Felicio Threvin walked at a measured pace through the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, posture aligned with deliberate precision. The lanterns along the walls cast steady light across polished stone and dark inlaid flooring. Lecia kept half a step behind him, wondering just how large the manor truly was. Belle followed close at Lecia’s side, her eyes somewhat unfocused and her mind clearly elsewhere.

  They passed beneath a vaulted archway trimmed in carved oak and entered a smaller hall that opened into the dining chamber. The air carried a faint aroma of herbs and slow-cooked meat. Servants stood stationed along the perimeter at even intervals, each with their gaze lowered and posture composed. Threvin did not pause to acknowledge them as he crossed the threshold.

  The dining room was broad but restrained in ornamentation. A long rectangular table of dark lacquered wood dominated the center, its surface polished to a subdued sheen. High-backed chairs with upholstered seats in muted burgundy fabric lined both sides, though only three settings had been arranged. A chandelier of brushed brass and crystal hung overhead, each suspended prism catching the light of contained rune-lamps fitted into the arms.

  The dishware had been laid with meticulous alignment. White porcelain plates trimmed in a thin band of gold rested atop charger plates etched with a subtle sigaldric motif. Silver cutlery had been polished to a mirror finish and positioned at precise distances from each plate. Crystal stemware stood at the upper right of each setting, empty and ready.

  Belle slowed as she took in the space, her eyes moving across the table and up toward the chandelier. The lamb shifted in her grip as her shoulders rose and fell with measured breaths. Lecia studied the room differently, noting the doors, the servants, the spacing between the table and the walls. She chose a seat only after Threvin gestured to the head of the table and sat.

  “Belladnes,” Threvin said as he settled into his chair, his tone composed. “You will sit to my right.”

  Belle hesitated only a second before obeying. She placed the lamb in her lap and folded her hands atop it, her knuckles pale. Lecia took the seat to Threvin’s left without prompting, her posture straight and alert.

  For a few moments there was only the quiet of contained firelight from a hearth built into the far wall. The servants moved with silent efficiency, adjusting a glass here, a fork there. Threvin rested his forearms on the table and regarded Belle with a steady gaze.

  “First and foremost, I'd like to take the opportunity to bring some things to light as we wait for our meal," he began in a level tone. "There are matters of your past that you deserve to hear from me directly." He paused and frowned. "Were you ever told anything of your origins by Melora?”

  Belle’s fingers tightened around the lamb’s fabric as she shook her head. “No, sir,” she said softly.

  "You may refer to me as Father, Belladnes," Threvin said with a bit less edge. "It's only fitting given that I am, in fact, your father and I have reclaimed you as my daughter. So please, if you would..."

  Belle hesitated, swallowed, then nodded once. "Yes... F-Father."

  A thin smile crossed the Magister's lips for the briefest of moments.

  “Very good," he replied before his expression shifted once again to stone. "Now then... You were born during a period of instability within my House,” Threvin continued. “Rival factions within Noblecrest sought to weaken our position. Trade contracts were contested. Political alliances shifted without warning. There were inquiries from the Watch and from the Academy regarding certain accusations leveled against the Threvin name.”

  He paused, gauging her attention. Belle hung on his every word, though it wasn't clear whether she fully understood. Threvin pressed on regardless.

  “At that time, I maintained a private residence beyond the scrutiny of Noblecrest’s core." His expression grew distant as memories flashed through his mind. "It was a quaint little hovel out in a quiet corner of the Greenfield District. A small haven beyond Veilheim's walls."

  Lecia watched the man carefully, following Belle's example as she focused on his words. She'd heard of the Greenfield District in passing. Greenfield, or the Farmer's Quarter, was supposedly built beyond the outer ring of Veilheim. As she remembered it, it was more or less a small village of its own surrounding Veilheim's southern wall and spreading out for quite a distance.

  Given Darkreach is all Lecia had ever known apart from her brief excursions into Tradehaven until now, Greenfield sounded like a somewhat fantastical place.

  Ignorant of Lecia's musings, Threvin continued.

  "There, I kept the company of a woman who was not of noble birth. She was a commoner by lineage, though her intellect and bearing would have allowed her to stand comfortably among the most educated of this district. Her name was Alisandre.”

  Belle blinked, her lips parting slightly. “My mother?”

  “Yes,” Threvin said. “Your mother.”

  The word settled over the table. Belle’s gaze dropped to the lamb in her lap.

  “I was unmarried at the time, but that didn't change the fact that our association was not sanctioned by the expectations placed upon me,” Threvin continued. “A formal marriage to a noble house would have secured political stability. It would have appeased several competing interests. Instead, I chose to keep Alisandre apart from the public sphere. That decision carried consequences.”

  He folded his hands together, fingers interlaced.

  “When you were conceived, the volatility surrounding House Threvin had reached a peak. There were threats of formal censure from the Academy’s upper council. Certain noble families were seeking leverage to curtail our influence over trade routes and sigaldric patents. News of a child born to a commoner mistress would have been seized upon as proof of recklessness and impropriety.”

  Belle shook her head, blinking in confusion. “I... I don't... wh-what does that all mean?”

  A flash of something dark and volatile passed over the Magister's features for an instant, but it passed as he replied, not missing a beat. "It means I made the mistake of caring deeply for a woman beneath my station, and in that moment of weakness, my political opponents would have dealt my already weakened House a fatal blow had I not hidden that woman and your birth away from prying eyes."

  "Oh..." was all Belle said. It was all she could say.

  Threvin gave a slow nod, as though agreeing with his daughter's unspoken words.

  “You had to be protected,” he said. “Exposure at that juncture would have made you a target. There are methods of coercion in Noblecrest that do not involve blades or open confrontation. A child can become a point of pressure in ways that compromise an entire House.”

  He allowed that to settle before continuing.

  “Simply put, yours was a quiet birth, Belladnes. There are systems put into place to protect noble houses from the backlash of keeping... inconvenient heirs. And that was where the orphanage came in.”

  Belle opened her mouth, snapped it shut, then opened it again, forcing herself to say what was on her mind. "Is that... what I was? An 'inconvenient heir'?"

  "Unfortunately, yes, and you would not be the first, nor the last," Threvin replied without hesitation. "Many are the unwanted, unneeded, or otherwise illegitimate noble children who pass through that orphanage.

  "Thanks to several measures and regulations put into place many years ago, the orphanage acts as a kind of unspoken neutral dumping ground for nobles who can't afford to have their ties to a bastard child revealed. Names are changed, the past is falsified, and any records are either hidden or not written to begin with."

  His smile was a thin and bitter thing. "I'm sorry to say that you, my dear daughter, became yet another cog in the machine."

  Belle caught her father's eye, but failed to keep his gaze as her own watery silver-blue eyes found the table before her.

  "So... so why did—er," she flinched and raised her head to meet Threvin's eyes again. "I mean, wh-what about mother? Where is she now?"

  Again, Lecia caught that same dark look cross the Magister's face before it vanished into a more somber scowl.

  “Your mother’s health deteriorated in the weeks following your birth,” Threvin replied evenly. “She contracted what was at the time referred to as the pale blight.”

  "The... pale blight?" Belle asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

  Threvin nodded.

  “It's an illness characterized by progressive weakness, pallor of the skin, and deterioration of the lungs. Physicians attributed it to contaminated grain stores. Some suspected a broader aetheric contamination related to industrial runoff from Darkreach. There's no true consensus on how the illness came to be.”

  Belle’s voice trembled. “So, did she...?”

  “She endured discomfort,” Threvin replied. “Fever. Shortness of breath. Periods of delirium. The physicians administered tonics and attempted restorative sigils. The disease did not respond and, in the end, she passed into Bellatina's radiant court.”

  Neither his expression nor his voice faltered as he spoke.

  “She held you frequently during those final days. She refused to allow you to be removed from her chambers despite recommendations from the physicians. She insisted that her condition would not pass to you. Despite the doctor's insistence on the contrary being the case, she was correct.”

  Belle’s shoulders began to shake, though she remained silent.

  “There is something you should understand,” Threvin said, his tone firm yet controlled. “Alisandre possessed clarity even in decline. She understood the implications of your existence within Noblecrest’s political climate. She also understood that my position within the Academy required a degree of insulation from scandal.”

  Belle looked at Threvin with glistening eyes, but didn't say anything as he pressed on.

  "Letting you go was the best thing I could do for my House at the time, but Alisandre was different. She wanted you to live,” Threvin said. “She wanted you to grow without becoming an instrument in conflicts you did not choose.”

  His gaze lowered briefly to the lamb in Belle’s lap.

  “The toy you carry was hers,” he said. “It was not originally crafted for you. It belonged to her from childhood.”

  Belle stared at the lamb as if seeing it anew. “She… she gave it to me?”

  “Yes,” Threvin said. “On the final night of her lucidity, she asked that you be brought to her bedside. She held you for several hours. At one point, she requested that the doll be placed beside her. She pressed it against you and said it would remind you that even if you found yourself lost and alone, there was always a way home to those you loved and who loved you in turn.”

  The warmth of those words was lost in the Magister's cold grimace, not that Belle noticed given her eyes were glassy with emotion.

  "I acquiesced to all of her wishes as best I could, of course—within reason," he said. "There were limitations, and time was not exactly an abundant resource when it came to the sensitive matter of you and your mother."

  At Belle's confused look, Threvin explained.

  "As I mentioned, things were not going well for my—for our House. I won't bog your young mind down with all the gritty details. Suffice it to say, time was of the essence and so, after your mother died, I made my preparations and secreted you away to the orphanage in Darkreach—a clandestine affair done under the cover of darkness. That was... ten years ago now to the day."

  Something must have clicked in Belle's mind at those words because her eyes suddenly lit up with understanding as she spoke.

  "Did you... Were you always going to come back for me?"

  The ghost of a smile touched Threvin's lips.

  "Clever girl," he replied. "Yes, it's no coincidence that I chose to reclaim you as my heir on the tenth anniversary of the day I left you in the Beggar's Quarter. Though I made plans to send you away, those very same plans called for your eventual return to the Threvin House, and you've likely been wondering why I chose now of all times to do so, yes? Why I even chose to bother in the first place?"

  Belle hesitated, then gave a timid nod in response.

  Threvin regarded her for a long moment, pondering how to best explain. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together atop the opulent dining table.

  “For years, our House was entangled in disputes," he began after a moment. "Petty challenges, whispered accusations, rivals testing boundaries to see how far they might press. It was… a noisy time. Bringing you home in the midst of that would have placed you squarely in the center of their attention. I would not have you made into a piece for others to tug at.”

  Belle flinched under his sudden intense scrutiny, but didn't look away.

  “Quarrels burn brightly, but they do not burn forever. Those who shout eventually grow tired. Those who wait may choose their moment. The unrest has cooled. Certain… arrangements have been settled. And in the quiet that follows, certain opportunities appear.”

  He leaned back and meaningfully tapped a finger on the table.

  “This is such a moment.”

  Just then, Lecia felt a small chill run down her spine and she caught movement from her periphery. Several maids stood at silent attention on either side of the dining hall. Lecia wasn't sure why they were there or what their purpose was, but she'd been fine ignoring them. That is, up until she glanced sideways just in time to see one standing behind and to her immediate left shift uncomfortably as she turned away.

  The maid in question was a short, mousy woman with frizzy, shoulder-length auburn hair and an anxious expression. Despite a bit of confusion at first, it didn't take long for Lecia to realize the woman had been watching her.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Before Lecia could think too deeply on that concerning revelation, the rest of Threvin's words caught her attention.

  “Noble sons and daughters traditionally make their social debut at the age of thirteen, and you, Belladnes, will be no different,” the Magister explained, not having noticed the exchange.

  Belle's eyes widened in terror at the idea, but Threvin paid her obvious social anxiety no mind as he continued.

  “In three years’ time, you will stand before the gathered Houses at your coming-of-age ceremony. Thirteen is no small threshold for one of our blood. At thirteen, a child is presented not as a ward, but as a representative of her House. An heir must know her lineage, her allies, her rivals. She must understand when to speak… and when silence wins more than words ever could.”

  His expression softened, just slightly.

  “I could not summon you home at twelve and expect you to be ready in a matter of months. These next three years are necessary. They are your preparation. While other heirs have been coddled in comfort, you will learn with purpose. You will study the histories that others ignore. You will see the currents beneath polite smiles.”

  He bent just enough to meet her eyes.

  “You were always meant to return before your thirteenth year. Always meant to stand in our colors when the time came. I did not forget you, my daughter. I was ensuring that when you walked back through these doors, it would be into a House steady enough to receive you—and into a world ready to see you.”

  A beat of silence passed, heavy and deliberate.

  “I have done everything I can to secure our future, and you will play what may be the greatest role in claiming that future. It is my duty to ensure you are prepared. When you stand at thirteen, no one will see a girl reclaimed from obscurity or tainted by common blood. They will see the future of House Threvin.”

  His smile returned, faint and unreadable.

  “And that, my clever daughter, is why you sit here before me now.”

  There was no reply from Belle, who had fallen into quiet reflection as she tried to take it all in. Lecia shifted her placid gaze from her to Threvin, unsure of what to do with everything she'd heard. A few moments of thought were all it took for her to conclude that none of it concerned her and her goals, so she set the thoughts aside and turned her mind to Threvin and the questions he intended to ask.

  Staying silent wouldn't be an option, so she had to come up with some kind of answers to provide without giving away her secrets. The man was clearly connected to the students who'd freed her from the cellar, and that was likely why she was here in the first place. It, therefore, stood to reason that he'd want to ask about why she was in the cellar.

  She could at least guess that much, but beyond that, Lecia didn't know what else the Magister wanted with her. What other questions would he ask? How was she supposed to respond? Lecia was far from a socialite or a conversationalist and she wasn't really all that great at lying. That was another reason she didn't like to talk much. Silence was golden.

  That said, she couldn't fall back on old habits this time; her new mentor-to-be wouldn't allow it. Even so, everything within Lecia was railing against the idea of revealing any of what happened down in that cellar. It was the same instinct that told her, under no uncertain terms, not to reveal her grimoire to anyone, let alone this noble Magister.

  Whatever Lecia wound up saying, those secrets would not escape her lips.

  As Lecia made that silent promise, Threvin glanced toward Belle once more, his expression thoughtful.

  “Eyes like the coldest winter,” he whispered. “Hair like the most radiant sunset..." He nodded as if in approval of some prized hog. "An odd mix of my own genetics and that of your mother, but you carry the look well.”

  Belle shrank back in her seat a bit, averting her eyes as she lifted one hand from her stuffed lamb to brush self-conscious fingers through the strands of her peach-gold locks.

  At that moment, almost as if on cue, the doors at the far end of the dining chamber opened. A procession of servants entered in coordinated movement, each bearing covered platters or crystal decanters. The aroma of seasoned meat and baked bread spread across the room.

  The first platter was set before Threvin and then mirrored at the girls’ settings. Silver domes were lifted in unison, revealing roasted pheasant glazed with a reduction of dark berries and herbs. Steam rose in gentle waves from the carved portions arranged neatly upon the porcelain plates.

  Additional dishes followed in succession. A tureen of thick root vegetable stew infused with thyme and garlic was placed within reach, its surface flecked with finely chopped greens. Bowls of buttered parsnips and honey-glazed carrots were arranged between them. Freshly baked rolls rested in a basket lined with linen, the crusts golden and scored.

  Crystal decanters of deep red wine were set near Threvin, while chilled water infused with slices of citrus was poured for the girls. A platter of seared river trout garnished with lemon and capers followed, alongside a dish of wild rice mixed with toasted almonds and dried cranberries. The array extended further as servants introduced thinly sliced cured meats, sharp cheeses, and small porcelain dishes of preserves.

  The spread was frankly absurd, given the number of dinner guests.

  Belle stared at the table, her earlier tears momentarily forgotten in the presence of such abundance. Even Lecia couldn't help but blink in muted surprise at the sheer amount of food on display. The aroma had her mouth watering and stomach churning despite herself. Neither girl had ever seen so much food in one place or prepared so exquisitely.

  Not even during her excursions into Tradehaven had Lecia come across something like this.

  “This meal has been prepared to mark your return,” Threvin said as he reached for the wine glass before him. “House Threvin does not receive its bloodline without ceremony, so I suppose you could call this a... welcome gift. A celebration of both a long overdue reunion and the potential birth of a prodigious Mage-in-training.”

  The servants stepped back into their positions along the walls, hands folded, awaiting further instruction. The chandelier’s light reflected in the crystal glassware and polished silver, casting a steady glow across the spread. Threvin took the glass and lifted it slightly in a toast, his pale silver-blue eyes roaming from Belle to Lecia.

  “To new beginnings and a brighter future for all of us,” he said.

  Belle hesitated, then raised her water glass with trembling fingers. Ignoring the glass completely and going for the silverware instead, Lecia wasted no time in digging into the pheasant. Her manner wasn't entirely undignified; Melora had been sure to drive table manners into each and every child at the orphanage. That said, Lecia still ate with more than a little gusto.

  She was an orphan. A filthy, hungry, wretched squalorspawn in the eyes of Veilheim society. Food was rationed in the orphanage, and handouts were extremely rare outside of it. Naturally, this meant Lecia and many of the other orphan children learned to eat when, where, and how they could and not waste a single morsel if they could help it.

  And so Lecia ate without restraint or hesitation.

  Belle was slower to follow suit, but before long, she too set to devouring her meal with obvious relish. Threvin seemed content to let the two girls eat, leaving the dining hall silent save for the clinking of gleaming silverware against polished porcelain plates. Several minutes went by as the Magister took his time savoring each dish, but eventually, he cleared his plate.

  Setting down his fork and knife with the practiced grace of a Lord, he then took up a nearby cloth napkin and dabbed at his face. Without further fanfare, he set that aside and turned to give Lecia a pointed look.

  "As pleasant as this meal has been, I believe it's time we move on to the next topic at hand," he said. "I am, of course, referring to you, my would-be apprentice."

  Lccia, who'd been reaching forward to add a third helping of glazed carrots to her plate, froze. Her fork hovered over the platter for half a heartbeat longer before she drew it back and set it down with deliberate care. She met Threvin's gaze with quiet expectation, aware this was coming, but still unsure how to proceed. So rather than respond directly, she waited for the man to speak first.

  “You strike me as someone who appreciates brevity, so I'll get straight to the point,” he began, folding his hands atop the table. “Roughly one week ago, it was brought to my attention that you were present at a site of great interest to me."

  Threvin waited for Lecia to reply, but frowned when it was clear she wouldn't.

  "Specifically," he continued after a moment, "a cellar beneath the ruins of a manor deep within the old Noblecrest District that, as far as I am aware, was neither marked nor publicly accessible. I would like to understand why.”

  Lecia remained quiet for a second. Then two. Then her head tilted slightly as she finally replied. "Didn't those Academy students already tell you?"

  Threvin didn't miss a beat. “Indeed, they did. However, I'd like to hear the details from you personally. You say you were trapped in that cellar due to some cruel prank by your fellow orphans, but why Old Noblecrest? Why that manor specifically, when there are plenty of other places to pull that kind of trick?”

  “I don't know," came Lecia's flat reply. "Why does it matter?"

  Belle glanced between them, uncertain. Not sure what to do, she continued to eat at a slower, more awkward pace as she listened.

  Threvin’s icy eyes flared with amusement. A sardonic grin crossed his face, and he allowed a small chuckle. “I take it you never stopped to wonder about the crumbling estate resting above that cellar, did you?”

  Lecia said nothing, though she knew he was right. For how mysterious and magickal that cellar had been, never once did she stop to consider who it was that lived in that manor or what secrets the rest of the estate itself could've held. The Magister evidently took her lack of a reply as confirmation because he shook his head in mild disappointment.

  "I thought not," Threvin said as he sat back in his chair. He leaned to one side and thoughtfully tapped a finger against the table.

  "That estate was once the home of the Krowley Family," he explained. "I won't waste your time with the full sordid details of that cursed bloodline, but what I will say is that the Krowley Family was once renowned for producing some of the most powerful Mages in Veilheim's history. That, and their blood ties to one of the four Founding Powers of Prathus."

  That grabbed Lecia's attention. She had no idea what these "Founding Powers" were, but a powerful Mage family? That was intriguing, if for no other reason than what she found down in that family's cellar. Though her impassive expression didn't change, Threvin could still somehow tell he'd piqued her interest as he gave a soft chuckle.

  "Oh yes, that family was quite well-known once upon a time, but it's unlikely you'll hear even a whisper of the Krowley family name these days." His sardonic smile slipped into a grim scowl. "As you could no doubt guess by the current state of that manor, that family is now nothing more than a dark and bloody footnote in this city's past."

  Lecia blinked.

  "What happened?" she asked, unable to staunch her curiosity.

  "Allistor Krowley happened," Threvin replied gravely. "Beyond their reputation for powerful heirs and a near-mythic lineage, the Krowleys were also well-known for dabbling in magickal practices that would be considered grounds for execution by the Church by today's standards. Even back then, their actions were censured by the old ruling Council."

  Lecia didn't know what that meant, but she didn't interrupt the Magister to ask.

  "Allistor Krowley, the then Lord of House Krowley, eventually took things a step too far," Threvin said. "Information is scarce on the details, but it's said that he had consorted with something beyond the Abyssal Veil and conspired to turn Veilheim into a stronghold for the Abyssal forces. All this in exchange for the power to freely harness whatever Goddess-forsaken energy fuels the Abyssal Realm."

  "He failed," Lecia stated rather than asked.

  Lecia didn't know a lot about the Abysses or the endless war against the creatures that spilled forth from them, but she'd heard enough to get a general idea of what was going on. It was easy to conclude that this Allistor Krowley failed. If he'd succeeded, Veilheim would be an aether-corrupted wasteland crawling with Abyssal horrors.

  "Naturally," Threvin replied with a nod. "The old Council had long since planted spies within the family and caught wind of his plans before they could take root. They waited for their opportunity and struck during the Revival. An execution order was issued to the Veilheim military and, within the hour, the bloodline was hunted down and purged to the last member, along with every other noble family who had ties to the Krowleys and their schemes."

  The Revival.

  Yet another term Lecia had heard in passing but never got an explanation for. She could ask, and Threvin would likely explain, but Lecia didn't care enough to do so. Not now, at any rate. Perhaps tomorrow, when she wasn't feeling quite so tired.

  The Magister's next words snapped her out of her thoughts.

  "Their estate was destroyed, their records burned, and all their assets seized by the High Council... or so they thought."

  Lecia could put two and two together, but she dared not speak for fear of revealing what she knew. Threvin paused as if waiting for her input, but moved on quickly when none was forthcoming.

  "I speak, of course, of the cellar. After the Krowleys were wiped out, the Watch scoured their home top to bottom. Mages literally tore the manor down trying to pry the secrets out of that estate, and yet... no one thought to check the cellar. Strange, isn't it?"

  It was strange, Lecia thought. After all, it wasn't like the cellar doors had been hidden. Sure, it was probably buried under some rubble before Orin and his gang dug it out, but if what Threvin said was true, the Watch and Mages back then should've had no issues finding it when the manor was still standing.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a brief spell of dizziness that had her eyes blurring slightly. It passed quickly, but now that she was paying attention to her body, she could feel a faint pressure at the base of her skull, deep enough to be unsettling and subtle enough to be dismissed.

  She managed to keep her expression placid, which wasn't hard given that was its natural state, but her body was growing weak at a pace that could be felt, and her mind was ringing alarm bells. Threvin didn't seem to notice as he continued to speak, his tone growing somewhat conspiratorial.

  "It doesn't make sense," he was saying. "If the search was as thorough as official records show, such an obvious oversight should've been impossible. The only explanation I can imagine is that the cellar was hidden beneath an especially powerful multi-sensory illusion, a proximity-activated geas field, or—most likely in my opinion—the cellar was discovered, and its significance was downplayed into obscurity."

  Lecia was doing her best to take in Threvin's words, but the pressure was getting worse, and her mind was beginning to fog. It wasn't so bad that she couldn't keep herself steady, but that wouldn't be the case for long. Still, even in this state, she managed to pick up on something odd about the Magister's story.

  "Why?" she asked, her dull tone slightly unsteady. She tried to pull her thoughts together enough to get out the question she wanted to ask. "What are you... looking for? How do you know...?"

  She trailed off, unable to properly convey the nebulous suspicion and sense of wrongness twisting in her gut.

  Threvin's brows furrowed as he returned Lecia's gaze, but if he'd noticed her distress, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he replied, "I'm not sure what you're trying to get at, but I happen to have a vested interest in Veilheim's past. I've used the wealth, resources, and manpower afforded to me to dig deep into that past and found something both interesting and potentially useful."

  "Um... Lecia?" came Belle's worried voice.

  Lecia's wavering gaze shifted to the other girl to see that she was watching Lecia with increasing concern.

  "Are you... okay?" she asked.

  Lecia blinked a few times and shook her head. "I'm fine."

  She wasn't.

  Her body was growing heavy with each passing minute and she was so tired. As she reached for her water to relieve her dry mouth, the glass nearly slipped from her trembling hands. She took a sip and held it a moment before swallowing. The citrus tasted bitter, and a strange warmth settled in her stomach.

  She set the glass down slowly and watched her own fingers do it, as if distance might help her keep control. Both Threvin and Belle watched the display with varying expressions. Belle was clearly worried, and Threvin's frown only deepened.

  "Perhaps we should conclude this evening's events and turn in for the night," he said, then paused before addressing Lecia again, his gaze suddenly direct and intent. "Before that, however, would you mind telling me what you found down in that cellar?"

  “The... cellar?" Lecia repeated, trying and failing to blink her vision back into focus.

  Her mind was a hazy mess, but some hardened core of stubborn compulsion yet remained. It pushed itself to the forefront of her thoughts and was just enough to shove aside the sudden desire to just say whatever came to mind.

  "I didn't... I don't know... rocks?" she practically slurred, her body tilting and rocking like a small fishing boat at sea. "A lot of rocks and... and wood..."

  Threvin scowled in response, but the look vanished as quickly as it appeared. He stood from his seat with a sigh. “We will conclude for the evening,” he said. He turned to address one of the maids standing off to the side. "Dalia.”

  There was a brief instant of hesitation before footsteps approached from behind Lecia, quiet and steady. The sound reached her as if it were traveling through thick cloth. She tried to turn her head and found the motion sluggish. The servants along the walls remained still, though a few of them stiffened at their Lord's commanding tone.

  “I will personally escort my daughter to her chambers as we still have a bit more to discuss. See that Miss Lecia is taken to her prepared room,” Threvin instructed. His tone had gone cold and authoritative, his voice carrying across the dining hall.

  “O-Of course, Milord,” a quiet voice replied. "Right away."

  At Threvin's prompting, Belle pushed herself from the table and slid out of her chair. She gave Lecia one last uneasy look before she was gently yet firmly guided to the dining room's entrance by her father, stuffed lamb clutched in hand. Threvin, for his part, turned away from Lecia and the maid and led Belle away without a second glance back.

  Lecia wavered in her seat as she watched them go. Trepidation tried to worm its way into her thoughts, but the feeling failed to pierce the fog shrouding her mind. She barely reacted as a pair of thin yet surprisingly strong arms lifted her from her seat.

  "There now, I've got you, love."

  Lecia’s vision wavered and a bout of nausea briefly turned her stomach as she was shifted about. The chandelier’s points of light stretched and then drew back, and the room shifted as if she were the one moving. She forced her eyes open wider and tried to anchor herself to something real. The face above her resolved slowly into familiar features.

  It was the small, mousy maid. Frizzy auburn hair. A thin, anxious smile that did not reach her glittering hazel eyes. The same woman Lecia had caught watching her earlier was now holding her in an awkward princess carry. What had the Magister called her? Lecia couldn't remember.

  She was too tired.

  A distant alarm sparked in Lecia’s chest, muffled and slow. Her mind reached for the reason and could not catch it. “You,” Lecia tried to say, and the word stayed trapped behind her teeth. Her throat worked around air that suddenly felt too thick.

  “Easy now,” the maid murmured. She adjusted her grip and started for the dining hall entrance as all the other maids scrambled about, clearing the table. Lecia tried to struggle a bit and found her arms heavy, her legs uncooperative. The struggle didn't last. It was simply too much effort to be worth it at this point.

  Lecia’s thoughts drifted, and the edges of the room dimmed further. The maid murmured something, but the words were washed away in the haze. Or maybe it had just been her imagination. Her eyelids lowered, and she fought them once, then twice, then failed.

  The last thing Lecia saw was the maid's inscrutable gaze fixed on her limp form, those hazel eyes strangely dim in the soft amber light of the dining hall, and Lecia’s vision finally went dark.