he were an alien. It was the first time anyone other than her mother or Arzhel had spoken to her so kindly.
"I… I want to know where the closet is," Vidalia said, bumping into the wall.
"The closet?" the man asked, puzzled.
"I mean my room!" she said quickly. "I'm Mademoiselle Angela's servant!" she explained in a low voice.
"I see…" he said, unsettled. "What's your name?"
Her name? Only Arzhel knew it in this world! If she wanted to leave without a trace, she couldn't reveal it to the Sullivans. Vidalia quickly thought of a plan, her brain working at full speed.
"Uh… Vi," she murmured.
"Vi?" repeated the steward, curious.
"Vida!" she exclaimed, panicked. "My name is Vida!"
Naya raised an eyebrow, silently criticizing her lack of creativity. Anyway, it meant the same thing! she thought indignantly, sticking her tongue out at her friend.
"Alright, Vida," the old man agreed, writing her name on a list. "Your room will be with two other girls in the servant quarters," he explained. "Don't worry—they're very good children. They'll take care of you," he said kindly.
"Th… thank you," she said, flustered. She turned to leave, but the steward called after her.
"Vida? Don't you want to know your days off or your schedule?" he asked, looking at her curiously.
Her eyes widened—she had days off now!? Vida looked at him with hope.
"I have days off!?" she couldn't help shouting.
The man looked at her as if she were crazy, then concerned.
"And your pay?" he asked. "Have you already been paid?" He seemed genuinely worried.
She could be paid? She shook her head vigorously. The steward exhaled shakily and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked at her sadly and removed his glasses.
"Come, sit, my little one," he said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.
Vida obeyed without hesitation, her small hands folded in her lap.
The old man leaned back in his chair, exhausted, eyes still on the little girl before him. How could Edwin have allowed such a thing? This girl had clearly been mistreated.
He got up and crossed the room to lock the door. Vida watched, alert. He returned and sat across from her, looking at her through her veil, as if he could see through it.
"How long have you been working for Angela?" he asked calmly.
Vida tilted her head in confusion but answered anyway. She felt she could trust him.
"Four years."
His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes to calm himself.
"You look about nine. Did your parents give permission, or do they work for Edwin too?" he continued.
Vida lowered her head. "I don't have any," she murmured.
"Pardon?" Eddy's eyes widened.
"My mother… she's dead."
"I'm sorry," he said, compassionately. "But what about your father?"
Vida pressed her lower lip tightly. Her instincts hadn't deceived her; she could trust this grandfather. Naya didn't seem to dislike him either. She smiled and nodded encouragingly, though she thought it all happened a bit too fast.
"You know," the grandfather began, pulling her from her conflicted thoughts, "you remind me of a servant who worked here years ago." He smiled nostalgically.
Vida looked at him, sensing a story unfolding.
"It was more than ten years ago. She suddenly left her post, and I never saw her again," he said. "I considered her like a daughter. Her name was Ophelia."
Vida jumped at the name, staring at him in shock, listening intently.
"Edwin harassed her for her beauty, but she brushed him off with her strong character," he laughed, recalling the memory. "But the new mistress didn't like her, and Ophelia refused Master Edwin's advances, so she decided to leave," he clenched his jaw. "A few days before leaving, she came to me in tears, saying she was leaving early, but she wouldn't tell me why."
Sadness wrapped around Vida like a wet, heavy cloak, impossible to ignore. She clutched her skirt tightly, blanching her knuckles.
Her mother had been violated! Vida's breath caught; she gasped, trembling and barely able to regain control. She was having a panic attack.
"Vida!?" Eddy called, genuinely worried, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "Here, calm down, my dear." He gently rubbed her back to comfort her.
Vida drank the water and, following his guidance, began to calm down in the man's comforting arms. She let her tears flow—she hadn't cried since the night she met Naya. She had always told herself everything would be fine, that she could handle it. But her mother—the kind woman who had done everything to protect her until the end—had kept the child of her attacker and loved him.
She cried for the years of mistreatment she had refused to accept. She had reassured herself that everything would be fine, that it was written, that it had to happen—it was God's plan. But now, she was certain God had something to teach her.
To be continued