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Chapter Text

She perceived everything that was happening solely as punishment for her naivety and foolishness, for letting herself be so easily discarded, and for believing, up until the end, that her father might pity her.

“Never trust relatives if your inheritance cannot be divided equally.”

The murmur arose again. Rosalia covered her mouth with her hand, pretending to be offended by such remarks. Jennet likely had no idea what they were talking about.

Athanasia shook her head, signaling the judge to continue reading the pre-written verdict so that the process would end sooner. If, at best, she were to be expelled from this horrible place, then let it happen quickly. But she raised her head and met her father’s gaze—a look one would give to a snake or a spider, contemptuous and superficial.

She couldn’t help but notice that his eyes weren’t the same as, for instance, Jennet’s. They were dark and murky, like a deep lake, with no hint of shine. Something inside her rejoiced, for now, her sister looked even less like him.

“So, Princess Athanasia is found guilty of poisoning her own sister,” the judge announced.

“The First Princess of Elgeo Obelia,” she muttered, but no one heard.

“Considering there are no mitigating circumstances and all the evidence of the accused’s guilt is present, the court finds it just to sentence Princess Athanasia to death by guillotine.”

Upon saying this, the judge fell silent, as did the rest of the hall. It seemed even her heart had stopped beating. Execution? Really? Not exile or loss of title? This was a desperate move, even for them.

“Sister! Just tell them why you did it,” Jennet pleaded, “and you’ll surely be pardoned!”

Foolish to the point of madness or simply treacherous? Either way, the once-adored sister now provoked a desire to slap her across the face. Perhaps it was more jealousy than a sense of justice, as it was obvious who was behind this insane plan.

Athanasia felt her hands trembling. Rosalia, who stood behind the princess with feigned concern, had probably slipped her niece a weak poison, which should have long ceased its effects. That woman surely had the antidote—she wouldn’t poison her key to power so recklessly. The image of little Rosie from the dungeon came to mind. That unfortunate, foolish rat certainly didn’t deserve the name given in honor of such a vile woman.

“Does the defendant have anything to say in her defense?” the judge asked.

“Yes, I do,” Athanasia straightened her back, not taking her eyes off the emperor, who did the same, as if waiting to see how she would surprise him.

“Sleeping in the dungeon was rather uncomfortable, so I’m genuinely surprised that I managed to have any dreams…”

A new wave of murmurs rippled through the hall. The judge began to interrupt, asking her to speak only to the point, but she had no reason to listen to him. Athanasia continued her tale in a monotonous voice, staring straight ahead into the emperor’s dull blue eyes.

“But, nevertheless, I dreamt the same dream every night. So vivid that I could swear I felt the breeze on my skin. There was a tree. A huge, magical tree, towering far above this palace, with branches like crystal and snow-white leaves brimming with magic.”

Someone in the crowd muttered that this was nonsense, and the little girl was just playing for sympathy. Alfios and Rosalia listened, their jaws clenched, while Jennet kept sobbing about how she couldn’t believe what was happening, as the silver-haired boy stroked her shoulder.

“And beneath the tree, every time, there was the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen: with golden curls and eyes the color of the sunset. Surely a fairy from the eastern lands.”

— The indifference on her father’s face wavered, revealing a new, unfamiliar emotion. —

“She sang me a lullaby, one from her homeland, stroked my head, held me close, and every time she begged…”

At the same time, the countess’s and the duke’s expressions changed. The hall ignored the judge’s calls for silence, so Athanasia had to speak louder. From all sides, one could hear the quiet, and not-so-quiet, repetition of a single name:

“Diana.”

“…to forgive her for leaving me alone in this cruel and unjust world... to forgive her for once allowing herself to love the most mad and heartless man in the world…”

“I repeat, speak only to the matter of your crime!” the judge interrupted again.

Athanasia almost shouted. As the emperor rose from his throne, she felt a wave of incredible confidence wash over her. It was as if the air itself was lending her strength and dispelling her fear.

“…and for allowing him to become my father…”

But, surprisingly, he didn’t rush at her and didn’t look angry, but rather frightened. In the silence that followed, her last words seemed even more terrifying.

“And every time, the dream ended when my mother asked me to tell you: she hates you as much as I do.”

“How dare she!” the countess couldn’t hold back.

Athanasia spoke slowly, savoring the moment as her father, for the first time in his life, looked at her not with contempt but with something suspiciously close to fear. She would have bet her head that she saw a tear on his cheek. Something new sparkled in his dark, murky eyes. For a moment, the princess thought that something was about to change, but then the emperor suddenly grabbed his head and hissed like a wounded animal.

— Kill her! — he screamed, pointing at Athanasia. — Immediately!

The shock caused Jennet to start losing consciousness. Alfios Junior managed to catch her in time. Rosalia loudly called for a doctor. Guests were stepping away from the center of the hall, clearing the path for the knights. In all the commotion, Athanasia felt hands grab her shoulders and drag her toward the exit.

On her way to the hall, she had planned to walk with pride, even if the path led to the scaffold, but now her pride had retreated. She didn't want to die so easily because of another whimsical tantrum from the mad emperor. With her last bit of strength, Athanasia jerked to the side and managed to free herself from the hands holding her. But there was nowhere to run. She was in a castle full of knights, and there was no way out.

So, she turned back to face her father. Athanasia saw that his eyes had grown even duller just before he straightened, raising his hand. Without knowing what she was doing, still feeling that strange sense of invincibility, she did the same.

— Perish already! — the emperor shouted, just before a powerful surge of mana rushed toward her, blinding her. Athanasia did the only thing that came to mind, raising her hands in front of her.

A warm wave of magic enveloped her. And when she opened her eyes, she couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise: before her was the same clearing from her dream.

Chapter Text

The grass was an unusual color, faintly glowing. Towering cliffs loomed around, and above, a massive magical tree stretched its enormous branches. From them poured a bright light, illuminating the landscape. Its roots rose from the ground as though trembling in anticipation, and every branch seemed to shimmer with a flickering trace of magic.

The cries from the imperial audience hall now seemed a distant memory. Only the loud thudding of her heart in her throat remained. Athanasia chuckled softly—so this is what death looks like? If she had known, she might have jumped from the tallest tower long ago, sparing herself a life of wretched, forgotten existence.

And if she was dead, then… She glanced around, searching for a familiar figure, but her mother was nowhere to be seen. The wide clearing was empty, save for something lying in the grass that caught her eye.

Athanasia moved closer. A large fruit, resembling an apple, glowed with the same bluish light as the tree. When she picked it up, it shone with a gentle, soothing radiance.

After some hesitation, Athanasia carefully bit into it, chewing slowly. The taste was unlike anything she had ever known—sweet, fresh, and filled with a peculiar lightness that stirred something deep inside her. It felt as though something dormant within her was awakening. A strange confidence, like the one she had felt in that moment when her father had turned on her.

She took another bite, circling the tree to be sure there was nothing else here. The place resembled a cavern, with no visible exit. The walls reflected the tree's glow, making every corner of this magical space shimmer.

When she finished the fruit, Athanasia approached the colossal trunk. The magical tree looked just as it had in her dream, but now the sensation of boundless peace was real. Slowly, she extended her hand and touched the rough bark, closing her eyes.

The tree rustled its leaves. The sound merged into a strange melodic whisper that, inexplicably, Athanasia understood. The tree wanted to show her something.

When she opened her eyes, Athanasia was standing in the throne room. It was almost unrecognizable in the dim light. Her father sat on the throne, his cold blue eyes staring right through her.

“Damn it, not this,” the princess muttered under her breath.

She waited for him to speak or move, but her father sat motionless. His face was tired, his gaze hollow. He silently watched, as if awaiting the inevitable.

Athanasia wanted to run, but the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed behind her. Someone walked past her without sparing her a glance.

The man had golden hair and formal attire. Athanasia froze—he bore an uncanny resemblance to her father. The same piercing blue eyes, though now ablaze with fury.

As Athanasia struggled to understand who he could be, the man approached the throne. His blade glinted in the dim light, and before she could comprehend what was happening, it struck with a deafening crash.

The sword pierced through the throne’s backrest and drove straight through the emperor’s chest.

The emperor didn’t react at first, his eyes widening only as he took his final breath. His head slumped forward, allowing the crown to slide off. It fell to the floor with a resounding clang, echoing like a bell, before rolling across the hall.
Athanasia jolted awake, her scream still echoing in her ears. The man paid her no attention. With a sharp motion, he wrenched the sword free and shoved her father’s body aside, letting it slump off the dais. Then he turned toward Athanasia—but it wasn’t her he was interested in.

The princess tore her horrified gaze from her father’s lifeless form and looked at the crown that had come to rest by her feet. The man was walking toward her now. His face was clearer, and she could see how closely he resembled her father. The same features, the same hair, and the same expression of rage. The only difference was that the emperor had always looked more… tired.

Athanasia tried to step back but realized she couldn’t. Her body felt frozen, refusing to obey her. She was trapped, forced to watch as the stranger approached her, casually picked up the crown, dusted it off, and placed it on his head.

Then he turned and seated himself on the throne as though he hadn’t just murdered its rightful owner moments before.

The image burned in her mind: the moment the blade had taken her father’s life, the realization hitting her as the magical light returned.

She was back in the clearing, her hand still pressed against the trunk of the tree. Everything that had just happened seemed as if it had never been. Her breath came in heavy gasps as she raised trembling hands to her face, trying to steady herself.

“This will come to pass,” murmured the rustling leaves above her.

“I’ve gone mad,” Athanasia concluded. That explanation felt far easier to accept than whatever else was happening to her. But the scene lingered before her eyes—the sword cleaving through her father’s chest.

“Obelia is doomed, but you can change that.”

“Or maybe not,” she muttered bitterly.

It was Athanasia who was doomed, not the empire. Not long ago, she had been sentenced to execution, nearly burned alive after her trial—or maybe she had been. How was she supposed to know if she was even alive now? If anyone could change anything, it was Obelia itself. Not a single one of her so-called subjects had lifted a finger to defend their first princess.

Maybe she had lost her mind, but not so much as to trust suspicious magical trees.

“No, thank you,” she said curtly.

“You were born the heir to the crown.”

“I was born because some dancer decided to seduce the emperor. Nothing more.”

The leaves rustled in displeasure. Athanasia crossed her arms over her chest. Magical trees clearly weren’t very knowledgeable about how life actually worked.

“Long ago, a man who thought the same…” the tree continued in its strange, melodic voice. Athanasia clamped her hands over her ears, refusing to listen.

She didn’t care about the empire any more than the empire cared about her. What did “doomed” even mean? If it meant her father’s death, then so be it. Let Janet sit around figuring out how to prevent it. And if such a fate awaited them both, Athanasia could simply learn to dance so she’d be ready to perform at their funeral.

It felt as though the tree could hear her every thought. Its glow darkened, turning an almost eerie shade of blue. It was uncannily similar to how Athanasia’s own eyes darkened. An interesting detail, but not enough to hold her attention for long.

“You will return when you are wiser,” the tree whispered.

“If I live to see that moment. My chances aren’t exactly great,” she replied.

The blue whirlwind appeared again, as suddenly as before. Just as quickly, it was gone. Athanasia was about to continue her strange conversation when, instead of her equally strange interlocutor, she found herself facing an ordinary tree.

The magical glow had vanished. The ground beneath her feet felt solid once more. She was standing in an ordinary clearing, surrounded by an unfamiliar forest. There was no trace of what had just occurred.

“Well, thank you very much,” she muttered under her breath.

Unlike the magical tree, everything here seemed very real. The leaves overhead rustled with the wind rather than of their own accord, and they didn’t appear inclined to speak with her.

Not that Athanasia wasn’t grateful for her apparent rescue, but she had no idea what to do now. For the first time, she was outside the confining cage of the palace, standing in the vast, boundless world.

Judging by the position of the sun, it was only dawn, meaning a whole night had passed since her trial. The types of trees suggested she was far south of the capital. How far exactly, she couldn’t determine, but it seemed likely she wasn’t far from the border. For some reason, she dismissed the idea that she might already be outside the empire.

She decided to head in the direction where the forest seemed younger, hoping she could find her way out.

If the border was close, it would be a good opportunity to escape. Arlanta was a friendly kingdom and might hand her over as a fugitive, but that would only happen if anyone thought to look for her this far. From there, she could go anywhere.

Athanasia had no reason to stay in Obelia, as ridiculous as that seemed. The people she would miss could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and the only one worth risking everything for was Lillian, who she still needed to find.

It had been several years since Lady York had been exiled from the palace, and there had been no word from her since. Athanasia was certain her letters had been intercepted.

She pressed forward, clutching her hands tightly, trying to calm herself. Maybe, she thought, Lillian has already found a new family. Years had passed, and life carried on without pause. Lillian might have even started fresh, far from the palace’s intrigues and dangers.

But some part of her couldn’t let the thought go. She could help me figure out what to do next, Athanasia reasoned, feeling a growing resolve with every uncertain step through the forest.

The world around her was quiet, broken only by the occasional crackling of leaves in the light breeze. Her thoughts were interrupted when she spotted faint smoke in the distance. Her heart began to race again. It might be the campfire of a traveler.

If only a night had passed, and she was right in assuming she was far from the capital, then it should be safe to approach. If she were lucky enough to encounter merchants, she might even shorten her journey with their help—though she had nothing to offer in payment.

Athanasia walked for a long time, heading toward the smoke that rose in a faint column above the treetops. With every step, weariness weighed on her more heavily; the long night, filled with visions and fear, had drained her. But the thought that there might be people ahead who could help kept her moving.

When she finally came closer, she saw four travelers gathered around a small fire. A wagon covered with old fabrics stood nearby, and each of them had a weapon—one carried a knife, another a sword, and one man even had a short bow lying on the ground beside him.

They looked like hunters.

Athanasia stopped at a safe distance, hesitating about whether to approach. The fruit she had eaten earlier had been surprisingly filling, but she wouldn’t last long without proper food. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the trees and approached the travelers.

They noticed her immediately and exchanged brief glances, as if assessing how much of a threat she could possibly be.

“Hey, girl! Lost your way?” one of the men called out. He was tall and lean, with thick, unruly hair sticking out in all directions. His smile seemed friendly enough. The others turned to look at her as well, their expressions equally curious.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. “I got lost in the forest and I’m looking for the nearest village.”

The tall man nodded.

“Looks like you’re from some backwater, huh? Our little traveler from the countryside!” he remarked, laughing heartily as though he’d said something extremely clever. Athanasia assumed she must have looked strange indeed—her clothes were dusty, her hair disheveled, and she probably resembled a village girl far more than anyone from the aristocracy.

“Want some bread? Sit down, warm yourself,” offered another man, stocky and bearded, gesturing to a spot near the fire. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and moved closer, taking a seat where he indicated.

One of the travelers handed her a piece of bread, and she accepted it with a quiet thanks. The bread was stale, but after several days in the palace dungeon, it tasted almost luxurious. She ate a few bites and discreetly slipped the rest into her pocket.

“Where are you from?”

“Orrenda,” Athanasia replied. It was a large trade city with many people passing through. It wouldn’t seem strange if she claimed to have been traveling with merchants and wandered off.

“Re-eally?” a voice behind her drawled.

The moment Athanasia registered the odd tone, someone grabbed her arms sharply, wrenching them behind her back. The bread fell from her pocket to the ground as her heart began pounding wildly. She twisted to look and saw the cold expression of the man restraining her.

“Well now, girl,” he began, his tone mocking as he stared down at her. “We were just thinking that your eyes are a bit too… interesting for a simple village girl.”

“Imperial eyes,” another chimed in, grinning as if she were a prize to be claimed. “You don’t see many of those among common folk.”

Idiot, Athanasia cursed herself. She had spent her entire life in the palace, where her distinctive eyes had long gone unnoticed by those around her. It hadn’t even occurred to her how conspicuous they would make a lone, dirty girl outside the capital.

Athanasia felt a chill run down her spine. They had looked her over more closely, and now she realized that their friendliness had been nothing more than a cheap facade, one she should have seen through right away.
“Hunters? What hunters, Athanasia? They’re just common thugs!”

“You could sell such a pretty thing for a nice price, even without the right connections,” said a third traveler with a wicked grin. “Someone’s going to get lucky!”

They started discussing her as if she were already their property, and this only fueled her anger. Feeling the grip on her arms loosen ever so slightly, she gathered all her strength and yanked herself free. For a moment, their confusion gave her an opening. Athanasia awkwardly darted to the side, slipping out of their grasping hands.

The spot where their weapons had been lying was now empty.
“Bad. Very bad.”

Then one of the men managed to grab her by the hair and yank her back toward him. She lost her balance and fell, clawing at his hands in an attempt to break free, but she lacked the strength.

A brilliant blue light flared, its heat searing even Athanasia’s skin. The man screamed.

She didn’t know how she had done it, but there was no time to think. She scrambled to her feet and, without hesitation, bolted deeper into the forest.

Her breaths came fast and shallow as she stumbled forward, her legs barely managing to carry her through the thick undergrowth and tangled roots. She didn’t dare look back. Never before had she been so grateful for her impoverished life—at least she hadn’t been able to afford finely adorned shoes. Otherwise, she’d be running in uncomfortable heels now.

Athanasia had never run so fast in her life, weaving through the dense green thicket, where every bush seemed intent on snagging her clothes and slowing her down. Pausing for even a moment to decide where to go made her pursuers’ steps sound dangerously closer.
“Damn tree! Couldn’t it have sent me somewhere where people don’t want to kill me again?”

Without stopping, she tried to gather her hair out of her face to keep it from hindering her. She had no idea where she was going; she just knew stopping wasn’t an option. The forest looked identical in every direction. Going too far into it without knowing the way was risky, but Athanasia decided she was less afraid of bears than people. She darted toward a patch where the branches hung lower, hoping her short stature might give her an edge.

When the sound of rushing water reached her ears, she immediately headed toward it. If there was a shallow river, crossing it might help her escape. Her pursuers would have more clothes to weigh them down once soaked.

The voices behind her were terrifyingly close. Athanasia wanted to veer slightly to the side to hide behind a wide tree trunk, but she didn’t see the exposed roots sprawled across the ground. She realized she was falling only when it was too late to stop it.

“There she is!” someone shouted nearby.

Athanasia hissed quietly in pain, trying to get up, but her injured leg wouldn’t cooperate. She turned her head in horror to see four men with weapons slowly approaching her.

Not knowing what else to do, she raised her hand, hoping this time her magic would be more controlled. If not, it would be better to burn them all along with herself than to find out what they intended.

Blood trickled from her leg, mixing with the dirt so thoroughly she couldn’t tell how bad the wound was. Running was no longer an option.

One of the men pulled a rope from his belt, while another sneered cruelly.

“Where’d all that fight go, huh?”

“Tag’s over. Maybe you want to try another game?”

She wouldn’t waste her energy on empty threats.

The man with the rope made a few crude jokes as he moved closer. He probably thought she was frozen with fear because she hadn’t moved. He made a mistake—just as he came close enough, Athanasia unleashed her magic on him.

Blinding blue sparks erupted, burning his skin, and he screamed in agony.

“You bitch!”

Before Athanasia could recover from the bright flash, she saw another man raising his sword above her.

This was it.

Unable to run and too slow to cast another spell, she was doomed the moment the sword came down. But instead, the man was suddenly thrown sideways, slamming into a tree like a rag doll and sliding down to the ground. His sword landed in the bushes with a metallic clatter.

“What’s all the noise about?”

Athanasia turned. She hadn’t noticed when someone else had joined them. He hadn’t been with the group earlier.

The newcomer had red eyes that stared like those of a predator eyeing its prey. He clearly wasn’t their ally, but that didn’t mean he was a friend to Athanasia either.

The young man, who looked barely out of his teens, had long hair that nearly blended into his dark cloak. Such hairstyles were rare in Obelia. He didn’t resemble either a commoner or a noble.

He was a mage.

Apparently, the pursuers realized this faster than Athanasia did. Two of the men still on their feet charged at the mage, but they met the same fate as their comrade. With a simple wave of his hand, they were pinned to the ground at his feet, as if bound by invisible chains.

That left only Athanasia.

The mage addressed her:
“So, de Obelia?”

“Who are you?”

It wasn’t the most polite way to speak to her rescuer, but politeness was the last thing on her mind. She had narrowly escaped death moments ago and had no idea if she was about to face it again.

The mage didn’t answer her question, though he seemed amused by it.

“Interesting,” he drawled. “So shabby... You don’t look like a princess. A bastard child, perhaps?”

Athanasia felt her breath catch in outrage. She had heard similar remarks countless times in the palace, but from a weirdo in the middle of the forest? That was too much.

Still, such a story worked in her favor.

"Illegitimate," she nodded, confirming his incorrect assumption. "So what?"

The mage studied her intently once more. Truth be told, with her tangled hair and tattered dress, she did resemble a beggar—if not for the quality of her clothing.

"An interesting find."

"Not as interesting as everyone seems to think," she gestured toward the fallen men who had been her pursuers.

"One way or another, it seems you could use my help," the mage remarked.

"For starters, I’d like to be left alone for at least a day."

"To bleed out in the middle of the forest? Fine."
The mage shrugged nonchalantly.

His help would have been useful, considering she couldn’t walk, was lost in a foreign forest, and was branded a murderer in her homeland.

"And what would you want in return? Let me disappoint you upfront: I’m here because someone wanted me gone. My family doesn’t want their reputation tarnished, so you won’t get a single coin from them. As you can see, I don’t have any gold on me either."
She spread her arms, showing she had nothing but a torn dress.

"I don’t need money."

"Then what?"

"Hmm… You could amuse me," he said with a sly smile.

Athanasia could only guess what he meant, but she didn’t like any of the possibilities. Selling her body wasn’t an option, even if it meant saving her life.

"In that case, just grab that sword over there and finish me off," she replied coldly.

For a moment, the mage’s eyes widened. His surprise, however, quickly melted into another smirk.

"Then we have a deal."

The mage nodded with satisfaction and stepped over one of her unconscious attackers to approach her. She futilely tried to crawl away, only realizing too late that it wouldn’t help. When he bent over her, Athanasia tried to push him away, but he merely caught her hand mid-motion.

That was when everything around her grew blindingly bright, forcing her to shut her eyes again. The sensation was familiar—just like when the tree had transported her from the courtroom.

But it didn’t reassure her much. When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was a wall of dark stone.

She was still lying down, but now on a cold floor in the middle of a room she’d never seen before. The mage released her hand and stepped back.

"What’s the meaning of this?"

He looked at her as though she were the strange one.

"Promised help."

"Didn’t you hear what I just said?"

"I did," he nodded, amused. "That was entertaining enough for me."

Athanasia glanced around, searching for an exit. The room was spacious. One side was lined with shelves stacked high with books, reaching the vaulted ceiling. The other was filled with tables covered in strange instruments, glass jars containing liquids of various colors, and dried herbs hanging on the walls.

"What is this place?"

The mage picked up a jar filled with something suspiciously green.

"My laboratory."

First a prison cell, then the cursed tree, then mercenaries, and now a mad mage. Athanasia had a knack for attracting the most absurd problems, which only seemed to escalate.

"Send me back immediately!"

"But I promised to help."

The look on his face did not bode well. He turned back to her with the vile mixture in hand.

"You're lucky, by the way. I’ll be testing this for the first time."

"Don’t even think about it—"

"I just ran out of test rabbits."

Athanasia struggled in vain to get up. The mage’s smile was unnervingly sinister.

Chapter Text

Relying on her cane, Athanasia climbed the long spiral staircase leading to the upper floor of the mage’s tower, step by step. By the third day, it was noticeably easier than the previous two, so she had to admit the medicine was working.

Lucas—the name of the mage—was suspicious and extremely irritable. Despite being the one to drag Athanasia into his tower, he behaved as if she had begged to be there. With no desire to end up alone in the forest, Athanasia had no choice but to stay until she recovered enough to leave.

Three days ago, when she found herself in this old, eerie tower, her first instinct was to flee. Misjudging the capability of her injured leg, she had jumped through the nearest door, which led to the very staircase she was now ascending. Back then, she had tried to run down, tripped over her own leg, and reached the bottom far sooner than she had planned.

Lucas, pointing out his generosity, had given her a suspicious ointment that made her skin feel like it was on fire. Athanasia had tried her best to endure the pain without hissing, but eventually, Lucas declared he was tired of her antics and forced her to drink a potion that looked just as terrible as it tasted. She only regained consciousness the next day, feeling truly rested for the first time in her life.

For as long as she could remember, Athanasia had been a light sleeper. It was hardly surprising, given that her entire family had been plotting ways to send her to the gallows. She had grown so used to waking up in the middle of the night that now she was willing to drink any suspicious potion if it meant a good night's sleep.

“Why do mages love cursed towers so much?” she grumbled to herself, carefully shifting her injured leg as she climbed each step.

The upper floor of the tower was mostly occupied by a laboratory, half of which was lined with countless books that looked as though they had been written centuries ago. There were also shelves filled with ingredients for potions, which were brewed on a large table cluttered with glass containers.

As soon as she peeked into the laboratory, Lucas muttered without looking up from a glass bowl containing a red liquid that was boiling furiously:

“Grateful that you’re finding new ways to cripple yourself, giving me more reasons to test new ingredients, but don’t you think this is a bit much?”

“Stay downstairs all day? No thanks.”

She would have gladly gone outside, but all she knew was that they were in the middle of a forest. She needed a bit more time before considering an encounter with wild animals.

“Do whatever you want,” Lucas shrugged and poured a gray powder into the boiling liquid, turning it bright orange. “I just didn’t expect a side effect of my medicine to be the subject’s dimwittedness. Perhaps the root of ostromis was unnecessary.”

Athanasia grimaced but didn’t reply. Though Lucas showed no interest in learning about her past, she knew that she had to leave this tower before his potion experiments became any more dangerous.

She had dealt with court mages before, and they were peculiar too. However, compared to Lucas, those mages had been relatively predictable. Just as this thought crossed her mind, something on Lucas’ table began to sizzle, and a small cloud of colorful smoke rose into the air.

Lucas forbade her from touching almost everything, but Athanasia had no intention of disobeying. Instead, she approached a nearby shelf and began studying the spines of the books: “Early Studies on Amulets,” “The Effect of Lunar Phases on Aged Potions,” “101 Snake Venoms.” Her gaze lingered on the last title—it seemed like something she could use.

The mage’s hospitality was as questionable as the mage himself, so she intended to gather all the knowledge she could before leaving. Her magic wouldn’t let her rest. Until the encounter with the magical tree, she hadn’t even known she possessed such powers, and now she had no idea how to control them. In a world where danger lurked around every corner, magic could be her only advantage.

There were countless books in the tower, most of them seemingly related to magic. The question was, which one held the answers she desperately needed? She needed to learn the basics: starting a fire, gathering food, and something practical for earning a living…

A loud clatter behind her made Athanasia whirl around. On the table that had been empty moments ago, a plate and several packets of food now lay.

“Since you made it up here, I see no point in bringing food downstairs. You can eat here,” Lucas said, not looking up from his brewing.

His words sounded like a veiled warning: don’t touch the books. Athanasia mentally noted to try and grab at least one when he wasn’t around.

The food was the same as in previous days: some fruit, bread, cheese, and cured meat. She examined the apple carefully before biting off a small piece to make sure it was safe. It was hard to tell whether Lucas might have tried to poison her. He had said he wanted to observe the effects of his medicine, which was why he allowed her to stay. But what if she recovered before the experiments were over?

Athanasia continued eating, albeit with growing suspicion. Something about her life choices didn’t seem quite right.

“You mentioned there’s a village nearby. Are these apples from there?” She attempted to start a conversation, hoping to gather more information.

“Yeah, a gift from grateful villagers.”

“Grateful? What did you do for them?”

“Well, my experiments turned out brilliantly, and it felt wasteful to discard the leftover material, so I gave it to them,” Lucas replied with feigned indifference, though it was evident he took pride in his actions.

Beyond the capital, real medicine was a rarity, forcing people to rely on herbs and tinctures. If the mage truly exchanged his ointments for food, the villagers would indeed be immensely grateful. It seemed Lucas enjoyed being praised.

“So, is the village far from here?”

Lucas squinted. This time, he caught on to where the conversation was heading.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I rarely left home before.”

“Farther than you can manage with that cane.”

That wasn’t good. Even if she decided to flee the tower, reaching civilization would be difficult.

“Just thought there might be something interesting to see,” Athanasia said, trying to sound casual.

“Interesting?” Lucas raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you hoping to find there?”

Athanasia hesitated. She didn’t have a proper answer. All she wanted was to ensure she wasn’t trapped here and could leave if needed. Depending on a suspicious mage was far from her ideal situation, though she wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

“When I’m able to walk properly, I’ll need to go somewhere. I figured I could explore the area nearby.”

“Didn’t you say your guardians might be looking for you? Hiding in a nearby village seems like an odd strategy,” Lucas remarked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Athanasia clenched her jaw. Her fabricated story about running away wasn’t holding up well under his scrutiny.

“Well, I’ll need a place to stay until I can travel further.”

“And why would you want to stay here?”

“Um…” Athanasia felt cornered, the conversation starting to resemble an interrogation. “…To practice magic before I leave Obelia.”

Lucas gave her a look that could only be described as incredulous disbelief. It was the kind of expression someone wore when they had just heard the most ridiculous thing in their life.

“Practice magic before leaving Obelia?” he repeated slowly, as though tasting the absurdity of her words.

Athanasia nodded, suddenly unsure of her plan.

“Not the best idea.”

He didn’t elaborate, nor did he turn away. Feeling both foolish and curious, Athanasia couldn’t help but ask:

“Why not?”

Lucas, clearly having anticipated her question, explained with an air of smug superiority, as though he were granting her an invaluable lesson:

“Because beyond Obelia, your magic will weaken.”

That was news to her. Athanasia had been counting on her newfound powers to help her start a new life, but now she could only hope her limited skills would be enough. Meanwhile, Lucas continued:

“Not exactly beyond its geographical borders. Let’s say that the farther you are from your source of power, the weaker your magic will become.”

“So, this… ‘source of power,’ as you call it, is in the capital?”

The last thing Athanasia wanted was to stay anywhere near the palace. If surviving elsewhere meant relying solely on herself, it was a small price to pay for freedom.

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. Clearly, Athanasia didn’t understand anything. With a wave of his hand, a thick leather-bound book flew down from a high shelf toward her. Its cover bore the title “The History of Obelian Magic” inscribed in fine lines, along with a simple drawing of a tree above the lettering.

Athanasia caught the book mid-air and looked at Lucas, silently questioning his intent.

“This should keep you occupied, instead of snooping around my library,” he said before snapping his fingers. A familiar black cloak appeared on his shoulders, signaling that he was about to leave the tower. “Now, I’d recommend going back downstairs and not touching anything in the laboratory while I’m gone.”

With another snap of his fingers, Lucas vanished into a swirling vortex.

Just in case, Athanasia decided to heed his advice. She had already learned that half the objects in the tower were enchanted, and she wasn’t eager to test how safe those enchantments were. She grabbed the book, added a few apples and a loaf of bread on top of it so she wouldn’t have to return later when she got hungry, and headed downstairs.

Back in the room she had called her own for the past two days, Athanasia opened the book. She hadn’t been mistaken: the tree on the cover was clearly drawn with intention. The first chapter told the legend of the first emperor, who had died from a broken heart, and from his remains grew a crystal tree.

Athanasia had heard that childhood tale before, but it was hard to believe it could be linked to the very magical tree she had recently spoken to.

The rest of the book focused on the unique traits of the imperial family’s magic. Flipping through a few pages, she came across an illustration of eyes identical to her own. The artist had depicted several variations, with colors ranging from bright azure to dark blue, like the night sky. Someone had spent considerable time figuring out how changes in hue corresponded to a magician’s emotions.

Athanasia hadn’t paid enough attention to her reflection to notice her eye color changing. However, she vividly recalled how her father’s eyes darkened whenever he looked at her and lightened whenever he gazed at Janet.

Athanasia didn’t know when Lucas had returned the previous evening—she had fallen asleep with the book still in her hands. She found out the next morning, though, when the mage barged into her room without warning, waking her up roughly.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Athanasia grumbled. Though she had slept fully dressed, such behavior was still wildly inappropriate.

Lucas ignored her complaint, casting only a brief glance at the windowsill, where a small vial of ointment stood. His eyes narrowed.

“Did you know that if you leave ostromis-based potions in direct sunlight, they turn into poison?”

Athanasia blinked, frozen with the book she had been about to place on the bedside table. It was the same ointment she had been using, which had sat there since her first day. Carefully, she asked:

“And how long does it take for that transformation to happen?”

“About two hours,” he replied nonchalantly. Then, turning to face a now-pale Athanasia, he added, “Good thing I used a light-blocking vial, or you’d be dead by now.”

Athanasia blinked again, struggling to process how she had nearly died in such a ridiculous way. Meanwhile, Lucas seemed thoroughly pleased with himself once more.

“If you want, you can come with me today,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

“Come where?”

“You wanted to see the village, didn’t you? I have a few errands there, and I’m allowing you to tag along,” he explained, smiling as if he were doing her a great favor.

“Uh… thanks for the invitation?” she replied hesitantly. Leaving the tower seemed like a great idea, though Athanasia couldn’t quite understand why Lucas was suddenly being so accommodating.

Predicting Lucas’s mood was proving to be a difficult task. Athanasia suspected that years spent alone in a tower, surrounded only by potions, hadn’t done much to improve his social skills—even by the standards of a princess who had spent half her life in an empty palace.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs,” Lucas said, snapping his fingers and disappearing through the door.

For a moment, Athanasia stood there, trying to understand what had changed. Something about the situation felt… off, as if she were inhabiting a body that wasn’t her own.

She walked to the wardrobe to choose different clothes, but her gaze caught on a small mirror. Athanasia froze, her mouth slightly open. A stranger’s reflection stared back at her: a girl with straight black hair and red eyes identical to Lucas’s. Without a doubt, this was his doing.

He had changed her appearance with a mere snap of his fingers. Athanasia knew she had to ask him how he had done it. She had only ever heard of something like this once before—when Janet had been declared a princess. Back then, a rumor had spread that her sister had worn a magical ring during her childhood to hide her true identity.

Quickly throwing on a cloak from the wardrobe—one Lucas had conjured earlier—she grabbed her cane in case her leg started hurting after a long walk and headed downstairs. Lucas was already waiting by the entrance, his appearance another surprise.

Though he still looked like himself, he appeared noticeably younger. His hair was shorter, barely covering his ears, and his outfit was simpler—a plain brown cloak, similar to Athanasia’s, replacing his usual black one with a red lining.

“We look like twins,” Athanasia thought, surprised. Now they appeared to be the same age, with similar facial features. The new disguise also made her look a bit healthier, as if she had gained some weight.

Lucas extended a hand toward her. Tilting her head in confusion, Athanasia tried to figure out what he wanted.

“Do you really want to walk all the way there?” he asked impatiently.

The village wasn’t supposed to be far, but she didn’t feel like walking the whole way. Reluctantly, Athanasia placed her hand in his, allowing him to teleport them to the edge of the forest. From the sound alone, it wasn’t hard to figure out where the village was located.

Following Lucas closely, Athanasia attempted to ask about his business in the village. That was how she learned that the mage didn’t merely give away excess medicine but also prepared special orders if there were sick people in need.

A few minutes later, Athanasia saw ordinary life outside the capital for the first time. Small wooden houses with straw roofs crowded together along the main street. Beyond them stretched fields planted with crops.

The air smelled faintly of smoke and freshly baked bread. As they passed a group of women washing clothes in large wooden tubs, Athanasia asked Lucas:

“Do all villages look like this?”

Lucas didn’t immediately understand her question. He glanced at the weathered buildings and shook his head.

“Each one is different. People survive by relying on their harvests or whatever they can produce. So, the appearance of a settlement usually depends on what can be grown or made in the region. Where there’s more variety, you’ll find inns and places for entertainment. Here, in the middle of nowhere, it’s all very simple.”

They approached a house that stood out from the others due to its size and the neat, tidy yard. Almost immediately, a bustling man appeared on the doorstep, practically glowing with happiness.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon! Is the ointment ready already?”

Lucas handed the man several vials. He accepted them as though they were treasures, profusely expressing his gratitude.

“I have no idea what we would’ve done without you. You always save us!”

The man clearly knew how to speak to people. He continued praising Lucas as he pulled out a few coins to give him. Without counting them, Lucas passed the coins to Athanasia. Only then did the man seem to notice her.

“And today you’re in the company of such a lovely young lady?”

“Sister,” Lucas cut in curtly. Now Athanasia understood why he had chosen that particular disguise for her. “She’s often sick, so she rarely leaves the house.”

“Yes, yes, you do look alike,” the man agreed, nodding. “Perhaps just as talented an herbalist as her brother?”

Athanasia remained silent, unsure how to respond. Lucas hadn’t briefed her on what story they were supposed to tell if people started asking questions, so she decided it was best to keep quiet. Apparently, that was the right choice because Lucas soon tried to dismiss her:

“While we’re talking, why don’t you go buy some food?”

That was exactly the excuse she had been waiting for. Athanasia quickly nodded and made her way toward the center of the village. As Lucas had said, everything here was simple. The village square was marked by a well and the only non-residential building she could see. Judging by its appearance, it was hard to tell what its purpose was.

Small stalls selling vegetables, fruits, and bread lined the road. She bought a few apples, a piece of cheese, and a loaf of bread that smelled wonderfully fresh. The woman who sold her the food eyed Athanasia carefully before giving her the change.

Sitting on a low bench near the well, Athanasia bit into the bread. Its taste surprised her—it was far better than anything she had eaten at palace banquets. The crust was pleasantly crunchy, while the inside was soft and fragrant.

“Hunger makes you appreciate anything.”

Overall, the village didn’t seem terrible. Though much poorer than the capital, it seemed like a place where one could survive. Athanasia was beginning to wonder if it might be worth settling here.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of horses neighing. Turning her head, she saw two riders in old but recognizable armor. They were guards, though the villagers’ wary glances made it clear they weren’t locals. The guards stopped by the notice board, pulled out a large sheet of paper, nails, and a hammer.

A sense of dread tightened in her throat, as if she already knew something bad was about to happen.

“Don’t tell me they want more tribute after last month’s collection,” a man drawing water nearby muttered. But his guess was wrong.

Athanasia craned her neck, trying to get a better look. As soon as the guards nailed the notice and stepped back, she saw her own portrait.

“WANTED: 100,000 gold coins for the capture of the one who attempted to poison Princess Janet,” read the large print beneath the image. Below that, smaller text described her appearance and the story of a vile betrayal and attempted murder of the beloved princess.

Even though no one could recognize her in her current disguise, Athanasia felt as if all eyes were on her. Villagers began whispering among themselves and gathering around the notice to read it more closely.

The reward for her capture was shockingly high. Athanasia had known they would search for her, but she hadn’t expected things to escalate this far. Essentially, Janet had gained everything she could have wished for—now she was the sole heir to the throne, regardless of whether Athanasia lived or not.

“Well, they’ve set quite a price on your head,” said a familiar voice right by her ear.

Startled, Athanasia nearly jumped. Lucas was standing beside her, studying the poster with an enigmatic smile. There was no point in trying to convince him that the portrait wasn’t of her.

“Looks like that little story of yours about running away doesn’t quite hold up, does it?” he remarked.

Athanasia struggled to remain calm, though she was trembling inside. She didn’t know how to respond.

“Attempting to kill your own sister. I never would’ve thought you capable of such a thing, Princess.”

His words could easily have been overheard by any of the villagers still gathered in the square, but Lucas didn’t seem to care.

The guards likely hadn’t ridden far yet. Athanasia still hadn’t learned how to teleport or defend herself. All Lucas had to do was snap his fingers, and chaos would erupt, dragging her back to the executioner’s block.

“Well,” Athanasia whispered, clenching her fists, “congratulations. Looks like you’ve just earned a hundred thousand gold coins.”

She raised a defiant glare at him, only to see that this strange mage was still smiling. He stepped closer and reached out to touch her cheek.

Before Athanasia could comprehend how her entire face had turned red, a bright light forced her to squint. She barely managed to stay on her feet after the unexpected teleportation.

They were back at the tower.

“Well,” Lucas said when the light faded. His hand no longer touched her, though he was still standing too close for comfort. “Too bad I don’t need the money.”

Chapter Text

The riverbank was almost entirely overgrown with reeds. It was difficult to move through the marshy ground without slipping, let alone search for the barely visible sprouts hidden in the thicket. If Lucas hadn’t covered their clothes with protective enchantments, it would have been even harder to find them beneath all the mud.

"Why can’t you just get all these roots with magic?" Athanasia asked.

"I can." Lucas straightened up and lifted his head proudly, only to frown in irritation a moment later. "But the marsh kilivec is an extremely troublesome plant to harvest. The young shoots are tiny, and it takes a great deal of concentration to extract the root without damaging it or pulling up several other plants along with it. Besides, it grows sparsely, meaning I’d have to put in several times more effort. I could do it with ease, of course, but it’s a waste of time."

Athanasia held back a sigh. They had spent hours in the swamp, and during that time, they had nearly filled the jar they had brought with them. The work was incredibly dull, but Lucas had explained that if his experiment was successful, it would yield an excellent pain-relieving potion.

The mage hadn’t asked for her help—Athanasia had volunteered. Ever since her leg had fully healed, it had been hard to justify continuing to live in the tower, essentially at Lucas’s expense. He himself never hinted that it was time for her to leave.

With wanted posters of the missing princess plastered all over the empire, she couldn’t risk leaving until she was able to hide her face. Lucas seemed to understand that. He had allowed her to borrow a book on transformation magic and occasionally offered advice while she practiced in a secluded corner of the laboratory.

Helping with herb gathering was her way of repaying him. Besides, Lucas had to teach her about the properties of various plants, so it was a useful lesson as well.

Athanasia brushed the dirt off the last root and dropped it into the now-full jar.

"Good work," Lucas praised.

They removed their gloves, and Athanasia inspected her hands, which were perfectly clean. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to wash them—just in case. As she rinsed her palms in the river, Lucas watched her with an amused smile. To break the awkward silence, Athanasia changed the subject:

"Why do you need so much medicine?"

The mage tilted his head in surprise. It was a fair question—after all, medicine was a highly sought-after commodity, and high-quality potions could cost a fortune. But Lucas gave them away to peasants, receiving only a few coins and their gratitude in return. And he didn’t seem like a philanthropist.

"Medicine is almost the same as poison. I just find it interesting to study."

That answer didn’t satisfy Athanasia. In the palace, any skill could be turned into an advantage—from embroidery to flattery. She found it hard to believe that someone would conduct research purely for amusement.

"Your potions are better than the ones produced in the Imperial Palace, and you’re saying you make them just for fun?"

"Not for fun. I sell them."

Athanasia shook her head.

"They’re worth much more."

"They’re enough to keep me fed," Lucas replied with a nonchalant shrug. Then he added, "And if I ever need more money, I can always conjure some."

"If he doesn’t even need money, why doesn’t he just give the medicine away for free?" she thought. But something else bothered her more.

"What do you mean ‘conjure money’?"

Instead of answering, Lucas snapped his fingers, and a few gold and silver coins fell into his palm. Athanasia stared at him, wide-eyed.

"You don’t do that often, do you?"

"I don’t know. I don’t think about it much when I use magic. You wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between these and real ones." He flipped his palm, and the coins vanished before they could hit the ground.

Horrified, Athanasia remarked, "If you made thousands of those, inflation could ruin Obelia’s entire economy."

Lucas seemed unimpressed by this revelation. He explained, "After a few hours, they disappear unless I continuously supply them with magic, just like any other magically created object."

That was somewhat reassuring.

"So it’s just simple fraud."

"Between the two of us, you’re the one officially declared a criminal, Princess."

Lucas smirked before heading into the forest. Athanasia shook the water off her hands and hurried after him.

"I already told you, I didn’t poison anyone!"

"You were falsely accused, and I was never caught—life isn’t fair, Princess."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why? You are a princess."

"All that title has given me is my eye color and a death sentence," Athanasia replied grimly. Lucas found her frustration amusing.

They retraced their steps along the same path they had taken earlier. Out of habit, Athanasia scanned the underbrush for ostromis. Some time passed before she remembered something else that had been troubling her.

"Do you know if a mage’s natural mana reserve can change?"

Lucas pondered for a moment before answering:

"It can be increased slightly with amulets. But you don’t need that, do you?"

"No," she confirmed. "But I was reading about magical beasts, and something struck me as odd."

"What was it?"

They veered off the path and had to make their way through thick foliage. Athanasia ducked under the branch of a thorny bush, which Lucas held aside for her.

"According to the descriptions, a magical beast looks a lot like something I saw in my childhood. It resembled a dog, but not quite. And it seemed to be following me—it never approached anyone else. Most often, I saw it in places where I was alone."

"Magical beasts mirror their master’s behavior," Lucas confirmed.

"Except it disappeared."

At that moment, Athanasia thought she spotted the sharp leaves of an ostromis plant near the ground and moved toward it.

"What do you mean ‘disappeared’?" Lucas asked behind her.

"It just vanished. I don’t know what happened to it, but I didn’t gain any magical power until I stood before the tree. I wondered if it disappeared because my mana had weakened. Look, this is ostromis, right?"

"Yes, it is… but magical beasts don’t just disappear!"

Using magic, Lucas carefully extracted the plant with its root and placed it in a separate pouch. Despite the fact that they had been searching for it for days, he seemed more interested in the topic of the beast.

"Then there’s only one explanation: my father must have absorbed my beast." Seeing Lucas frown suspiciously, she clarified, "I read about it. Someone else can absorb a beast and restore their magic. And my father is the only one who could have done it."

"It wouldn’t have to be a relative. Another mage could have absorbed it if they could handle all your mana…" He abruptly fell silent, as if surprised by his own realization. "Wait, when did your magical beast disappear?"

They had just stepped into the clearing around the tower. Athanasia tried to remember—she had been very young when Lillian first started complaining about things going missing. At that time, they had three maids. She had just learned to read.

"I think more than fifteen years ago. It’s hard to say exactly."

"Did your sister have a magical beast?"

"Janet? She didn’t live in the palace back then, and I don’t think she has magic."

"And no other children in the palace had magical abilities?"

"Not that I know of. All the staff, including mages, are hired as adults."

"Damn."

Lucas suddenly stopped walking. Athanasia turned to him, surprised to see his eyes darting back and forth as if he were calculating something.

"You thought another beast might have attacked mine?"

"What? No…"

"Then what is it?"

"Who knows? Maybe your father really did consume it. Anything’s possible."

A rare silence settled between them as they returned to the tower, neither in a hurry to break it. Even when they arrived, they remained occupied with their own tasks—Athanasia continued reading her book while Lucas brewed yet another potion, this one meant to cure colds.

Through the tall open window, a light summer breeze burst into the laboratory, causing the thin ribbon of steam rising from the potion to waver. Athanasia stepped up to the window to close it, pausing for a moment to gaze at the forest.

The tower was high enough that from the upper floor, where the laboratory was located, one could look down on the treetops below. If one listened closely, amid the birdsong, the distant murmur of the river could be heard. Athanasia was used to silence, but peace was something new to her—something she had never learned to take for granted.

Lucas clicked his tongue in displeasure.

“What happened?” Athanasia asked.

Thick green foam was rapidly expanding and was about to spill over the container when the mage tossed in a pinch of black powder. The green mixture lost its vibrant color, leaving a residue at the bottom.

“We're missing setraria,” he explained irritably. “The ingredients were wasted for nothing.”

Athanasia stepped closer, carefully peeking over his arms. It was a large batch of potion, one they had spent half a day collecting roots in the swamp for.

“Setraria—that’s the green moss we gathered from the rocks two days ago?”

“Yeah.”

The mage nodded, still focused on his concoction. He didn’t seem to be paying Athanasia much attention, but the moment she threw on her cloak, he turned sharply, fixing her with a frown.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To gather more moss. How much do you need?”

“Forget it.” He waved his hand dismissively.

She silently checked the contents of her woven bag, making sure she had everything needed for gathering.

“I said, forget it.”

“You’ll have to start from scratch otherwise. The ingredients we spent the whole morning wading through reeds to get will go to waste. I can handle finding the moss, don’t worry.”

Before he could argue further, Athanasia had already closed the door behind her. He would have protested, no doubt, if she had given him the chance. Lucas had a habit of engaging in pointless arguments and insisting on doing even the smallest tasks himself. But she knew he wouldn’t stay annoyed for long once she returned with a full bag of setraria.

The path was neither far nor unfamiliar. The weather was beautiful, and the air was filled with the scent of greenery. Athanasia enjoyed walking through the parts of the forest where paths had been laid out—it meant she was less likely to walk into spiderwebs or step on anthills.

The place where they had gathered moss last time was along the beaten path, but they had already picked it clean. So, Athanasia decided to go further upstream, where the trees grew denser, casting cool shade—the perfect conditions for moss to thrive.

The sound of water grew closer. Athanasia had to squint against the bright reflections of sunlight on the river’s surface as she emerged onto the bank.

She had been right. Soon enough, she found a rocky shore covered in a living green carpet.

Being constantly around the mage made Athanasia uneasy—she was used to solitude. So she was glad for any task that allowed her to wander alone among the trees. Lucas no longer scared her as he once had. His medicine had helped her recover, and if he had intended to turn her in, he would have done so already. Strangely enough, something between them had formed—something Athanasia might even call trust.

She suspected they were alike in some ways. Lucas didn’t talk much about himself, but he had once mentioned spending ten years alone in that tower before growing bored enough to study medicine. He wasn’t in a hurry to make friends, but he had let Athanasia stay and had started teaching her.

Bringing back a full bag of setraria was the least she could do.

On her way back, Athanasia decided to take a different route, just in case she might find a few sprigs of ostromis, a plant that grew in the most unexpected places.

The book she had taken—because Lucas had been reading it—had taught her a lot about the properties of common plants. As she pushed through the underbrush, she examined every leaf, wondering whether it was poisonous or medicinal.

It was then that something yanked at her ankle and pulled her upward.

The next moment, she was hanging upside down over the path, and a bell rang overhead. Her bag, with all her belongings, fell to the ground.

It was a simple snare, the kind used to catch wild animals. Likely large animals, given that the rope could hold a person’s weight. The fabric of her dress and cloak made it difficult to properly inspect the trap, let alone free herself from it.

Athanasia tried to summon the knife from her bag with magic. It wasn’t going well—focusing was hard. Eventually, she managed to pull the bag’s strap toward her and catch it with her fingertips.

As she rummaged for the knife, scattering the moss she had gathered, a noise sounded nearby. Likely hunters, waiting for their prey. Athanasia moved faster. When the knife was finally in her grasp, she only needed to reach her leg, which was beginning to ache, and cut the rope.

“Looks like we won’t need dinner tonight. Would you look at this?” a voice said, making Athanasia crane her neck to see who had spoken.

There were three men, all armed. Two of them wore the uniform of imperial guards. Beside them, two hunting dogs waited obediently for orders.

A bad feeling made her heartbeat quicken. She should have asked Lucas to disguise her appearance.

“Is it her?” the man on the left asked. The one in the middle nodded.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Your Highness! Forgive us for not treating you with the proper respect last time. We didn’t know your pretty little head was worth so much.”

He grinned, and the expression on his face reminded her exactly where she had seen him before. He was one of the men who had attacked her when the tree had transported her to the forest.

She had only a knife, and no way to use it effectively. Even so, Athanasia gripped the handle tightly, ready to do something—anything—the moment they got close enough.

“You stupid bitch, that won’t help you.”

Obviously.

Just as obvious as the fact that Athanasia had no intention of relying solely on a blade.

She knew she was bad at hiding her emotions—her eyes must have shown anger, not fear. Perhaps the men were too distracted by the ridiculousness of her situation to notice.

That was why they failed to react in time when she struck with magic. It was a wild, uncontrolled attack, like lightning, blazing toward them in a blinding arc.

Her next strike was aimed upward. It missed the rope. But it hit the branch she was hanging from.

With a crack, the branch snapped and crashed down, nearly crushing her. She scrambled out of the snare, slicing through the rope.

“Don’t let that bitch escape again!”

The dogs lunged at her, and she bolted.

Athanasia quickly decided to run away from the river. She didn’t know if there was a shallow part where she could cross and throw the dogs off her scent.

But she had a bigger problem—the dogs were much faster than their masters. No matter how many spells she threw at them, the animals dodged with ease.

She realized she had no choice. She would have to stop, let them get closer, and then strike accurately. Otherwise, she was just wasting her strength.

Somewhere behind her, one of the three idiots finally remembered he had a weapon.

Athanasia heard the sharp whistle of an arrow a moment before the dogs yelped. The next thing she felt was fire searing through her shoulder.

In the end, Lucas relented, waving his hand to make the remnants of the potion disappear from the table. Today was a terrible day to focus on anything—he couldn't get his morning conversation with the princess out of his head.

At first, he thought the tree was merely toying with fate when it cast the girl into this particular forest. But it seemed it had truly been protecting her. Better than he could have imagined.

"You owe her. Now you must protect her," it seemed to say.

Lucas never expected he would one day be so desperate to recall the moment he woke from his century-long slumber. Over the years, he had drained all his mana just to stay alive, and when he finally awakened, he was completely powerless. The imperial palace was nearby, and the moment he crossed its boundary, the necessary beast practically threw itself into his hands.

"How was I supposed to know it was her beast? It wasn’t labeled!" Lucas fumed.

Normally, nothing terrible happened if a magical beast was absorbed by someone other than its master. The energy could always be replenished by other means, and no one would have suspected that the emperor’s child wouldn’t have that option.

From the start, the whole story had seemed too suspicious to be a coincidence: a girl of imperial blood appearing so close to his tower, only for it to later turn out she was the exiled daughter of the emperor himself—the same girl to whom the tree had willingly given its fruit.

And now, Lucas had gathered enough pieces of the puzzle to say for certain—this was no coincidence. That massive magical plant had been pursuing its own interests all along.

One would think that realization should have lifted a burden from his shoulders. The princess would never find out what had happened to her beast all those years ago, which meant she wouldn’t demand anything from him. He could simply throw her out and be done with it. There would be no consequences for him.

And yet, Lucas couldn’t shake the feeling that there would be consequences. As if the sullen, inquisitive girl who constantly tried to snatch forbidden books from his shelves simply had to remain close by.

Someone had crossed the protective barrier around the tower. Knowing that only Athanasia could do so, Lucas pushed his thoughts aside. More importantly, she had just spent an unreasonable amount of time gathering ordinary moss. He really needed to teach the princess teleportation spells.

He decided not to ask her about the beast anymore. There was no need—sooner or later, she would confirm his suspicions, and he had no interest in making her any more wary of him than she already was.

Lucas approached the window. On the wide clearing below, her black cloak made her easy to spot.

The princess stood rigid, staring into the forest as if waiting for something. If one looked closely, they would notice the hem of her cloak was torn. Her right hand was outstretched, ready to cast magic, while her left remained motionless, pressed against her torso. A large dark stain marred the fabric at that spot.

Lucas teleported without thinking. The moment Athanasia heard the sound behind her, she spun around sharply. Relief flickered across her face.

"It’s you," she exhaled, barely above a whisper.

Lucas felt no relief of his own. He hadn’t been mistaken—the stain on her cloak was blood. The sleeve of her dress underneath was completely soaked in crimson. Any wild beast could have inflicted such a wound, and judging by her tattered clothing, that was exactly what had happened.

"What happened?"

"I need to leave. Now." That was all she said.

It was her most infuriating habit: never answering simple questions. Instead, she placed the mage directly in front of the consequences of a decision she had already made. Just like a ruler does with their subjects.

Athanasia tried to move her arm and winced in pain. She started to say something about medicine, but Lucas had already grabbed her uninjured hand and teleported them to his laboratory.

He conjured a chair, forced her to sit, and pulled off her cloak. The blood was fresh, but the fabric had already stuck to her skin, making it difficult to see the wound clearly.

"Is it deep?" Lucas asked while searching for something that would heal it quickly.

"Not really. The arrow only grazed me."

"An arrow."

The vial of salve in his hands cracked slightly, a thin fracture appearing on the glass.

"What bloody arrow?"

Gritting her teeth, Athanasia used her good hand to cut away her sleeve, exposing the wound. She hadn't lied—it was shallow, and for that, she was incredibly lucky. The best medicine in this lab would heal it in a few days.

"Remember those wretches who chased me the day we met? They’re back. Not alone. That’s why I’m telling you—I need to leave as soon as possible."

"You’re not going anywhere in this condition."

Lucas recalled how he had teleported her to his tower that day. He had made a mistake then—he should have finished off those pathetic creatures.

"Are you even listening? The royal guard is with them. They came for me, and they won’t leave until they’ve searched the entire forest!" Athanasia was at her limit. It was unclear whether she was about to cry or do something reckless again.

The salve’s scent was pungent, its sting unbearable. No matter how many experiments Lucas had conducted, he had never managed to get rid of either. But it was the most effective medicine he had.

"They won’t find you here. Now hold still while I clean the wound."

Persuasion didn’t work. Athanasia kept strategizing her escape, even as he applied the burning ointment. She merely flinched and continued hissing through her teeth:

"…They already saw you. It’ll be impossible for them not to find this one tower in the middle of the forest. But if you can teleport me somewhere and make it seem like I was never here…"

"How many of them?"

"You can’t!" She protested immediately. "There are too many. And they’re armed. I’m sure they brought mages. I was lucky to only run into a few, but—"

"Princess. I asked how many."

She met his gaze with stubborn defiance, her magical eyes gleaming. He had expected nothing less, though he had hoped for at least some sense of self-preservation.

It would be difficult to say out loud, but he couldn't imagine her actually leaving. Not now, when she had become his first—and, as Lucas believed, his last—student. Not when he realized he owed her a certain debt.

Athanasia’s arm was already bandaged when Lucas forced her to sit still to treat a scratch on her face.

"We’re wasting time," she whispered, their faces inches apart.

She wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent but didn’t pull away as he gently spread the cool salve across her forehead. He avoided her gaze, which, up close, was even more persuasive.

"Hopefully, they’ll gather in one place, so I won’t have to hunt them down."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Lucas had already stepped back. Now that he was certain she would be fine, there was one last matter he needed to settle.

"Under no circumstances are you to leave the tower until I return," he ordered and vanished.

He reappeared just outside the tower’s perimeter, immediately hearing voices calling out search results and the excited barking of hounds. The dogs whimpered, unable to understand why the scent they had followed suddenly led to nothing. They would never realize the princess was hidden behind layers of barriers that no outsider could penetrate.

"Lucky me. I won’t have to look for you."

Rage simmered inside him, and for once, he saw no reason to contain it. Long ago, Lucas had borrowed a great deal of power from her. Now, he had the chance to return it—unleashing it all upon Athanasia’s enemies.

— Over there, look!

— That’s him! He took the princess last time!

— Seize him!

Several armored men emerged from the dense undergrowth, swords at the ready. Ahead of them, snarling dogs lunged forward, their handlers exchanging quick signals to surround the mage.

With a mere flick of his hand, Lucas sent the dogs flying backward. His next motion yanked the attackers toward him, their balance lost as they were slammed onto the damp grass.

He stepped closer to the nearest man, forcing him to lift his head while the rest remained paralyzed, unable to move.

— So, you came for the princess?

— Who the hell are you? — the man spat.

He got no answer. In Lucas’s eyes, he no longer needed one.

Chapter Text

Checking their gathered belongings for the third time, they paced the laboratory in circles. The sun was only just rising outside, and all Athanasia wanted—her shoulder still tightly bandaged—was a few more hours of sleep. However, the task ahead of them was far more important.

"I'm still not sure this plan will work."

"We don't have a better one," Lucas shrugged indifferently, handing her a lock of her own hair that they had cut in advance and tied with a ribbon.

"It's just… they're not stupid enough to fall for such a cheap trick."

"They fear you enough to plaster your portraits all over the empire. That’s enough to distract them."

"Fear" was a strong word. Her family simply hated Athanasia. But if their hatred was strong enough to make them drop everything and hunt her down on the other side of the map, then it was something she could use.

When Lucas returned the night before, he hadn’t a single scratch on him. He assured her that the group searching for the princess would not be returning. Athanasia didn’t want to think about the methods he had used to silence them permanently. He had said the official story would be an attack by wild beasts.

Wild beasts that somehow slaughtered two dozen heavily armed men. There was still a chance that if those men didn’t return, others would be sent in their place. And that would continue until, one day, the entire army came marching into this forest. Even Lucas admitted that they wouldn’t stand a chance against that force.

So now they had a dubious plan, one that involved traveling thousands of miles and risking capture. They had spent the night poring over an old map, placing stones on key locations to plan their jumps.

And even though Athanasia was now certain that everything could go horribly wrong, it was too late to turn back. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her face and left the tower with Lucas.

They needed to teleport out of the forest. The mage had explained that barriers around the tower restricted Athanasia’s magic, preventing her from using its full potential—something necessary for a long-range teleportation.

"Why do we need to hold hands?" she asked as they stopped a step apart.

"The more contact, the easier it is to control the transfer. That way, you don’t even have to worry about things like your clothes, for example."

"And what are the odds I could accidentally lose my cloak if it’s not fastened properly?"

"Just don’t lose the bag—unless you want us to cut your hair again."

His advice only made Athanasia more nervous. They had practiced teleportation before, but this was the first time she had to transport both of them—and over such a long distance. They had deliberately broken the journey into smaller jumps to conserve mana, taking turns. Though, her jumps were shorter than Lucas’s.

"It’s time to go."

Athanasia awkwardly squeezed his hands, just hard enough for the muscles in her wounded shoulder to ache, and mentally repeated all the instructions. Focus on the direction and distance. It should have been easier for her—her magic was tied to Obelia itself, and in some way, that should help.

She closed her eyes and cast the spell. The sensation of being pulled into the void was far more unsettling when she was the one casting the spell instead of Lucas. The moment she felt solid ground beneath her feet again, she let out a shuddering breath.

There were far fewer trees here. They had landed in an open field, with the wild plains stretching out in every direction.

"Not bad," Lucas praised her—by his standards, at least.

"Did I do it?"

It was hard to believe. She had just managed to teleport on her own.

"A little farther than necessary, I think, but the direction was right. Next time, try focusing on the exact place you want to land."

Before Athanasia could ask any more questions, the void swallowed them again. They repeated this process several times. Within an hour, she had seen more of the world than in her entire life—towns and villages, lakes, fields, and forests flashed past them. Lucas handled the last teleportation, as they needed to appear in the city unnoticed.

They arrived at a major crossroads between Obelia’s capital and Arlanta. It was clear, even at a glance, that business here was thriving. The city was a bustling hub where wealthy foreigners stopped, ensuring a flourishing trade.

The buildings were large and elegant, the streets were clean. The architecture was reminiscent of the capital. It wasn’t hard to find the main square, as all roads seemed to lead there. The plaza was surrounded by shops, their storefronts nestled into the lower floors of townhouses.

To her surprise, they were far from the only ones keeping their faces hidden. Many people wore hoods, obscuring their features. Athanasia assumed they were foreigners, as their appearances often differed from the locals.

There were plenty of inns to stay in for the night. Athanasia and Lucas chose the most expensive-looking one.

"Take this with you," Lucas handed her a thin, dry twig as she hesitated. "Keep it in your hand at all times. If something goes wrong, snap it."

"It doesn’t look very threatening."

"Not until I’m standing next to you."

She nodded and stepped out of the alley where they had been hiding.

The inn had a terrace wrapped around its front. As the small, hooded figure approached the entrance, a few patrons who had been chatting loudly gave her a scrutinizing look. Holding their gazes for a few moments, Athanasia then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The interior was spacious, filled with tables occupied by guests. Most of them looked like merchants, conversing in the language of Arlanta, too engrossed in their discussions to pay her any mind.

At the back of the room sat the innkeeper, busy behind a counter, an abacus in his hands and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. A staircase behind him led upstairs.

"Excuse me, sir," Athanasia said.

The man froze for a brief moment, staring at his abacus as if seeing it for the first time. Irritated at the interruption, he barked, "What do you want?"

"Has Viscount Krelet left you a letter?"

"Maybe he has. Depends on who’s asking."

There was no letter. It was unlikely that the viscount had any actual business in this random place on the exact day Athanasia arrived to set him up. The innkeeper, however, clearly knew how to pry information from his guests.

A perfect target for her little performance—one she had to pull off convincingly. Her fingers tightened around the twig Lucas had given her.

"For the rightful heir," she murmured, quiet but firm, ensuring no one else could hear, and intentionally lowered her head.

The man's eyes flickered toward her, but all he could see was the tip of her nose peeking from beneath the hood and a golden lock of hair that had "accidentally" slipped out. That was enough to capture his full attention.

"No such message was left," he finally said.

Athanasia pulled a beautifully sealed envelope from her bag and placed it on the counter.

"Perhaps we missed each other on the road," she said with feigned disappointment. "Pass this on to him when he arrives. In the meantime, I’d like a room."

A heavy pouch landed on the counter with a clink. The innkeeper pulled it closer and opened it to check its contents—more than enough money.

The only thing that should have raised suspicion was that it contained both gold and silver coins, as if the guest was not drenched in wealth but had been saving carefully. He was being paid far less for his silence than he should have been. The man adjusted his glasses thoughtfully.

Athanasia pretended to be studying the wooden plaque on the wall, which bore greetings carved in multiple languages. It was then that she lifted her head just enough for him to glimpse her face.

The innkeeper’s voice changed—higher, more anxious. He swiftly took the money and tucked away the letter. Then, he motioned for her to follow him. They ascended two flights of stairs. When she asked if there was a room on a lower floor, he replied that they were all occupied—he only had one available at the end of the third-floor corridor.

"Go ahead," he said, opening the door for her.

The room was small but clean. It contained only a bed, a table, and a wardrobe, with no decorations whatsoever. Still, compared to the conditions most peasants lived in—and after her long stay in the Black Tower—it felt eerily empty.

The door closed softly behind her. The key turned in the lock even more quietly. Athanasia hadn’t expected the man to act so decisively. She tugged at the handle, but the door didn’t budge. She called out to the owner—he was already gone from the hallway.

He wasn’t willing to risk his hundred thousand gold. A wise decision on his part.

She was trapped. A familiar wave of panic rose in her chest, but this time, it was easier to suppress. Unhurriedly, Athanasia pulled a bundle of cut hair from her bag and plucked out a few strands to scatter across the floor. Then, she stepped toward the window.

A nail stuck out beneath several layers of paint. She wrapped a few more strands of her hair around it, hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious.

It took some effort to force the rusted shutters open. The owner had chosen the room wisely—escaping from the third floor wouldn’t be easy for a defenseless girl in a dress.

The window overlooked the same alley where she and Lucas had parted. The mage was still waiting below, leaning against the wall of the opposite building.

"Hey!" Athanasia called.

Lucas tilted his head up, not looking surprised in the slightest.

"How did it go?"

"Great. I’m locked in here."

"That does sound great," he frowned.

Their plan had always been to make someone alert the city guards. However, Athanasia wasn’t supposed to end up trapped. Still, a minor deviation wasn’t a problem. At least she could still use magic.

"I’ll have to teleport. There’s no way I can walk out through the front."

Breaking the door down would’ve been easy. But any sign of magic use would only make her pursuers more cautious. Athanasia didn’t need another zero added to the price on her head.

"Just jump," Lucas suddenly suggested.

He spread his arms wide, as if he meant to catch her.

"That doesn’t sound very reliable."

"Are you scared or do you just not trust me?"

Athanasia marveled at how effortlessly he could convince her. She swung her leg over the windowsill and squeezed through the frame, hesitating for just a moment. Then, she shut her eyes and pushed off.

The fall didn’t last long. Lucas caught her almost instantly. When Athanasia opened her eyes, she realized they were still far above the ground. The mage stood midair, without any visible support.

"You can fly?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course."

"Teach me!"

Lucas spun around, making her dizzy, then smirked in satisfaction. He set her down just as shouts rang out from the square: "Over here, quickly!" Both of them turned their heads toward the approaching figures—the innkeeper, leading three guards.

"Time to go."

The trap had been set. Now, they just had to make sure no one found out Athanasia could teleport.

But she didn’t want to leave just yet. They had come up with the plan only a few hours ago, and she could already see several small flaws that might ruin it. What if someone realized the clues had been planted? Or what if the guards simply refused to believe that the girl the innkeeper had seen was actually the princess?

"Can you change my appearance?"

"Why?"

"I want to see what happens next."

This was the first time she had openly defied her father’s rule—except for the trial, but back then, she hadn’t been in control. She hadn’t expected to get another chance to say what she had held back for years. Today, though, she had an idea of how things would play out.

Surprisingly, Lucas agreed without hesitation. Disguised as his sister, Athanasia tugged him toward the square just in time to hear shouting from the now-open window.

Watching up close would have been too suspicious. So, Athanasia decided to return to the inn later, after the guards had left. Until then, they had time to explore the merchant city from within.

To stay nearby, they wandered through the marketplace. Arlanta mostly supplied luxury goods, but they stumbled upon an elderly woman selling medicine.

Lucas spent a good while inspecting the potions and their packaging. Athanasia, meanwhile, took note of a compressed powder that looked like a small, swallowable stone.

While the mage continued his conversation with the old woman, Athanasia approached a humble stall nearby. It displayed various trinkets—jewelry, small colorful animal figurines.

One, in particular, caught her eye: a delicate blue bird clutching a branch in its beak, with small holes carved into its body.

"I’ll give you the whistle for half price," the seller offered the moment he noticed her interest.

On closer inspection, one of the wings had a tiny chip. Athanasia carefully picked up the bird and held it to the sunlight. The paint gleamed brightly.

She had seen far more exquisite things in the palace. Aristocrats tended to collect strange and curious objects. But this bird was something special. The tip of its tail resembled the end of a flute.

"There she is!"

A voice called out behind her, and someone grabbed her shoulder. Startled, Athanasia nearly dropped the bird. It was a city guard. Behind him, two more men hurried forward, the innkeeper among them. She swallowed hard.

"She doesn’t look like her," one of the guards muttered.

Athanasia blinked innocently. "Did something happen?"

Disappointment flashed across their faces, and the heavy hand lifted from her shoulder. Only one guard persisted: "Look closely. Was this the girl who visited you?"

The innkeeper studied her carefully but found no resemblance.

"No. But she was about the same height, maybe a bit thinner… I know what I saw! She was wearing a cloak just like this one—look for a girl in a similar cloak!"

"Old man, we’ve got enough work without chasing after some imaginary girl."

The guards lost all interest in Athanasia. Their group had already drawn enough unwanted attention, especially if they were trying to track down the princess discreetly.

"I’m telling you, it was her! Don’t believe me? Here, look," the man dug into his pocket and pulled out a letter. "She told me to deliver this to Viscount Carlet."

Reluctantly, the guards agreed to take the envelope and check the claim. One of them carelessly broke the seal, tearing the paper. After running around in circles looking for a princess who never appeared, he probably hadn’t expected anything significant. But the letter’s contents clearly caught him off guard.

Without so much as an apology for his rough treatment of Athanasia, the guard ordered the innkeeper to come with them. His expression had turned grim. All four men quickly left the square.

Now, she could only hope they would report the incident to the capital as loyal servants of the Emperor.

Then, poor Viscount Carlet would learn about his supposed involvement in a fabricated conspiracy. The letter claimed that the "rightful heir" was grateful for his help in escaping on the day of the trial and was now waiting for his promised news about the true culprit behind Janet’s poisoning.

Carlet had been chosen carefully. The viscount was a close business associate of Roger Alpheus in matters of trade. Athanasia hoped that the rumors of his possible betrayal, if not enough to destroy that relationship, would at least plant suspicion.

Thinking about how the people who had tried to get rid of her for years might now turn against each other, Athanasia couldn’t suppress a smug smile.

"I’ll take the bird," she told the vendor.

Chapter Text

In the mirror’s reflection stood a girl who looked remarkably like Athanasia. She had the same golden hair, the same facial features, and the same build. But her eyes did not shine like gemstones. They were a dull gray, like those of any ordinary person.

The days of training had finally paid off. For now, Athanasia could only maintain small changes, focusing intensely on them, but with each session, it became easier. In time, she would be able to transform just as effortlessly as Lucas.

If only she had discovered this ability a year ago, life would have been much simpler.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Today, Lucas had gone to the village without her to deliver an order. In the past few visits, Athanasia had accompanied him in the role of his sister so that the locals would remember her. However, this time she had decided to stay behind, eager for some solitude to train.

A trip to the village usually didn’t take long. Lucas should have returned an hour ago, but Athanasia wasn’t in a hurry to worry—she knew the mage could take care of himself.

To her surprise, there was a knock at the door. It had taken a long time to teach him not to barge into her room unannounced.

— You’re getting better at this. — Lucas remarked as the door opened.

At first, Athanasia didn’t understand what he meant, but then she turned back to the mirror. Her eyes were still gray, without the slightest trace of their usual magical glow. This was the first time she had maintained a change in appearance without consciously focusing on it.

Smiling, she turned to the mage, who, to her surprise, looked unusually serious. He still had the short haircut he usually wore only when going out in public.

— Did something happen?

He shook his head, and his black hair fell over his face.

— Nothing. I just need to leave for a few days.

— Is it far? I want to come with you.

— No.

— Why?

Lucas had never left her alone for more than a few hours. Ever since she had been hunted in the forest, he had been shadowing her every time she left the tower.

Reluctantly, he explained:

— A strange illness has struck half a nearby village. The symptoms are unusual, and I don’t think ordinary doctors can handle it.

— I know a lot about herbs. I can help you prepare medicine. Besides, if there are too many sick people, you’ll struggle on your own. It’s better if I’m there.

— The disease is contagious, and I don’t need an extra patient, — Lucas cut her off firmly.

That was nonsense. Athanasia was perfectly capable of handling the sick. Besides, her magical resilience was higher than that of an ordinary person. She crossed her arms and turned away.

— I don’t want to stay here alone while you’re gone, — she muttered.

Lucas sighed. He left the room, closing the door behind him. From the sound of his footsteps, he had gone up to the laboratory. A few minutes later, he returned only to tell her that she had half an hour to pack.

The matter was urgent, so an hour later, Athanasia was descending toward the exit, a heavy bag on her shoulder. Since all her clothes were enchanted and resistant to dirt, she didn’t need to pack spares. She had only taken a bit of food, a book on medicinal plants, another book she was close to finishing, some bandages that Lucas considered unnecessary, and a bird-shaped whistle.

Lucas transported them to an entirely different part of the forest. As soon as they arrived among the dense trees, Athanasia noticed they were different from those near the Black Tower.

As usual, they traveled on foot toward the village.

Her suspicions that they were far from home were confirmed when they emerged into open land. The river here was narrower and swifter, with rocky banks. Most of the houses were clustered on one side, but there were a few buildings on the other, connected by a bridge.

She could see logging activity on the far side. This must have been one of the regions that supplied high-quality timber to the empire.

They approached a watermill where a few people were working, and Lucas asked where they could find the village elder.

The workers eyed him with suspicion.

— You don’t look like buyers.

— Don’t we? — the mage asked mockingly.

This place only sold planks and furniture. Obviously, two travelers emerging from the forest with bags on their backs weren’t here to haul lumber.

Using magic, Lucas had once again made Athanasia look like his copy, so their striking red eyes did little to inspire trust.

The villagers didn’t appreciate the implication.

— You’d best leave.

— We can, — Lucas said with a shrug, — if, of course, you’ve already figured out how not to die from your disease. Oh, and be sure to tell the elder that yourselves.

They exchanged glances.

Before Lucas could signal to Athanasia that they should go, one of the men spoke up.

— Boy, do you know anything about medicine?

— As far as I can tell, you don’t need our help. So why does it matter?

The words hit them like a splash of ice-cold water.

— Wait! The elder lives down by the bridge. It’s not far from here—I can take you.

Lucas turned on his heel as if ready to leave and tossed over his shoulder:

— You should’ve said so earlier. You’re just wasting time.

His attitude visibly annoyed the villagers, but none of them wanted to risk losing this opportunity.

Whatever their illness was, they feared it more than strangers.

As they walked down the street past the low wooden houses, the man who had offered to guide them tried to smooth things over.

— Sorry about the rough welcome. After everything that’s happened, we don’t take kindly to strangers.

— It happens.

— So, can you really cure this disease? We don’t have doctors, only local herbalists who can’t make sense of it.

— I’ll answer that once I know everything I need to, — Lucas deflected. Instead, he asked, — Has anything like this happened here before?

— Nothing like this. It’s an outbreak, — the man lamented. — Everyone fell sick at the same time. It hasn’t even been a week since we buried the first victim—a boy, only nine years old!

Something inside Athanasia tightened noticeably. The weakest were always the first to be taken by death, and more often than not, they were children.
— I’m telling you, it’s those damn city rats. As soon as they finished asking about—
— Understood. — Lucas cut him off roughly, gesturing with his hand for him to stop.

Athanasia wanted to ask who the "city rats" were and what they had been inquiring about, but they walked the rest of the way in silence. Lucas never lowered his hand.

When they reached the bridge, which up close was even larger than it had seemed from a distance, he pointed them toward one of the houses and bid them farewell.

Now alone, the two of them stepped onto a tidy courtyard. The window frames and front door were adorned with carvings of flowers and vines.

Lucas knocked, and within seconds, the door creaked open. A silver-haired man appeared on the threshold.
— How can I help you?
— From what your friends told me, it’s you who needs help.
— Which friends exactly? — the man narrowed his eyes.
— The ones from the village a few dozen miles downstream.

That was enough to convince him. He glanced around warily, as if expecting someone to be watching, before stepping aside to let them in.

The house was entirely wooden but masterfully crafted. Clearly, the locals took pride in their woodworking skills. Athanasia couldn’t help but think that fires in this village must have been devastating.

— So, you’re the doctor who can cure anything? — the man asked hopefully.
— I don’t make empty promises, — Lucas waved the question away. — My sister and I would like to see the illness for ourselves first.

Before their journey, Athanasia hadn’t had the chance to ask much about the case they had taken on. Lucas had only mentioned that the disease paralyzed its victims and gradually weakened them. But it didn’t resemble anything described in medical books.

The man led them to a room at the far end of the house. Even in the hallway, the scent of herbs—used in a futile attempt to mask the stifling air—was overwhelming.
— My mother was one of the first to fall ill.

He pushed open the door. The air inside was thick and stagnant, yet the windows remained tightly shut. An unconscious elderly woman lay beneath a heavy blanket, her face deathly pale.

The symptoms resembled everything and nothing at the same time. The sick developed a fever, yet there was no nausea, no rashes, no cough.

Athanasia couldn’t stand it any longer and opened the window. The woman needed fresh air. Besides, it was much easier to contract an illness in a room that hadn’t been aired out. Until they knew what they were dealing with, caution was necessary.

Meanwhile, Lucas listened silently to the village elder’s account. His face revealed nothing, but for some reason, Athanasia had the distinct feeling that he already had a theory.

— … nearly half the village is sick now. Work has slowed down so much that we can barely complete the orders we have left. And even those are scarce, because—
— Does the illness progress the same way in everyone? — Lucas interrupted.
— For the most part, yes. Even the healthiest lumberjacks are growing weaker by the day. The young children don’t stand a chance. It affects some more than others, but it always starts with the legs, then the arms. In the end, they’re bedridden.
— What about outsiders? Have merchants or travelers who passed through reported getting sick?
— Some said they felt unwell after visiting, but no one mentioned deaths. If they had, no trader would ever come back here.

Examining the patient revealed nothing new. They decided to gather more information. Lucas stayed at the elder’s house to investigate a suspicion he had yet to share.

For Athanasia, he had a different task: to walk through the village and count the sick. Later, they would visit each of them. The elder handed her his ring, in case the villagers were wary of an unfamiliar girl. He never explained why the locals were so distrustful, as Lucas had already led her into the hallway to give her something else.

It was a sturdy scroll of thick paper, firm enough to write on without a flat surface, and an enchanted quill that required no ink. Finally, the mage handed her a cord with a large, beautiful red gemstone dangling from it, and made her put it on.

— If anything goes wrong, channel a bit of magic into it, and I’ll be there in an instant. Understood? — She nodded.
— And don’t spend too long talking to them. You only need to find out how many are sick. Got it? — She nodded again.
— If anyone seems suspicious…
— Lucas. I can handle it.

He muttered something in irritation and gave a few more instructions before letting her go.

The elder’s house stood at the village center. The area could be divided into three sections that she needed to cover: downstream, upstream, and a few homes on the other side of the river.

She started downstream, following the same path she and Lucas had taken earlier.

The first house she approached was a small, squat building near the bridge leading to the opposite bank. A stout woman was hanging freshly washed laundry, and she eyed the stranger with curiosity.

— Good day, may I ask—are there any sick in this house? — Athanasia asked, carefully stepping around a puddle formed from a leaky basket of wet clothes.

— And who sent you?

The woman leaned over to see her better from behind a hanging sheet. Athanasia silently showed her the ring, hoping to cut the conversation short, but the woman kept questioning her.

— And why didn’t the elder come himself? Did he lose the use of his legs too?
— He’s busy.
— With what exactly?
— I take it no one here is sick.

If every villager wasted time on idle chatter like this, the survey would take over a day. Athanasia rolled up the scroll, which the woman tried to peek at.

— We’re all healthy, thankfully, — she said, a bit disappointed at not learning anything. — But check on the neighbors. They haven’t stepped outside in days.

The day promised to be long. The sun was already sinking lower, signaling that midday had passed.

Despite her enchanted clothing being light, Athanasia still felt the fatigue. She had covered almost the entire street, listing two dozen names. Beside each, she noted the person's age and condition, to help Lucas determine who to visit first.

Toward the end of the street, the list grew shorter. There were just as many houses here, but the residents all claimed to be fine.

When she reached the mill—where she and Lucas had encountered the unfriendly men that morning—Athanasia noticed a large covered wagon.

Their morning acquaintances were loading beautifully carved dark wooden chairs into it.

Three merchants, easy to recognize by their simple yet expensive clothing, watched the process closely.

The elder had complained that fewer traders had been coming lately.

Now wasn’t the best time to start asking about the sick. It would only spread rumors and scare away customers.

Instead, she decided to wait and used the moment to eat something from her bag.

Athanasia was just finishing a juicy apple when a sharp voice startled her.

— You’d better hurry, or they’ll leave without you.

A girl, slightly younger than Athanasia, pointed toward the wagon, which was now packed to the brim with goods.

— I’m not with them, — she shook her head.

The girl clicked her tongue in disappointment, eyeing the half-eaten apple that had fallen to the ground.

— Really? I thought there was only one shipment planned today.

The girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
If she knows about all the merchants who are supposed to arrive, then she must know everything about her neighbors, Athanasia decided. She didn’t want to waste any more time going around the rest of the houses in this corner, so without further explanation, she showed the ring.

— Ooo… — the girl leaned in closer to get a better look. — So, you’re some relative of our elder? I’ve never seen you before.
— Not exactly. Do you live nearby?
— Yeah, — she pointed somewhere behind Athanasia. — Right here.

It turned out that Athanasia had been sitting literally under her fence. Such behavior must have seemed odd to the locals. She made a mental note to be more mindful of where she wandered.

— The elder asked me for a favor. Do you know if there’s anyone sick in these houses?
— So, you’re a scribe!
— No.
— But you have a quill!

For some reason, no one in this village could answer questions briefly and clearly. It irritated Athanasia so much that she almost felt the same way Lucas did after yet another round of questions about magic. She had come here to help them, so why were they only making things more difficult?

— My brother is a doctor, — she tried a different approach. The girl seemed even more intrigued. — Do you know anything about a strange illness that recently appeared here?
— So, the elder tried to hire healers again, huh? I heard the last city fraud ran away. Probably scared of getting infected or something.

For a moment, Athanasia forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

— You’re saying someone came before us?
— There was one. But they made a mistake hiring a rat from the capital. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sent here on purpose.

So, the locals had some issues with the city they sent most of their goods to? That was an important detail.

— Sent by whom?
— You don’t know? — the girl drawled. Suddenly, her eagerness to chatter disappeared. — I have to help them, — she said and quickly headed toward the men loading a cart.

Athanasia, who still needed to question this part of the village, remained by the fence. She moved slightly closer, hoping to overhear whether the girl would tell the others anything about her.

But the girl kept her word and only helped tie a few knots on the cart’s fastenings while the men took a break. One of them jokingly addressed the merchants:

— You sure pick an interesting time to set off. Hoping the bandits won’t see you at dusk?
— Hah, — the merchant waved a hand. — We’re already behind schedule, so we need to hurry.
— But is the rush really worth the risk? Stay the night; your customers won’t die of impatience.

The merchant tensed slightly but still forced a guilty smile. He clearly had no intention of staying.

— The forest is calm right now, and we’ve stocked up on oil for the lanterns. And if your local ghosts attack us at night, what are we supposed to do then?

The men laughed. The girl Athanasia had spoken with earlier rolled her eyes. She had just finished with the fastenings and announced that they were ready to go.

The merchants stuck to their decision and didn’t waste a single extra minute in this village—unlike Athanasia. She waited until the horses pulled the cart far enough away before stepping closer.

— Young doctor? — The man who had led them to the elder’s house that morning turned to her in surprise. His choice of words was fitting. — Do you need something?

The girl from before glanced at him curiously. Athanasia, with a now-familiar motion, pulled out the ring.

— I have orders from the elder: to count the sick. Are there any in these outer houses?

She was already bracing for more questions, but fortunately, after a long day of work, they had no desire for conversation. She got a short reply:

— No. Fortunately, all our neighbors are still healthy.

She added the note to her list. So far, it seemed like the illness was spreading unevenly. That could mean it was contagious. She needed to get back and tell Lucas as soon as possible.

— Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.

Now, as she made her way back, Athanasia hesitated—should she tell Lucas her suspicions first, or finish her task and confirm if there were any critically ill people in the other part of the village? There were three patients on her list in the same condition as the elder’s mother, one of them a little girl. If Lucas could start treatment today…

— Hey! Wait!

The one chasing after her turned out to be that same talkative girl. Athanasia stopped, letting her catch up and waiting as she caught her breath.

— I figured I’d walk with you a bit.
— Why?

The village had only two streets running along the river and a few houses on the other bank. It would be nearly impossible to get lost here.

— My father says he trusts your brother, thinks he can help. I have a friend at the other end of the village. His whole family is sick right now. I’ll take you to him.

That wasn’t necessary. Athanasia had knocked on every single door, even when they didn’t answer right away. But she still had a question the girl had left unanswered earlier. So, she agreed.

— I’m Mili, — the girl introduced herself, staring at Athanasia expectantly, waiting for her to do the same.

Some names could only be used by the imperial family. Athanasia’s was one of them. So every time she took on a different appearance, she introduced herself with another name—one borrowed from a very dear person.

— Lillian. Nice to meet you.

Mili quickly justified the first impression she had given. The entire way, she continued asking questions and telling stories about herself and the other villagers they passed.

Of use, Mili shared a little about the local medicine. Like everywhere else, people treated themselves with herbs, ineffective homemade amulets, and rare medicines they managed to buy at an inflated price from merchants who took their goods. With such a level of care, it was no surprise that they couldn’t handle the new illness on their own.

— Judging by what you’ve said, they sold you poor-quality medicine. At such a price, that’s just fraud, — Athanasia remarked.

Mili didn’t even try to deny it.

— They do it on purpose. They know other merchants rarely come here, so they bring a lot of junk with them.

— Doesn’t that undermine the trust between you? A good merchant should know how to maintain good relations with their partners.

— You sure know how to talk, Lili! But we’re not partners, as you put it. At least, not with those from the capital. They buy furniture from us because their clients demand high quality, and we sell because they have money.

— You mentioned the capital before. Why don’t you like the city?

Like before, Mili hesitated, weighing whether she should answer.

— Have you been there, Lili?

— A few times, — Athanasia lied.

— And what can you say about its people?

The first thing that came to mind was the trial where they had decided to execute her. The second was the constant whispering behind her back at balls, the intrigues and gossip. Out loud, she only said:

— Quite hypocritical.

Mili nodded.

— They come, talk with you about the latest news, pretend to agree with every word, and then you find yourself in trouble.

— Like those fraudster doctors?

— Like double the tribute and a plague that takes life after life, — Mili muttered.

Athanasia froze.

— You think they’re somehow connected to the illness?

Earlier, the man who had guided them and even the village elder had mentioned that there had been some problems. But neither of them had explained what exactly had happened. Both times, Lucas had changed the subject.

— It’s just a suspicion. I don’t think I should be telling you about it, — Mili said, despite having already shared several dirty stories about her neighbors.

Athanasia decided not to press her.

— That’s fine. I’m sure the elder has already told my brother everything important, so I’ll find out when I return. When I left, they were about to examine a patient. I doubt they’d hide something so crucial from him.

— True. Your brother will tell you everything anyway, won’t he? — Mili rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

Athanasia nodded firmly, pretending she didn’t care.

It worked. Mili leaned in closer, as if someone might be eavesdropping on them.

— Remember half a year ago when they drastically raised the luxury tax?

Athanasia had still been in the palace at the time, so she vaguely remembered what had happened. It was no secret that Alpheus had close ties with the neighboring kingdom, Arlanta. Young Ijekiel had studied there for a while, and now Arlantan knight-apprentices regularly visited the palace. Moreover, many believed that the Alpheus family profited greatly from trade along that route.

To strengthen these ties, Roger needed an offer no Arlantan partner could refuse. That offer became the nearly nonexistent tax on importing goods into Obelia. And to eliminate competition with the domestic market, the tribute for Obelia’s citizens was increased.

Inside the palace, no one ever mentioned whether the empire’s population had resisted this change.

— So we had no choice but to raise the prices of furniture. At first, the merchants refused to pay, but even then, it was still more profitable for them to work with us. So they agreed. Then rumors started that the merchants were passing off our work as Arlantan antiques. I don’t know if it was true, but the elder ordered that we raise prices even higher.

— Then sales dropped, and the illness appeared? — Athanasia tried to guess, but Mili shook her head.

— They gritted their teeth but had no choice. We settled on giving small discounts for large orders. And for another two months, everything was fine.

— If they accepted it, what was the last straw?

— No one accepted it, — Mili frowned. — We were a thorn in their side for a long time. But the choice was simple: either buy from us or pay the Arlantans. And that definitely wouldn’t be cheaper. They were probably looking for a way to get back at us, but outwardly, they acted all friendly… What was that word you used? Hypocritical? Oh yes, those hypocritical bastards.

A young man passed by carrying buckets. Mili fell silent until he was far enough away.

— We hear news in this backwater mainly from our clients. One day, they brought us a large portrait of the princess… You do know the emperor has two daughters, right?

Athanasia bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t need to hear the rest to know exactly which portrait it was. Judging by the timing, it must have been right after she escaped and was declared a fugitive.

— So, it was a mess, but to put it briefly: the elder daughter, when she was little, lived in the house of the emperor’s advisor—the one who raised the taxes. But legally, because no one knew about the elder one, the younger daughter was supposed to inherit the crown. You get it?

The explanation was convoluted, and Athanasia missed half of what was said.

— And they brought you a portrait.

— Yes, but they gave it to the elder, telling him to nail it to the village notice board so everyone would see it. They wrote that the younger princess poisoned the elder one and was now to be hanged.

No matter how far she ran, even in the most remote corners, every stray dog already knew what she had been accused of.

Athanasia swallowed hard and asked Mili to continue, hoping she wouldn’t notice how sick she was starting to feel.

— So, is the portrait still there? I didn’t see anything like that.

— It was never put up, — Mili whispered.

Athanasia forgot to close her mouth. The announcements were to be posted everywhere by order of the Emperor. It wasn’t something one could simply ignore.

— It’s too complicated to explain everything, but basically, now that the younger princess is gone, the crown will pass to the elder one. The one who grew up by the advisor’s side. And they say he wants his son to marry her.
That was more than just rumors. Ijekiel had been by Janet’s side since childhood, and everyone knew they would marry sooner or later. The difference in status wouldn’t be an obstacle—her father would never refuse his beloved daughter such a sincere request.

— And that means the tribute will keep increasing. — Athanasia guessed.

— At this rate, our business will become unprofitable. Out here, in the middle of the mountains and forests, we don’t have many other ways to make a living. That’s why the village elder got so angry and sent the portrait back.

That was more than enough to stir up Alpheus. And not just him—Countess Judith and all their allies could use their influence to silence the dissatisfied. But something about this situation was unusual.

— Why do you think they have anything to do with the illness? It’s hard to orchestrate something like that, ensuring only the peasants get infected. Besides, the Emperor has soldiers. They would’ve handled it well enough.

Mili smiled knowingly and was about to explain when someone appeared behind them, making her gasp. Athanasia, already accustomed to Lucas’ sudden appearances, didn’t flinch.

— Ata… Sister, I finally found you, — the mage said.

Mili’s gaze studied him carefully before flicking back to Athanasia and then to Lucas again. He had tied his hair into a high ponytail, just like she had, and they wore similar clothes. Magic had made them eerily alike—if not for the height difference, they would have looked like twins.

— So this is your doctor brother?
— Yes, — Lucas answered quickly. — And I’ll say right away, I’m making no promises to anyone. Also, I don’t have much time. So, sister, can I have you for a few minutes?
— I haven’t finished writing…
— You’ll finish later.
Lucas grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. Athanasia didn’t resist but offered Mili an apologetic smile. She didn’t look offended.
— We’ll see each other again, Lillian.

Athanasia waved before Lucas led her around the corner.

— That was rude. We were having a conversation before you showed up.
— I doubt it was as important as why we’re here.

Disappointed, Athanasia sighed and handed him a piece of paper.

— These aren’t all of them, but I made notes about the sick people’s conditions, if that helps.
— That’s exactly what I needed. Good job, — Lucas praised her without even finishing reading. Then he abruptly changed the subject. — Have you eaten anything?
— If you’re worried about whether I’m hungry, then no.

Lucas unexpectedly placed a hand on her forehead, and Athanasia felt his magic. She immediately swatted his hand away.

— Stop acting weird!
— What exactly did you eat?
— An apple. Lucas, are you feeling alright?
— Where did you get the apple?

First, he sent her on an errand that turned out to be far from urgent. Then he failed to mention that the village’s troubles had started with her search. And now, he wasn’t explaining anything at all.
He just repeated the question.

— Where did you get that apple?
— Where do you think? — Athanasia folded her arms, irritated.

They stood in silence for a moment until she gave in.

— I took it from home. What does it matter?

Lucas let out a breath of relief. He pulled out a sizable bag from under his cloak and handed it to her. It was surprisingly light, but when Athanasia looked inside, she found various vegetables, fruits, and a corked flask.

— Eat. And under no circumstances take any food from here, no matter who offers it.
— Do you think someone is trying to poison us?

The mage didn’t answer.

Was it because they were outsiders, distrusted by the villagers? Or because of the search for the missing princess, who might be suspected in any unusual girl? Athanasia took the food but still had many questions.
Not long ago, she had thought she could completely trust him. The mage had always been honest with her, saved her from trouble, taught her, and become someone she could call a friend. But now, he was hiding things from her—things that directly concerned her.

As if reading her thoughts, Lucas sighed.

— I told you it would have been better if you had stayed in the tower. If I didn’t have to keep an eye on you, I would have finished this in a few days.
— I haven’t caused a single problem today. I only did what you asked. How am I getting in your way?
— You’re distracting me, — he muttered. Then, as only Lucas could, he suddenly shifted his tone to something lighter. — The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go home. So, I need to check on the ones you’ve already recorded. You eat and find out if there are any others in serious condition. We’ll meet at the elder’s house in the evening.

As soon as Athanasia agreed, he disappeared as abruptly as he had appeared.

In the remaining few hours of the day, she managed to visit the rest of the houses on this side of the river. She left the other half of the village for the morning, planning to start as soon as she woke up.

That evening, they discovered that they hadn’t been provided with separate rooms for the night. The elder had offered them a spot on the floor of his house, but Athanasia didn’t want to take the risk—what if the illusion magic failed while she slept? The other villagers refused to host strangers.

They ended up staying in a small, cleaned-out storage room that smelled of the forest. The conditions weren’t terrible—warm, dry, and with bedding prepared for them. But there was one issue that unsettled Athanasia.

They had only one bed.

The elder had apologized, saying he had nothing else, and that for a traveling brother and sister, it shouldn’t be a big problem. She hadn’t been able to argue at the time, but she soon regretted it.

Especially when Lucas decided it was time for stupid jokes.

— If I sleep in the same bed as a princess, does that make me a prince?
He dodged the heavy pillow she threw at him, but when the same pillow, propelled by magic, flew back and smacked him in the head, he wasn’t as lucky. A few feathers drifted dramatically to the floor. Lucas burst into laughter.
— You should’ve seen your face.
It was the first time since they had arrived here that he seemed in a genuinely good mood. Good enough that, with a snap of his fingers, a second bed appeared against the opposite wall, covered in a pile of pillows.
— Still not a palace, but will this be to your liking, Your Highness?
His grin widened when Athanasia let out a quiet giggle. The conjured bed had a white lace-trimmed cover and pillows of various colors, embroidered with birds and flowers. In the rustic storage room, it looked completely out of place.
— I don’t know… — she played along. — It still doesn’t seem luxurious enough.
With another snap of his fingers, the storage room transformed. The walls were covered in wallpaper, and a thick, plush carpet with intricate patterns spread across the floor.
— Sometimes I forget you can just create anything so easily.

Lucas smirked.

— Want me to change your tower room like this?
— Wait… — her brows shot up. — You conjured the furniture in my room with magic?
— Did you really think I just happened to have a few lace-covered blankets lying around?
Now that she thought about it, some rooms in the Black Tower were different from the others. Like the old-fashioned but massive bath in the washroom, or her own room—filled with dresses, a huge mirror, and a soft bed.

All of it… just because she had moved in.

— Thank you, Lucas.
— Hm?
— For all of this. And for helping.
He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. Odd. She was sure he liked praise.
— It’s nothing special.

Chapter Text

Cold water, conjured by Athanasia, hovered mid-air. Of course, she could’ve tried to summon fire too, but she didn’t want to risk burning down the whole settlement just for the sake of washing her face.

At dawn, when Athanasia had just opened her eyes, Lucas was already gone. The empty bed was neatly made, as if he had never lain in it. No warning, no note.

Last night, she hadn’t asked if he knew about the revolt that had taken place in the village before the disease struck. She was certain he had. Lucas wasn’t the type to rudely interrupt people mid-sentence without reason—yet he had done so several times when they started talking about dealings with the authorities.

That conversation, Athanasia would save for today. For now, there were still a few houses on the other side of the river she needed to visit.

Her bag held only a quill, some paper, and food that had been left on the table in the morning. Without saying a word, Lucas had once again reminded her of his warning not to eat any local food.

Athanasia cast a glance around the luxurious room, which had been a shabby pantry just yesterday, and made sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. As soon as she shut the crooked wooden door behind her, she noticed someone hurrying toward her. The village elder looked nothing like he had the day before. He was grinning from ear to ear as he rushed to meet her.

—She woke up!— he shouted.

—Your mother?— Athanasia guessed.

—This morning! The medicine truly worked. I must see your brother immediately!

The man was ready to barge into the pantry. Athanasia barely managed to block his path. She wasn’t sure how he would react upon seeing the transformation that had taken place inside. Besides, it was best not to flaunt magic more than necessary.

—My brother left early to check on other patients. He’ll visit your mother as soon as he returns.

Carefully, so the man wouldn’t grow suspicious, she positioned herself in front of the door, making sure he couldn’t reach the handle.

—It’s the first time someone’s truly managed to help!— the man was nearly ready to fall at her feet in gratitude. Athanasia quickly plastered on a wide smile, grabbed him by the elbow, and started leading him away. —I was afraid we were doomed, but now… now there’s hope!

—Oh, come now… This is what doctors do… We help people…

—All our savings wouldn’t be enough to repay you!

—That won’t be necessary,— she assured him.

Lucas didn’t care about money in the slightest. With his incredible power, he barely paid it any attention. It would be tragic to find out these poor people were ready to give away their last coins to someone who had turned their old pantry into a miniature imperial chamber with a snap of his fingers.

—The most important thing is that we were able to help those in need. You’ll see, your mother will be back on her feet soon.

Athanasia managed to escort the elder to the front steps of his house. She hoped he’d go inside now and leave her in peace, but instead, he clung to her and continued to thank her.

—You’re our salvation. My mother… she’s been through so much—first exiled to this remote place, then forced to live in poverty, and now this plague. Gods, I’d never forgive myself if anything had happened to her!

Just when Athanasia began to worry the man wouldn’t let her go until evening, a few workers approached the house. They called out to the elder, holding something in their hands. He immediately let go of her as soon as he saw a piece of rotted wood that crumbled before their eyes.

—And this happened just yesterday,— one of the workers complained. —You can barely uproot them! The roots are too deep, and everything’s rotting through.

Even without any particular expertise, it was clear this wood was useless for carving. A shame, really—such potential, wasted.

—One misfortune after another. I’m telling you, it’s a curse!— added another.

As far as Athanasia knew, bad luck curses did exist. But neither the sickness nor the rotting wood seemed like mere misfortune. Still, there was a pattern.

That pattern was gnawing at her. It twisted and slithered around like a thin venomous snake—too slippery to catch, but always close, never straying far. She needed to make sure these weren’t just coincidences caused by some curse of ill fate.

Before setting off again, she returned briefly to retrieve the book she had been finishing. Several chapters were dedicated to curses, though they didn’t describe their practical application.

She didn’t get a chance to immerse herself in reading until after lunch. Before that, she had to make several rounds along the opposite bank of the river, questioning every passerby—only to find out that no one there had fallen ill.

Though the entire village worked side by side, somehow, none of the residents living across the river had been affected by the sickness.

Out of curiosity, Athanasia had asked again about the rotting trees — but there were none here either. Slowly, all the pieces were starting to form a picture.

The river rushed below in a roaring torrent, disappearing where the slope became too steep. Athanasia sat at the bank, a stick in hand, listening to the sound of water. On the damp sand, she had drawn a rough map of the town — something to help her make sense of everything. Without it, her thoughts were beginning to spiral.

She circled the areas with the fewest sick — homes on the outskirts and those across the river. She also marked the damaged trees. But whatever was connecting these marks on the sand, Athanasia couldn’t yet understand.

An open book on curses lay across her lap. It spoke of curses tied to specific locations. But if that were the case, wouldn’t everyone who came near the cursed magic source be affected?

Not everyone was falling ill — but those who did suffered enough to keep the village in fear. From a certain angle, the situation seemed oddly contained. And the more she pieced together, the less she doubted that someone had a hand in this.

Nearby, Athanasia scribbled down everything she had learned about the village — every suspicion, every pattern. She had to solve this mystery. Even if Lucas refused to help. He’d known about the uprising from the start, but never told her. There was no good reason for that.

The sickness had started after the villagers voiced their discontent with the Emperor’s policies. Not long after, their profits had plummeted.

Some believed in ghosts said to haunt the forest caves, spirits who had cursed the villagers — but that theory was hard to take seriously.

Then there was Lucas again, who had told her not to eat local food. Maybe he believed the illness came from there. But poisoning the entire village’s supplies? Even half of them? That would be a massive feat.

Could some villagers be plotting against the rest? Possibly — but to what end? Everyone’s income depended on the same industry, which had been thriving until recently.

Still, how was it that the line between the sick and the healthy was so sharp?

—I heard the outsider’s been snooping around since morning. You were very easy to find.

Athanasia looked up. Mili had approached silently, now leaning over her to study the markings in the sand. A bright smile lit her face.

—Good afternoon to you too. Just making some notes about the medicine my brother’s preparing,— Athanasia replied.

—He’s amazing!— the girl exclaimed, plopping down beside her uninvited. She went on, glowing with excitement. — I just came from my friend’s house. He’s already doing better! He’s not fully conscious yet, but his sister’s up and able to care for the rest of the family.

—I’m glad to hear that,— Athanasia said sincerely. So Lucas had used the list she’d made, after all.

—But medicine’s one thing. The cause is something else…— Mili’s smile faded. —I can’t stop thinking about how the illness just came out of nowhere.

A new note appeared in the sand: Where and how is food stored? With Mili’s tendency to chatter, she had shown up at just the right time. You could get almost anything out of her.

— I’m starting to believe we really are cursed, — Mili sighed.  — Even the trees are starting to rot. Maybe the gods are punishing us. 

"Right… the trees.”
Another note: Could they be using the diseased wood for cooking fires?

— Yeah… Normally only the roots would rot, but these are whole trunks going bad. And the worst part? You still have to clear the dead trees, but you can’t make anything useful out of them.

— Then why cut them at all? — Athanasia asked, puzzled.

— So they don’t take up space. You can plant something else there. And those pines? A real nightmare — their roots go deep. My grandfather used to say they can survive even when the ground freezes completely, because they draw water from way beneath.

— But this is a mountain region. Shouldn’t there be stone not far below?

— There is, but right around the village, where the pines are thickest, there’s more soil. We’ve also got another river — underground. That’s why the floods aren’t so destructive, or so I’ve heard.

That explained a lot. Like further downstream, they still managed to grow frost-resistant grains here. In other parts of the mountains, that was impossible. But here, the underground waters helped — especially in spring, when they soaked up the meltwater and kept the soil from eroding.

— I’m done here for the day and heading back. Do you still have things to do?

— No. I came to thank you.

Mili smiled again, as though she’d swept away all her darker thoughts. Athanasia wished she had the same ability.

She hadn’t found any new sick villagers that day, so she didn’t rush off to find the mage. Instead, she decided to spend more time looking for clues. If Lucas wouldn’t tell her, maybe Mili would.

The theory about poisoned food supplies proved wrong. People kept their stores in their home cellars.
The idea that smoke from rotting wood might be toxic had to be discarded too — the infected pinewood didn’t burn well in such high altitudes.

Her next suspicion fell on the flour. All grain had to be ground — and that was done in the same place. When Athanasia mentioned the mill, Mili eagerly offered to take her there.

It was strange, really — how quickly this girl had started trusting someone she’d just met. As they walked, Mili shared stories without hesitation, offering up details Athanasia could easily latch onto.
She couldn’t help but envy that openness.

They were almost at the mill when an old woman passed them by, carrying heavy buckets and stopping often to rest.

— She carries water all the way from that well by the bridge? — Athanasia asked, surprised. It was quite a distance to cover every day, especially at that age.

— Yep. It's hard to find a place deep enough to dig around here in the mountains. So everyone gets water from the same spot, — Mili confirmed. — Though honestly, we usually use river water.

Athanasia glanced skeptically at the muddy riverbank.

— You drink that?

— Well, what do you think? You just heat it over a fire a few times and let it sit. Imagine how long it would take to carry enough water from the well for a whole family every day. All my neighbors do the same.

It made sense. At least they understood the need to treat the river water before drinking it. Otherwise, who knows what diseases they'd catch.

— Strange that you’re all still healthy...

And it really was strange. Mili’s neighbors hadn’t just avoided stomach illnesses—they’d also avoided the curse. Her neighbors… and those living on the opposite side of the village, just as far from the main water source.

— Watch your step! — Mili cried, but it was too late.

Athanasia stumbled into a bucket left by an old woman who had sat down to forming a wide puddle around her. The old woman began complaining about having to fetch more water again. Mili apologized profusely, while Athanasia just lay there, not in a hurry to get up.

Lucas had warned her not to eat or drink anything in the village. Most people used water from the well for cooking. And those who relied on river water— like Mili’s family —were still healthy.

The problem was underground. That’s why the deep-rooted trees had been affected too.

Like a mad one, she suddenly sprang to her feet and grabbed the bucket, assuring the old woman she would fetch more water to replace the spilled one. Without hesitation, Athanasia hurried off toward the well. Mili barely managed to catch up with her.

— Hey! I get that you feel bad, but you don’t have to sprint like that!

Gasping, Mili caught up just as Athanasia leaned over the well’s edge, peering down into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything but blackness.

— Can you help me? I don’t know how to use this.

—Use what?

Mili stared at her like she’d grown a second head. It took Athanasia a moment to realize that drawing water from a well was probably something any normal person outside the palace or the Black Tower would know how to do.

— My brother usually handles it. I’ve never done it myself, — she admitted.

Mili let out a low whistle.

— Must be nice, being the little sister.

She quickly explained what to do. Athanasia was eager to help turn the crank, and before long, a full bucket rose to the surface. She immediately dipped her hand into the icy water.

— You know that old woman planning to drink that…—   Mili reminded her.

— Yeah, yeah, I’ll get a fresh one, — Athanasia waved her off.

There was a passage in a book about curses and how they interacted with magical energy. The phenomenon was called "diffusion"—the idea that cursed energy would try to dissolve if it sensed purer energy nearby.

Carefully, Athanasia released a bit of mana into the bucket. It was just enough to produce a faint shimmer, like sunlight glinting off water. The light vanished almost immediately, swallowed by something unseen.

No doubt about it—something in the water caused that reaction. The well was cursed.

Under Mili’s watchful gaze, Athanasia helped draw another bucket. Before handing it off to the old woman, she discreetly purified it with magic.

Ideally, she would cleanse all the drinking water in the village. But it would be much easier to eliminate the source of the problem.

Climbing into the well wasn’t the best idea. Besides, the cursed energy was faint—as if the true source lay much deeper underground.

If even the deep-rooted trees had been affected, the curse must’ve spread widely beneath the land. Yet plants with shallow roots were untouched.

— Mili, you mentioned ghosts. Where do people say they show up? — Athanasia asked as they approached the village elder’s house.

— Oh come on, you don’t believe that nonsense, do you? Say you don’t. It’s just a story to keep kids out of the caves.

Caves. If they were deep enough, they might lead directly to the underground river.

— You think the elder might have a map of the cave system?

Mili tilted her head, puzzled.

— What for? You’re not seriously thinking about ghost-hunting, are you?

Athanasia didn’t believe in ghosts. But she did believe that if someone placed a curse near an underground river, it could contaminate drinking water and harm deep-rooted plants all over the area.

— Maybe I am, — she said. — Are you scared of them, Mili?

The girl shook her head confidently.

— It takes more than that to scare me.

— Then show me where the cave entrance is.

That confidence vanished quickly.

— You know, I’ve got a bunch of chores to do at home… I’ll be busy until evening.

— Evening works for me. I’ll bring a lantern. All you need to do is take me to the entrance. It won’t take long, right?

Mili clearly didn’t like the idea. She fumbled for more excuses, but in the end—she agreed.

They agreed to meet in the evening, just as the sun began to set. Athanasia didn’t waste the time she had left — she brought a list of the sick to the storeroom she and Lucas shared and left a note saying she was meeting a new friend. Then she asked the village head for a lantern and spent the rest of the day studying a book on curses.

She wasn’t planning to throw herself into the fire. Tonight’s walk through the caves was meant only as reconnaissance — to confirm the hunch she had. If the source of the curse truly lay there, she would tell Lucas. Then she could finally ask him — plainly — about everything he was hiding.

It wasn’t a bad plan. It just happened to be a plan only Athanasia liked. When Mili came to fetch her, she looked a little uneasy. The village head didn’t try to stop them, but he reminded them more than once not to wander into the woods after dark. They swore they hadn’t the faintest intention of doing so.

They had to take a detour, slipping along the edge of the main street to leave the village unnoticed. The forest’s edge, so inviting by day, now loomed like a waiting mouth in the dusk. Mili had brought a lantern too, and its flickering light stretched long, shifting shadows ahead of them — like fingers reaching out to grab.

To appear braver, the girl spoke constantly. She told stories about her friends, her clients from the capital, funny incidents from the workshop — anything but ghosts.

By the third story, Athanasia noticed one name repeated again and again.

— So this boy you keep talking about… is he the same friend who’s sick right now?— she asked.

— Yeah, that’s him.

— You two seem… pretty close.

The yellow light of the lantern didn’t quite mask the flush that crept up Mili’s cheeks.

Back at the palace, Athanasia hadn’t spent much time among her peers, but she recognized the look. Girls in love always had the same signs — their voices went higher, their cheeks glowed, and their gaze dropped to the floor.

— Well, I wouldn’t say we’re that close… He’s just really nice…

Mili was head over heels — Athanasia decided. Another reason to envy her. Another feeling she herself could never afford so easily.

— I’m sure he thinks you’re reeeally nice too, — Athanasia nudged her playfully with an elbow.

It was easy to imagine. The boy would recover, they’d meet again, maybe walk through the mountains once more. One day, he’d propose. They’d marry and live happily ever after.

— Lili, do you like anyone?

The question came out of nowhere. Athanasia had just bent down, picking burs from her cloak, and froze mid-motion.

It wasn’t like the thought had never crossed her mind. Back at the palace, she had shared the quiet fascination many girls had with certain boys — dreamt, in secret, of marrying one of them. It was embarrassing now, remembering who had been her favorite.

And now… well, she lived with Lucas.

And Lucas was always there. To help, to protect. Always ready with some stupid joke, always infuriating her just enough when she was at her worst. He was the only person she spent her evenings with, the only one she told everything she’d learned. The first person she had trusted — truly trusted — in years.

So when he hadn’t told her what had happened in the village, it had felt like a special kind of betrayal. One that cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

But it wasn’t love. Not the kind whispered about by palace girls. She didn’t get flustered when Lucas touched her by accident, her heart didn’t race. On the contrary — being near him felt… safe. Comfortable.

— No one,—  she said. — My brother and I have been traveling so much lately, I don’t really have the time.

Mili sighed.

— Then it’ll be hard to explain what it’s like.

Athanasia didn’t argue. The whole subject tangled her thoughts too much — and her thoughts needed to stay focused on the curse.

Whatever she said, Mili was scared of ghosts. The moment silence stretched too long, she started glancing around nervously again.

— Your turn to tell a story, — she said suddenly.

Athanasia wasn’t much of a storyteller. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales early, and after that, asked Lillian not to read her any more. The only legend she could remember was the one about the Magic Tree — only because she’d seen it in a book on magic just recently.

— I don’t know if you’ll find it interesting, — Athanasia warned.

— Come on, tell me anything! Just don’t let us walk in silence!

Even someone raised in this forest could be frightened by it at night.

— Alright, if you insist. — Athanasia cleared her throat and tried to mimic the mysterious tone Lillian used when she’d told stories long ago. — It was a long, long time ago, when these lands were home only to scattered tribes. There was a boy named Obelius, born into a poor family, but gifted from birth — both in magic and in leadership.

She kept her voice low and dramatic.

— One day, he fell in love with a girl far wealthier than him. To win her heart, Obelius united the tribes and conquered the land surrounding what is now the capital. He founded a kingdom and named it after himself — and married the girl he loved.

But not everyone accepted his rule. Jealous rivals rose up in rebellion. And when they saw they couldn’t defeat the king’s magic, they decided to kill his wife instead. When Obelius learned of her death, he was so consumed by rage that he summoned a storm powerful enough to destroy them all.

He was left alone on the battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of traitors. He ran to his beloved. He would have done anything to bring her back. But even the strongest magic couldn’t return the dead. His grief was so great, he lost control of his powers.

Magic turned the king’s heart into a crystal — so he would never feel pain again. And after he died beside her, a great crystal tree grew from his body, overflowing with magic.

The end.

Mili murmured;

— That’s a sad story. You didn’t have anything cheerier?

— Sorry, —  Athanasia shrugged, — I did warn you.

Fortunately, no more stories were needed — they had just reached the steep climb with a wide passage carved into the rock.

Athanasia raised the lantern to get a better look inside. The tunnel sloped downward and gradually narrowed, but it was still wide enough for an adult to pass through.

According to the plan, Mili was supposed to turn back, and Athanasia would explore the caves on her own. But the girl insisted she wouldn’t leave her. She explained it was because Athanasia wouldn’t be able to find her way back to the village alone, but it was clear she was scared to return by herself at night.

So they descended together. Mili flinched at every sound—whether it was the distant murmur of water or the fluttering of bat wings echoing through the cave. Athanasia also felt uneasy, though she couldn’t explain why. Somewhere deep in her consciousness, she sensed something unnatural surrounding them.

The narrow part of the tunnel soon ended, and the girls emerged into a spacious cavern with a high ceiling. Mili raised the lantern higher, and its light reflected off the surface of an underground lake at whose shore they now stood. The water was shallow and calm.

On the far side of the cave, more tunnels opened up into darkness. From that direction came the sound of a river.

— Lili… you see that too, right? — Mili gripped her wrist tightly, pointing off to the side.

There was another passage there, from which faint purple light was spilling.

Athanasia nodded.

— Maybe we should just leave? I don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but this is… creepy.

The dark force was stronger there. The mysterious passage wasn’t far—just across the lake. The water only reached up to their knees and was clear. There was no sign of traps or danger.

— Go back up, — Athanasia said. — I’ll check it out and catch up.

— You’re joking!

She wasn’t. Curses were dangerous for those who didn’t know how to handle magic. It would be far more useful for Mili to wait above—so she could call for help if something went wrong.

— Lili, this is a stupid idea!

Athanasia understood her fear, but she couldn’t turn back—not now, not when she was so close to an answer. Had her father really gone so far as to curse his own subjects?

The lakebed was covered in sediment. Her shoes sank slightly, but it wasn’t hard to walk. The icy water was unpleasant, but it didn’t stop her.

Mili hesitated, torn between staying behind or following. In the end, the fear of being left alone won out. Cursing under her breath, she took off her shoes and stepped into the water.

Mili’s presence wasn’t the only one Athanasia felt. The violet glow also had a presence—it coiled around them, trying to worm its way inside. Just like the cursed water from the well, only far stronger.

The oppressive sensation was at its peak here. Athanasia tried to maintain some kind of protection, but it wasn’t going well. The only thing she could do was start giving away her own magic, trying to dissolve the dark energy around herself and Mili.

After walking several dozen meters, they reached the glowing passage, guided by the light. What lay before them was incredible: in the center of a small circular chamber stood a stone, and above it floated a purple crystal. From the crystal, like serpents, tendrils of magical energy snaked through the air in all directions. The glow was bright enough that they no longer needed their lanterns.

— What the hell is that? — Mili reached out to touch the crystal, but Athanasia caught her in time.

— Don’t. It’s dangerous.

— You’ve seen something like this before?

— Only in books.

More precisely, in one book. Before them was an enchanted stone, containing cursed magic that was slowly leaking out through an artificially made fracture.

— What are we supposed to do with it?

Athanasia didn’t know.

Of course, the curse had to be removed now. She could try destroying the crystal, releasing all the magic at once—but the book hadn’t said what would happen then. There was another option: she could use more of her own mana to purify the cursed energy. One way or another, they could eliminate the source of the illness.

The real problem was much bigger. Athanasia wasn’t sure this was the end of it.

She stood frozen, staring at the crystal until her eyes began to water from the light. The curse continued to slowly but steadily drain her strength.

Before them was proof of what the Emperor was capable of doing to those who disagreed with him. Very few mages possessed magic this strong—not to mention that there weren’t many mages in Obelia at all. This crystal had to have been created by one of the court sorcerers.

If the curse failed, brute force would always be an option.

Maybe the only people in all of Obelia who supported Athanasia were now a step away from death—for the crime of wanting justice for her. The townspeople posed no threat to the crown, but her father feared even the smallest tremor enough to poison them all indiscriminately.

— What’s wrong with you? —  Milly gasped.

Her head was spinning, and Milly’s words echoed dully.

Rage was boiling inside Athanasia, and she couldn’t contain it. All the dead, the sick, the children… all of them had to weigh on the conscience of the one they supported, powerless against a magic they couldn’t even see.

— Bastards.

Mana spilled out around her, and the dark magic began to respond even more strongly. The air thickened. Her thoughts started to blur together.

They didn’t want anyone remembering Athanasia. Was it fear?
A helpless girl with nothing but a title — set against the emperor’s overwhelming love for Janet.

“Pathetic rats.”

— You’d better not do something stupid.

A hand landed on her shoulder. It snapped her back to reality a little. Athanasia blinked several times and only then noticed the colored mist rising around her, flickering with sparks.

She had no idea when Lucas had appeared. Milly was still in the same spot, pale as chalk and terrified.

Thinking was still hard. Athanasia had meant to ask something about the curse, or how Lucas had found them—but something completely different came out:

— How could you not tell me earlier?

He stared at the crystal feeding the curse and the fog around it for a long moment. Finally, he didn’t bother to hide the truth:

— You have a very bad habit—acting without assessing your strength. I would’ve dealt with it myself.

She wanted to hit him. If he’d said something sooner, they could’ve handled this faster—together. Instead, they’d wasted time running in circles.

— This thing could get nasty if it’s attacked. I’ll take care of it.

Lucas had figured out from the start that the illness was tied to a curse. The whole time, he’d been torn between keeping the sick alive and uncovering the truth. And even then, he hadn’t thought she needed to know.

— You had no right, — she hissed.

— Knowing wouldn’t have changed anything.

— But this is all because of me!

The mage shook his head. His denial didn’t make it any less true—these people suffered because they spoke a few words in her defense. And she was supposed to stay out of it? Walk in circles without even trying to help?

There had to be someone in the imperial family who gave a damn about the people.

Athanasia recalled the rustling leaves, the overwhelming power of the magical Tree the day she stood before it. The Tree believed she could fight.

She reached out toward the crystal and released all her power without hesitation.

The curse reacted instantly.

The entire cave flared up in a storm of violet smoke. Sparks turned into a raging whirlwind that engulfed them. The air was so thick they couldn’t breathe.

A hand on her shoulder yanked her back, but it was too late. Her skin burned, and her mouth tasted bitter. Athanasia could hear Milly’s voice, feel Lucas shaking her.

— Stop it right now, I mean it! — the mage shouted in her ear.

But she had to finish. She had to prove to herself that she could endure.

Her body gave out, and her knees buckled. Lucas caught her just in time before she fell into the cold water.

— If I say don’t do something, maybe try listening to me for once!?

Athanasia managed to focus on the crystal. It now looked almost transparent, like a giant diamond.

Lucas was still scolding her, visibly irritated. He summoned the crystal to himself with magic. There was no more darkness in it—just a weight that seemed to press down on her whole body.

— If that thing had gotten into you, I’d be spending the next week scraping that filth out of you! — Lucas snapped. — Stop creating extra work for me for no reason.

— Uh-huh…

— That’s all you’ve got to say?

She really couldn’t say anything more now. Wasting her energy so thoughtlessly was foolish. Athanasia allowed her heavy head to fall on his shoulder, to which the mage only rolled his eyes.

— Lily... you... — Milly looked at them with wide-open eyes, her mouth opening and closing as if she had forgotten all words.

Despite everything that had happened, Milly was too shocked. Athanasia quickly thought that it was because the girl, who had grown so far from the capital, had seen too much magic today. Then she noticed that a strand of her hair, resting on Lucas’s shoulder, was much lighter than it should have been.

The concealment spell dissipated. It seemed that Nori could now see her eyes, which were hard to ignore in the darkness.

Lucas didn’t care about her reaction. He pulled out a small pouch he’d prepared back in the tower—filled with crushed leaves from the magical tree—and poured its contents into the lake. The water began to glow faintly.

— Well, I hope this works, — he muttered, then turned to Milly, — Tell your people to dump the water they collected and drink fresh. It should help.

The girl tried to say something, but she never did.

Lucas transported them all to the edge of the village without warning. Milly couldn’t be surprised any further. They exchanged only a few words: Lucas ordered her not to tell anyone about what had happened in the caves, and Milly thanked him.

Athanasia had enough strength only to nod. Lucas never set her down, and she didn’t try to protest because she could feel she couldn’t walk on her own.

In an instant, they were transported to a glade in front of the tower. The lumberjack village was left behind. Now there was only what couldn’t be escaped. Athanasia now knew that she wasn’t the only one being pursued.

— Sorry, — she whispered, as Lucas laid her on the bed.

— Just don’t do anything stupid again.

He was angry. It was obvious from the tight line of his jaw and his sharp movements, even though Lucas didn’t say it out loud. Because of her, rumors would start spreading that the exiled princess was hiding somewhere in the mountains. If those rumors reached her father, mercenaries and guards would come again.

Lucas snapped his fingers, and instead of her wet clothes, a nightgown appeared on her, and a blanket was placed over her. He extinguished the lantern he had taken from the cave and headed toward the door.

— You’re not stupid enough to think this is all your fault, are you? — the mage asked, not looking back.

The door closed behind him, and Athanasia was left alone.

It was Lucas who was the fool, if he thought that his lies would lessen the burden on her shoulders.

Chapter Text

It was nearly noon when Orianna York invited the stranger in for tea. They sat in the parlor—furnished simply, but with care—and drank from the finest porcelain the house still possessed.

Orianna rarely indulged in extravagance, but when an unexpected guest arrived on her doorstep and introduced herself as someone from the Imperial Palace, she had to be received properly. That was why fresh pastries and a small plate of fruit accompanied the tea.

— You said you worked as a governess for Princess Janet, but never gave your name.

The woman seated across from her was plain, with fair hair and a modest dress. Orianna was not in the habit of inviting strangers into her home—especially not after the disgrace her family had suffered. But she had little choice, considering the guest claimed ties to the current heir to the throne.

— My name is Milianna, though I doubt the surname would mean much to you. My parents are minor aristocrats from the Empire’s southern provinces. They had to go to great lengths to help someone like me secure a place at court—as a governess.

It wasn’t so different from the Yorks’ own story. When her husband had still been alive, they had done everything to ensure a future for their eldest daughter. Their last savings had gone to sending young Lillian into high society, where she was to grasp at any opportunity that might better the lives of both herself and her younger sister. What they received instead was bitter disappointment and shame.

Orianna hadn’t expected that today’s conversation would dig up that chapter of their family history—the one they had tried to rip out and burn. Yet every person from the capital who came knocking eventually brought up Lillian. There was no escaping her name.

— So, what do I owe the honor of your visit?

The guest took a slow sip of tea. Her gaze had the same sharp glint as the palace guards who’d come years ago for questioning. That heavy, strained air would linger in the house for days.

— Truthfully, it wasn’t easy to earn a good position. I had talent, but life at court… it’s far harder than anything beyond the palace walls. It took years to learn how to survive there. I couldn’t even count how many times I stumbled. In those days, my mentor was your daughter, Lillian.

It wasn’t hard to see where this was going. Orianna pressed her lips into a tight line but said nothing.

— I regret never getting the chance to repay her for all she did for me—before she was exiled. Since then, I’ve been unable to contact her. I thought perhaps… you might know something about—

— I’m afraid I can’t help you. — Orianna cut her off coldly.

The guest clearly hadn’t expected such a curt response.

— I thought she would’ve at least written to her family.

The nerve. That traitorous fool, who had dragged their name through the dirt, was still being referred to as a member of the York family. When Lillian entered the palace, she hadn’t just failed to help her kin—she had made things worse. The ink on the scandal of the Emperor’s unwanted child, born of a street dancer, had barely dried when rumors started that the Yorks’ daughter was raising the little bastard.

— I couldn’t care less about her life. Not after her exile, not before it. I didn’t read a single one of her letters and I never intended to send her one.

— But she’s your daughter…

— My daughter would never have chosen to nanny some unwanted child over her own family! She renounced us the very day she bound herself to the disgrace of the entire Empire.

The teacup landed with a clink, trembling on its saucer. The guest sat with her head lowered, but Orianna saw her swipe away a tear. At first, she’d suspected this woman was sent by the city guard, here to sniff out whether the Yorks were aiding the exiled Lillian. But she had been wrong—this guest was just a simple fool who didn’t understand how the world worked.

So this was the company Lillian had chosen. No wonder she’d filled her head with delusions that she could do as she pleased.

— How can you speak of her like that?

— The same way she spat on her own honor. What kind of daughter is that, in your eyes?

The guest stood. Her hands were clenched into fists and her chin held high. Did she now believe she could act superior in someone else’s home?

Orianna was ready to give her a piece of her mind and throw her out—she should’ve never let a stranger past the threshold without knowing what sort she was. But the words froze in her throat.

The porcelain teacups rose into the air.

Tea spilled onto the cloth as the set began to float. Then other items joined them—lamps, frames, books. Orianna stared at the woman as if seeing her for the first time.

— Who are you?

No answer came.

Even the table and chairs lifted off the floor. This woman—this dangerous thing—could strike at any moment. Orianna’s hands groped blindly for something, anything, to defend herself with.

And then, the woman inhaled sharply.

Everything crashed to the ground with a deafening thud.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door burst open and Orianna’s younger daughter stood frozen in the doorway, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

— Mother! Are you alright?

She stepped over a fallen lamp and rushed to Orianna’s side. Behind her, a servant hesitated in the corridor, holding Orianna’s three-year-old grandson.

Orianna clutched her chest, breath coming in short bursts. For a moment, she had seen something terrible—something wrong with the woman’s eyes. As if they’d ceased to be brown and opened into a night sky filled with stars.

— Get out of this house. Now!

— I’ll go — said the guest — but first, tell me when you received the last letter from Lillian.

She wasn’t joking. The woman stood motionless, unfazed by the mess she had made. There was no use in threats.

— The servants burned them as soon as they arrived! I never saw a word she wrote!

This answer clearly didn’t please her. The furniture began to tremble again. Chairs might fly at any second. The woman stepped forward—but Orianna’s daughter blocked her path.

— Please don’t! — She held out her arms. — The last time Lilli wrote was right before we heard about her exile. I read that letter. I’m sure it was then. I replied, but she never wrote again.

— Why did you have to get involved!? — Orianna snapped.

She had failed to raise either daughter properly. The younger had only avoided scandal by marrying well. In all else, she was a reflection of soft-hearted Lillian.

— Mother, Lilli had something important to say. — her voice dropped to a murmur — I couldn’t ignore her when she said she was with child.

The tension vanished.

Orianna clutched her head in horror. It was too much. Shame piled on shame. She hadn’t raised her children to crawl into strange men’s beds.

The unwanted guest stood frozen. Her vacant eyes were still fixed on Orianna, but it was clear she was no longer seeing her. The news had shaken her too.

— What did you just say?

— You heard me. Now get out of my house!

She didn’t move. Now she only addressed Orianna’s daughter:

— Is it true? Lilli… is pregnant?

The girl nodded, hesitantly.

The servant had the sense to clutch the child tighter and run downstairs. Hopefully she’d fetch help.

As the table began to shift, both Orianna and her daughter ducked—but it simply floated back into place. The tablecloth settled neatly. Dishes and cutlery returned to their proper spots as though they’d never been touched. The room cleaned itself.

The guest stared blankly, saying nothing, but made no further move.

Soon, not even a stain remained on the carpet. No one had spoken a word.

— If anyone finds out about this… this house will burn to the ground. I promise.

That voice wasn’t hers. It was low and male.

The guest reached toward the corner where the voice had echoed and closed her hand around empty air.

And then, she vanished.

No trace of her remained—only the silence, and the weight of what had just been revealed. A weight the York family would never shake off.

The tower windows were enchanted to shield the interior from the weather outside. Lucas explained he had done it for the sake of his laboratory, when wind would interfere with potion brewing.

Outside, rain was pouring in sheets, but the windowsill where Athanasia sat remained perfectly dry. She reached out into the storm, catching rainwater in her palm before letting it spill. She had been sitting like that ever since they returned from the York family estate.

Athanasia’s only goal had been to find Lillian and make sure she was safe. She had worried that the closest person in her life might have started a new family in the years after exile and would no longer want to be involved with a disgraced princess. It had never occurred to her that Lillian’s private life may have begun long before she even left the palace.

— You're still thinking about it?

Lucas stood by the table where their map was laid out, now covered in markings of the places they had visited in search of Lillian’s trail.

The first mark had appeared a week after they returned from the village with the cursed river. Athanasia had hesitated for a long time about whether she should even try to find her former caretaker—someone who had already suffered enough because of her. But she couldn’t ignore the need to make sure Lillian was alright. If her father had been willing to punish commoners for opposing him, he might remember the one person who had defended Athanasia her entire life.

Oddly enough, the idea of visiting Lillian’s childhood home hadn’t come to her right away. Deep down, Athanasia had always thought of herself as Lillian’s only family—because she had never spoken of anyone else. Now, she understood why.

— I just don’t get how it could’ve happened.

— What exactly don’t you get?

Lucas tilted his head, watching her for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, his face turned red. A rare sight.

— Don’t tell me you… Wait. Wait, no. You’re not seriously thinking…

He took a step back, as if she had suddenly become contagious. The conclusions rushing through his mind pushed him into visible distress that Athanasia didn’t understand at all.

— I was only asleep a few centuries… Things couldn’t have changed that much. You talked about debutante balls and all that. What’s the age of majority for princesses now?

— What are you even talking about?

— Is that not something royal families discuss openly?

The mage paced to the far wall and back again, so caught up in thought that he didn’t even hear her question. And then, finally, it dawned on Athanasia.

— Lucas! I know how Lillian could’ve gotten pregnant! — She blushed so hard she had to turn away. — But that’s not the point. We were in the old palace where there were hardly any men around!

— “Hardly any” is more than enough to get pregnant.

— Lillian’s not like that! — Athanasia snapped.

— Not like what?

— She raised me! I know her well enough to say she wouldn’t sleep with a man unless she was married.

Lucas shook his head in disappointment.

— As we’ve just learned, maybe you don’t know her as well as you thought.

She couldn’t argue. Lillian had written to her family, asking for help. And knowing how unpleasant they were, she wouldn’t have done that lightly.

— She must’ve known this meant she’d never be able to marry.

Just like she had known what would happen if she defended the emperor’s unwanted child. And that hadn’t stopped her either.

— Maybe that’s why she decided to have a child, — Lucas offered. — Marriage is a bit overrated.

— Easy to say when you’re a mage who can conjure himself a tower and live in the woods, — Athanasia muttered. — But when you live in a cruel society built on strict hierarchy, you have to think about how to sell yourself to secure your future. Now I’m not even sure Lillian understood that. Maybe she really did believe in love.

— And you don’t?

Lillian had done everything she could to keep young Athanasia from realizing how cruel the world could be. She read fairytales with happy endings and told stories of true love. But Athanasia never experienced anything like that.

— I didn’t grow up naive. Princesses don’t get to choose who they marry.

As the sole heir, she had been expected to wed a high duke or a prince from a neighboring kingdom. But her value as a bride dropped the moment her sister appeared. Everyone knew then who would inherit the crown.

Lillian had somehow convinced herself that love could exist in Athanasia’s life. She had been horrified when she once saw the princess’s notebook filled with potential suitors. There were no charming young men admired by girls her age. Athanasia only listed those she could realistically be married off to—knowing the most eligible match, Ijekiel Alpheus, was already promised to her sister.

Princes from hostile kingdoms needing diplomatic ties. Old lords with great fortunes (and flocks of children from previous marriages). Ambitious nobles due some imperial reward. Athanasia remembered feeling relieved whenever misfortune befell one of her potential suitors, so she could strike their name from the list. That was a terrible time—falling asleep and waking up wondering which unpleasant man she would end up with.

Compared to that, exile had been freedom. In that light, she could even understand Lillian.

— And now, when you ask not to be called a princess?

Now she had a rare luxury: not thinking about marriage at all. Instead of a life path laid out for her, she had something terrifying and wonderful—an open future.

Still, it was hard to believe. Lillian had been pregnant. Athanasia couldn’t accept that it had all happened for just a few moments of pleasure.

Being cast out of the palace had, perhaps, come at the perfect time for Lillian. She needed to hide her pregnancy, and it gave her a way to leave without explanation. Officially, she had been accused of petty theft. Athanasia never believed she could do such a thing. But now, it was clear there may have been more important reasons than honor.

The good news was they had another clue: the child had to have a father. Even if he hadn’t accepted the child, he might know where Lillian was now.

After breakfast, they stood by the map together. It was filling with more and more places where Lillian definitely wasn’t. The list of possibilities was shrinking. Istlar was one of them.

A small town in the northwestern corner of the empire, far from trade routes. A week ago, Lucas learned that the head maid of the Jade Palace had been sent there. They didn’t know why, but the woman might’ve known too much to be left free.

There were no guarantees this wouldn’t be another wasted day. The empire was vast, and hiding a woman and child wasn’t difficult.

— Are you ready? — Lucas asked, tossing a few wrapped bundles of potions into his bag. They were valuable currency in poor regions. A good fever cure had bought them information more than once.

— One moment.

She couldn’t go out like this. Athanasia picked up a small mirror from the table and focused on her reflection. Each time they traveled together, she used a spell to alter her appearance to match Lucas’s. This time, she tried something different.

In the glass now stared a young woman with neatly tied chestnut hair and sorrowful blue eyes. The shape of her nose, her lips, her face—almost exactly as she remembered Lillian. She would introduce herself as her younger sister, trying to reconnect. It would be far easier to explain why they were searching for a disgraced former nanny.

They had to teleport in shifts, saving enough strength in case magic would be needed. Training had paid off, and Athanasia had long since stopped feeling dizzy or surprised by the process. It had become routine: you concentrate on where you want to be—and you’re there, as if the ability had always been yours.

Istlar was an unwelcoming place. Surrounded by swampland, it wasn’t fit for livestock or orchards. Life here was hard, and the locals weren’t used to visitors. That was obvious right away: though Lucas and Athanasia were dressed simply, people still stared as if they were something unnatural.

As usual, they decided to begin by trying to gain trust. Lucas did the talking for both of them, introducing himself as a traveling physician who collected rare herbs. He asked about a fictional species of fern, offering a handsome reward for any information, and when people insisted they hadn’t seen anything like it nearby, he would start offering his medicines in exchange for a place to stay the night.

Meanwhile, Athanasia wandered around the area, ready to strike up a conversation with anyone who seemed open to it. First, they needed to locate the woman who had been exiled from the palace not long ago. Only then could they hope she knew anything more.

But the people of Istlar were far too cautious. Every time the palace was mentioned, they’d tense up or turn away, saying they didn’t know anyone from the Imperial court and didn’t speak to their neighbors at all. Lucas hadn’t uncovered much more:

— The moment I mention the palace, they start trembling and bolt — he muttered during a brief break.

— Can’t blame them for being wary of strangers.

In this gloomy place of low houses and dirty streets, most people hadn’t come by choice. Circumstances had pushed them to the edge of the map — and not pleasant ones. Few had lived here for generations, and even those who could call themselves locals weren’t eager to admit any ties to traitors or fugitives.

— No luck with bribery?

— They say they only take medicine from the local apothecary.

Another habit of cautious folk: never take anything from a stranger. It wasn’t a dead end, but earning their trust would take more time — something they were trying to avoid wasting.

— What if we try bribing the apothecary instead? — Athanasia suggested.

Lucas paused to consider.

— It might work. If he’s gathering herbs locally, his stock must be limited. I’ve got something he might want in exchange for a small favor. — He pulled a small bottle from his satchel, the tincture they’d brewed together the week before. It smelled awful, but it worked wonders. — Besides, I’m curious what he could possibly make that would make people refuse my medicine.

Finding the apothecary wasn’t difficult, though the word “apothecary” was misleading. It stood at the end of the main street inside a slanted, two-story building — the first floor was for business, the second for living. A rotting wooden sign with a crudely carved snake hung above the door. The tiny windows were blocked by crates stacked from the inside, making it impossible to see in.

Lucas pushed the door open without knocking. A broken bell gave a pitiful jingle above their heads.

Inside, the small room felt even smaller. Every wall was lined with shelves holding jars filled with liquids of unpleasant colors. The counter in the middle, taking up most of the space, was buried under piles of notes and recipes. It looked like Lucas’s own lab — except this place held no trace of magic.

Behind the desk, an older man with graying hair and spectacles was jotting something down.

He was friendlier than the other locals.

— What can I do for you?

Lucas spoke first:

— We were told the apothecary here is quite skilled with herbs, so we thought we’d pay a visit. I’m conducting research into the medicinal qualities of rare plants, and I was hoping you might know where to find one.

He pulled out a drawing of a made-up fern Athanasia had sketched when she was bored, and began his questioning. The answer was expected:

— I’m afraid I’ve never seen anything like this in twenty years of living here. Are you sure it grows in this region?

— The information is reliable, otherwise we wouldn’t have come all this way — Lucas assured. — I received a sample from this area. It has remarkable fever-reducing properties. Are you absolutely certain?

The man frowned and gestured toward a shelf with dark brown jars. Athanasia thought she saw a snake’s scale through the cloudy glass.

— I’ve tried everything that grows here and documented each one. I can assure you, nothing like that exists locally.

Lucas shook his head with disappointment.

— A shame. I’ve heard that most plants here don’t have strong medicinal uses. It must be hard keeping a shop open in such conditions.

The man adjusted his glasses irritably.

— I suspect you haven’t studied this field very deeply. I trained under some of the finest physicians in the Empire. I manage just fine.

— Really? I’d be curious to hear how you substitute opium in pain relief treatments. Trade’s not exactly booming here. Do you grow it yourself?

Athanasia didn’t understand where the tension in the conversation had come from.

— I rarely use painkillers. But when I do, the local mushrooms can dull pain quite effectively.

The two of them stared each other down, as if they were already haggling, even before any offer had been made. Finally, Lucas laid it out:

— You know, I always carry a bit of opium concentrate when I travel — he said, placing a small pouch on the counter. — It’s much stronger than standard opium and a lot safer than mushrooms…

— I can’t afford that — the man cut him off immediately.

Which, for them, was a win. Lucas managed a convincingly thoughtful expression, as if he really cared about the price. The truth was, it would’ve been a problem if the apothecary had accepted. They’d have had to find another way to get what they wanted.

— Perhaps we could try something else, then — he said. — My companion also came from far away. Maybe she’d agree to cover the cost, if you could help her with a small request.

— And what sort of request costs that much? — the man eyed Athanasia over his glasses, and a strange flicker passed over his face, as if he was noticing her for the first time.

She stepped forward and paused.

— I’m looking for my sister. She used to work in the Imperial Palace. A few years ago, she was exiled, and I have reason to believe she might be here, in Istlar.

The apothecary leaned forward, studying her more closely. He didn’t flinch at the mention of the palace — unlike everyone else they’d spoken to. Athanasia continued confidently:

— Her name is Lillian. She may have arrived with a newborn child. We look a little alike — she has chestnut hair and—

— I know who you’re talking about — the man interrupted.

Athanasia nearly jumped. They’d been searching for over a month, traveling to every possible corner of the Empire. And now, for the first time, she heard the words she’d longed for.

— You know where Lili is?

— I worked in the palace twenty years ago. I met Lady Lillian York back when she was about your age. If she had arrived in Istlar, I would’ve recognized her immediately.

Her joy faded just as quickly as it had come.

— So you haven’t seen her?

— I’m afraid not. I haven’t heard anything about her since leaving the palace — the man said after a pause. His voice held no falsehood — only weariness, like the conversation had scratched at an old wound.

Athanasia bit her lip. She saw his gaze flicker across her face, as though he was weighing something, then came the question:

— You must’ve been close? Most wouldn’t cross half the Empire for someone they barely knew.

Athanasia looked away. Her answer came quieter than she intended:

— Lillian meant a great deal to me.

He nodded thoughtfully, but pressed further:

— How old were you when she left for the palace?

The question caught her off guard. She cursed herself for not better accounting for her chosen appearance. Her delicate face and smooth skin — she looked too young. Most wouldn’t notice, but a man like him surely would.

— I was five — she said, forcing her voice to sound steady. — But we wrote to each other often. Even as adults.

The apothecary nodded again. His face stayed unreadable, but his eyes softened slightly.

— It seems I won’t be much help to your companion — he told Lucas.

The mage scowled and tucked the pouch of opium back into his cloak. That was the end of the conversation.

The broken bell jangled again as they left the shop. Outside, the town greeted them with the same dead, dry air. Athanasia walked slowly, eyes scanning the alleys and rooftops. Everything here felt cold.

— You don’t even hear birds singing here — she remarked. — I pity those who have to live in a place like this just to stay out of sight.

They walked on toward the town’s edge, where the roads grew uneven and the houses thinned. Athanasia reached into her cloak and pulled out the little bird-shaped whistle she had bought the day she first used teleportation.

She wondered how that one minister’s story had ended — the one she had so shamelessly framed in that letter.

Athanasia brought the whistle to her lips. The sound it made was delicate, almost defenseless — like the chirp of a real bird, far too fragile for the silence around them. She glanced down at the little bird clutched in her palm.

“A broken wing…” she thought. “I have wings. I can do anything I want. But… I still haven’t flown. Why?”

Lucas stood beside her in silence, hands in his pockets. His silhouette appeared calm, even indifferent, but Athanasia knew he had other sides to him. An incredibly gifted mage who could’ve claimed a high position at court, but instead chose the isolation of the Black Tower and endless experiments with medicines he didn’t even need himself.

— I’ve always wanted to ask. You don’t care about money or glory. So why do you keep practicing medicine?

All he received in return were the thanks of grateful villagers. And Lucas wasn’t the sort to lay down his life for praise alone.

He gave a faint, humorless smile.

— My teacher started a series of studies he never finished. I intend to complete them for him.

His voice was unexpectedly quiet. There was no need for detail — something in the way he said it told her more than words ever could. It was the first time he had spoken of anything from before his centuries-long sleep. Every time she’d asked before, he’d changed the subject.

— Was he the one who taught you magic?

— Everything I know. And not just about magic. He built the tower, collected most of the books there… I was just a boy when we met. And yet, he said he saw something in me — something worth developing.

— So he was to you what Lillian was to me? — she asked gently.

Lucas gave a slight nod.

— I’d like to see him again someday.

Athanasia didn’t press further. She understood. They had more in common than one might think. Maybe that’s why the mage had let her stay near him.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon. Lucas glanced up at the sky, then over at her.

— We won’t make it back before nightfall. We should look for a place to stay. I’d rather not risk it if you’re going to sleepwalk us off a cliff.

Athanasia nodded. She wasn’t tired in the least. Her thoughts refused to let her rest.

This wasn’t the end — not the kind she was ready to accept. Lillian could’ve changed her name, moved somewhere they’d never think to look. And there was still another lead: the child, and the child’s father. They could start asking about him — maybe even tomorrow, here in Istlar. Someone among the former palace staff might know of rumors that never made it to the official court.

And there was something else bothering her — the conversation with the apothecary. As they once again walked the main road and Lucas searched for the sign of an inn, Athanasia was mentally reviewing the dates. Then it hit her:

— He was exiled… the same year I was born.

Lucas turned toward her, clearly surprised. She had to explain what she meant.

That couldn’t have been a coincidence. A cold unease crept over her. At that time, the palace had been a quiet, empty place — the number of courtiers only increased once Janet appeared. Most punishments back then were handed down directly by the Emperor. What could possibly have gotten a physician exiled? Knowing her father, the simpler option would’ve been execution.

Athanasia stopped and looked back in the direction of the apothecary.

— I have to go back. — Her voice was firm, almost impatient. — He knows something.

Lucas didn’t argue. He simply watched her, silent, as if weighing something in his mind. Then he followed without a word.

Late at night, faint light spilled from the apothecary’s windows, slipping through the gaps between the shelves. The door opened almost immediately after Athanasia knocked, as if her visit hadn’t been a surprise at all. The old apothecary didn’t look startled when he let the young woman inside. Just before closing the door, he glanced over his shoulder.

“He’s checking to see if anyone followed me,” Athanasia thought.

Lucas had stayed outside, cloaked in an invisibility spell. If anything went wrong, all she had to do was signal — he’d be there in a heartbeat.

The apothecary looked even less welcoming by night. Candles and lamp oil were luxuries in places like this, where they couldn’t be produced. The dim light barely illuminated the room. She couldn’t imagine how the man managed to read or write in such conditions.

— I was expecting you — the apothecary said.

Athanasia tore her gaze away from a pickled frog and raised a brow. On instinct, she scanned the room again. There were only two doors — one led outside, the other likely to the stairs. She hadn’t seen anyone else nearby when she arrived.

— Do I look sick?

— Not at all, Your Highness.

Chapter Text

A chill ran down her spine. In the transparent glass jar on the counter, she met the gaze of her own reflection—still that of young Lillian's copy.

“A magic-user?”

The apothecary gestured toward a rickety chair in the corner, inviting her to sit.

— Anyone who has seen Emperor Claude even once in their life would recognize his posture in yours. Eyes don’t lie, even if you change how they look.

— Not the best compliment, — Athanasia retorted, staying on her feet.

Now that there was no point in hiding, she dropped the illusion, feeling her hair curl back into its natural shape. The man had likely seen the crown princess before—yet he still let out a breath of surprise when Athanasia pushed back her hood.

— But your beauty comes from your mother.

— That’s more like it, —  she said coolly. — So you know why I’m here.

— You’re looking for Lady York, I presume, — he confirmed, — Unfortunately, she hasn’t been here. We crossed paths often enough when I was treating Lady Diana—I would’ve recognized her.

Athanasia’s eyes narrowed at the mention of her mother’s name. She had suspected it might come up. He’d been exiled the same year the princess was born, and there hadn’t been many in the palace who required a doctor back then.

— You know of other places where Lillian York could’ve been sent?

The man hesitated before answering.

— There are many places in the Empire where undesirables are sent. Secluded corners like Istlar, or industrial regions desperate for labor. Usually somewhere where it’s hardest to reach allies or imperial spies.

— Where do people end up most often, besides Istlar?

His gaze dropped to a dark stain on the counter, likely left by some tonic.

— Where they intended to send you, Your Highness.

To the afterlife. If someone knew too much or held too much sway, the crown rarely took chances.

But Lillian had only been a governess. She wasn’t dangerous enough to be killed, and that was why exile had been deemed enough. The old man was right about one thing—if Lillian had never sent another letter, then someone had made sure she couldn’t.

There was no point continuing blind searches. They needed more information about the Alpheus and Judith families’ connections to remote regions. Which meant more spying. More risk of being discovered.

Athanasia wasn’t ready to leave yet. One question still gnawed at her.

— You said you cared for my mother. That must’ve been during the pregnancy, right?

The doctor lifted his eyes, heavy with genuine sorrow. She hadn’t misheard.

— Yes. I was one of those appointed to assist Lady Diana through the birth. Though... perhaps ‘assist’ is not the right word...

— They say... my father orchestrated a massacre the day I was born. How did you survive it?

As a child, Athanasia had overheard servants whispering the tale. No one wanted to serve in the palace where so many innocent people had been killed. Everyone feared that one day the Emperor who hated his daughter would lose control again.

“Was the Emperor the one who killed my mother too?” —That was what she really wanted to ask.

Lillian had told her that her mother died during childbirth. But if that were true, why had her father killed almost everyone present that day? To silence witnesses?

— I wasn’t there. I requested retirement when I saw where things were headed. I knew I couldn’t bear to witness it. It was a few weeks before the birth.

So that was what it looked like—people fleeing like rats to save themselves. Only her mother hadn’t had a choice. A painful tightness squeezed Athanasia’s chest.

A horrifying image flashed in her mind—of her father plotting murder even before the baby was born—and she forced it away. She needed to hear it all. Even if it left her hating him so deeply she’d never sleep peacefully again.

— Tell me what happened, — she said evenly.

The apothecary returned to his seat at the desk, not waiting to see if she would sit this time. He stayed silent for a while, glancing at her unreadable expression from time to time.

— I’m sorry... but I was one of those who tried to convince Lady Diana not to have you, — the doctor admitted quietly.

Very few had believed her existence to be a good idea. That didn’t faze Athanasia. She waved her hand for him to continue.

— The moment it became clear she wouldn’t survive the birth, I told her—and the Emperor. I never thought I’d see the ruler of Obelia weep until I watched him beg her to end the pregnancy...

It took her a moment to realize the man had stopped speaking. She kept trying to picture tears in her father’s eyes—but all she could summon was his vacant stare from the throne room the day her sentence was declared.

— The Emperor... hated my mother. Everyone knows that. Her name isn’t even allowed to be spoken in the palace. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?

— I’m afraid not. I’d stake my life on it—I’ve never seen a love as fierce as the one that broke His Majesty’s heart when she told him she would go through with the birth.

So many dead. Lillian’s life in ruins for taking on her care. And Athanasia herself, forced to grow up in hiding...

She took a shaky breath to stop the sting in her eyes. It didn’t help, but she managed to ask:

— Then why didn’t he force her to end the pregnancy? — Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

The doctor gave her a look full of sympathy—one Athanasia loathed above all else.

— Only a mother can choose the fate of the child she carries. That’s human nature.

She had always wondered why her father hated her so deeply. Now the answer revealed itself with cruel clarity: because her mother died for her.

Her mother could’ve chosen life. She could’ve had another child. Maybe become the Emperor’s wife. When Janet appeared, she might have raised her as her own, and they could’ve had a normal family. Maybe not a happy one—but one far better than what Athanasia got.

— So you just ran when you knew she couldn’t be saved?

There was no other way to put it. He was a doctor. He should’ve stayed with his patient, even if her will defied the Emperor’s.

— I ran. But not then, — the man said firmly.

He looked around his modest apothecary—a great accomplishment built over years, after he’d been left with nothing. Even here, far from the palace, where his skills were respected and well-paid, he continued his work.

— Lady Diana asked me to look after her child and her beloved. I asked for permission to leave when I realized I wouldn’t be able to keep that promise.

— You didn’t try very hard, —  Athanasia muttered, arms crossed.

That stung, but the doctor didn’t lash back.

— I did everything I could to help His Majesty.

“Which one?” —her mind whispered.

An image formed: a baby swaddled in blankets, and a crowned man sobbing over the woman he couldn’t save.

The doctor didn’t notice her silent rage. He was no longer speaking to her, but simply recounting a truth he needed someone—anyone—to hear.

— He loved her more than anyone could have imagined. That love, in the end, became the illness that poisoned His Majesty. I bore the weight of responsibility not only for you and your mother—but for him, too. And while I’ve seen many difficult births... the horror that overtook the Emperor was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed.

Rumors of the Emperor’s declining health had circulated for years. He never seemed well—except for that brief period after Janet arrived. Even then, it hadn’t lasted. His gaze would dull, and he’d stare at nothing for hours, until something snapped him out of it. Sometimes, he’d explode in rage. Other times, he’d just leave, silent for the rest of the day.

— How was his illness connected to my mother?

— Have you ever heard the legend of Obelia’s first Emperor?

— Children’s tales, — Athanasia scoffed, though her knees began to tremble.

The doctor’s expression made her realize just how wrong she was.

— Those children’s tales left traces in imperial medical records for over a century. I suspect many of the scribes who documented them were killed—to keep the truth hidden. No one would dare create such a weapon against Obelia intentionally.

Athanasia gripped the edge of her cloak tightly.

— When His Majesty described the torment he was experiencing, I assumed it was just emotional pain. He couldn’t accept that Lady Diana chose death to bring you into the world. He threatened to execute her, said he’d never accept you, ordered physicians to drug her... But nothing worked. Her will was unshakable.

"What a fool," Athanasia wanted to scream.

In the end, her father followed through on his threats. Her mother’s sacrifice had been for nothing.

— We’d been giving him calming tonics. I realized how serious things were when he began coughing blood. A few days later, we noticed something unbelievable: mixed with the blood, he was spitting up bright blue fragments of something. It took us too long to realize what it was.

Athanasia sat up straighter. The doctor met her eyes—and she knew what he saw there: the faint magical shimmer of Obelia’s power. The same glow that pulsed from the Crown Tree. The same glow that once gleamed in the crystal heart of Emperor Obelius, centuries ago.

— That’s impossible...

— That’s what every other physician said, — the man replied with a dry smile. — Only I, like a fool, demanded access to the de Obelia family’s deepest records. That’s when I discovered this illness had occurred before—many times. Numerous heirs suffered from it. And no one ever found a cure.

The air grew too thin. Athanasia tried to breathe deeply, but something pressed beneath her ribs. She felt like the tree from the legend had begun to grow inside her.

“Is it already in me?” —the thought flashed.

— For a doctor, there’s nothing worse than watching a patient waste away and knowing there’s no help. In a matter of months, he went from the happiest man I’d ever seen... to the most wretched.

And that misery turned deadly for everyone around him.

— You were lucky he let you leave alive, — Athanasia remarked.

It hardly felt like luck.

— The Emperor allowed me to retire once I found a replacement, — the man explained. — Previous royal doctors had written that the illness sometimes came from nowhere—until it was traced back to unrequited love. I suggested to His Majesty that magic might cure a magical disease. I told him to find a way to forget his love for Lady Diana.

Athanasia buried her face in her hands, trying to hide the anguish twisting her features. Only dark magic could tamper with human memory—and using it always left a stain.

— Even so, I doubt the illness could’ve been reversed. Maybe the branches just grew slower. But still... His Majesty is doomed to suffer.

Without thinking, Athanasia whispered:

— He deserves it.

The apothecary didn’t argue.

He had answered every question—more than she ever expected. And now, neither of them had the strength to speak.

As she left the apothecary, Athanasia realized she wasn’t sure she wanted any more truths. The ones she had now... were more than enough to make the ground vanish beneath her feet.

Lucas was waiting where she had left him. When he saw Athanasia, he frowned.

— You were talking for quite a while. Did you find anything out?

Looking at him now felt like yet another subtle blow. She didn’t want to tell the truth.

— He doesn’t know where Lillian is.

— Then we’ll keep searching elsewhere.

They took each other’s hand. Athanasia closed her eyes and felt Lucas shift them through space. Even before opening them, she knew they were back in the forest clearing. Now it was her turn. She focused, preparing to teleport them to the next location. Magic surged around them again—and suddenly, Athanasia lost her balance.

At the last moment, Lucas caught her by the waist and pulled her close. She looked down in panic and saw they were hovering several meters above the ground. Instead of appearing on the slope, she had brought them to the very edge of a cliff.

They were suspended in midair, pressed so close she could feel the anxious breath Lucas exhaled against her crown. To avoid looking him in the eyes, she glanced up at the crescent moon high above them.

— What was that?

— I just… — She tried to explain, but couldn’t find the words. Too much was on her mind, too much she didn’t yet know how to live with. — I don’t know. I’m sorry.

He didn’t ask anything more. He only held her tighter. And Athanasia didn’t know whether she wanted to push him away—or pull him closer. Lucas handled the rest of the teleportation on his own, until Athanasia felt his arms finally release her, and allowed herself to open her eyes.

They were in the tower. Everything was exactly as it had been before they left, yet to Athanasia it felt like months had passed. Everything felt distant and blurry, like a memory slipping away.

As soon as Lucas took a step back, she turned away, wiping away a tear that had slid down her cheek. To avoid facing him again, she walked to the far shelf, hoping that somewhere in the ancient library of the Empire’s most powerful mage, she could find something to quiet her mind.

— What are you looking for?

Lucas stayed where he was, but she could feel his studying gaze as she scanned book after book.

— What do you know about memory-erasing spells?

— I know they’re a terrible idea.

— I know that too, — she muttered, realizing there was nothing useful in the section on mental magic. She moved toward the section on dark arts.

— I don’t know what your bright little head’s thinking, but playing with that stuff is a bad idea, Princess. You have no idea how it could end.

— I’m not playing. I’m researching.

She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Forgetting someone like her mother should have been impossible. Everyone in the palace had known her name. If memories couldn’t be erased with magic—maybe they had been destroyed along with those who carried them.

Her hand fell short of reaching the book.

— So that’s why he killed them… Athanasia whispered.

— What did you say?

That was it. The entire Harem Palace had been filled with reminders of the late favorite. So her father had taken the simplest solution. He hadn’t killed them out of rage or grief—he’d done it to forget her.

And he’d left only the newborn daughter alive, even though he hated her most of all. Lillian always said Athanasia resembled her mother. And that must have been what tormented the Emperor most. Worse than if he had hated her for Diana’s death.

Every time she thought he couldn’t bear to look at her—she’d been right. Every glance reminded him of the beautiful Diana from the East, the one he couldn’t live without.

“This magic lives and dies with us…” she recalled the apothecary’s words. “The Tree sees even feelings. And punishes.”

— I don’t want to end up like my father, — she said louder.

— You’re not that stupid, — Lucas said simply.

But she wasn’t sure. Maybe everyone in their bloodline was doomed—none of them, not even the cruelest, could protect themselves from love.

— Do you have any books on Obelian magic? Anything about the Tree or its properties would do.

Lucas squinted with suspicion.

— I’ll give them to you—once you tell me what you’re planning to do.

She wasn’t sure herself.

She wanted to know whether her father had really managed to use magic to forget her mother. And to confirm one more thing.

— That doctor served my father. I suspect Obelian magic may have driven him mad.

— Or he was just insane, and you don’t need magic to explain it, — Lucas replied. Still, he kept his word and summoned the book with a flick of his hand.

Feelings had once seemed so small. Athanasia used to believe she could live without them. But today, she’d learned that was a lie. People in her bloodline had died for believing that lie.

If this was true—if there really was no cure—it meant Athanasia could never, ever fall in love.

The worst part was that Lucas didn’t pass her the book with magic. He walked over and placed it gently in her hands. The moment her fingers gripped the worn cover, he ran a hand through the tangled hair on her crown.

— You won’t become like him, — he promised.

Athanasia might have agreed—if her heart hadn’t skipped at his touch.

It was hard to focus on the book. Her eyes skimmed the pages without really reading.

Lucas had been silently watching her for several minutes. She hadn’t looked up, but she could feel his gaze just as clearly as the night breeze drifting in through the window. He saw something—not the consequences, but the cause. She knew that. Yet he didn’t ask.

— You should get some rest, — he said eventually.

— No, — she replied flatly, without even shifting.

Her fingers clenched the pages, though her eyes hadn’t taken in a word. Lucas moved closer, bending down to try to catch her eyes, but she only leaned further over the book.

— I can’t sleep right now, — she added more calmly. — But I’m fine.

He didn’t believe her—and didn’t pretend otherwise. But he didn’t push.

— In that case, there’s something I need to check on. I won’t be long.

She wanted to look at him—but couldn’t bring herself to lift her head.

— Go. I’ll be here for a while. — She tapped the page as if to prove her point.

Lucas lingered a moment longer—though he knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Then he swept his hand, and a flash of light burst in the air. He vanished, leaving only the sharp crackle of displaced air behind.

Silence fell. Shadows crept in from the corners, and somewhere deep in the tower, the wooden beams creaked faintly—like old memories. The Black Tower had its own history.

Athanasia was alone. The open book lay on the desk, her fingers unconsciously tracing the yellowed page.

— Not that stupid, — she whispered.

Not a helpless little girl marching to execution with no other choice. Now she had power—and she knew how to use it. She didn’t need Lucas to protect her.

She unrolled the map on the table and studied its lines. The capital was like the heart of the Empire—pulsing, guarded, dangerous. Lucas would never let her near it without a plan. Lillian might not be there—but all it would take was finding the father of her child.

Athanasia swallowed. She had to be wise. And wisdom didn’t leave room for emotion. Her pen hovered over the parchment just as a traitor’s tear fell on it.

A powerless man collapsed to his knees and let out a ragged breath.

— I told you… I’ve never heard that name before…

Lucas didn’t answer. His stare remained cold. In the torchlight, the mage’s eyes seemed even darker. He kicked the man, sending him sprawling onto the ground, arms raised to shield his face.

The others had long been lying face-down, pinned to the floor by spells—silent, stunned, trembling with fear.

— Then tell me who has, — Lucas said quietly—almost gently. — And I won’t trouble you again.

One step. Then another. The man crawled backward, as if every word carried a death sentence. The truth was, Lucas hadn’t even started yet. He could be far more… persuasive.

— I would know! — the man whined. — You said she’s from the palace—they would’ve reported it! I swear!

And that was the worst part. He wasn’t lying.

In this region, there was no place this scoundrel didn’t know. His “estate” thrived on ruthless exploitation—peasants working from dawn to dusk, with taxes designed to keep them in the dirt. Escape was nearly impossible.

The perfect place for exile.

Lucas crouched down in front of him and grabbed him by the collar.

— I heard the guard visited you. What were they after?

— It’s got nothing to do with Lillian York, or whatever her name is—I swear! They’re looking for the princess. Left her portrait and everything…

— And? Did they find her?

The man shook his head. He looked like he was about to faint.

The list of places where Lillian York could be was growing smaller by the day. Lucas wasn’t a fool. He could see where this was going. No leads. No whispers. Which meant either she was dead, or someone powerful enough was hiding her—powerful enough that finding her could take forever.

Lucas stood on a hill overlooking the bleak cluster of low, weather-beaten homes, wind howling through their narrow alleys. Behind him loomed a luxurious estate.

He could’ve blamed himself for holding onto hope, but he didn’t believe he had a choice. Athanasia wasn’t ready to accept the death of her caretaker. Probably never would be.

He had stolen her beast. Taken what should have been hers—magic, power, something he’d had no right to touch. Something that could’ve given her better standing in the palace. A safer childhood. And now, all that was left was trying to save the rest of the life he’d accidentally broken.

The thought of returning made him sick. He knew she’d still be sitting by that book, digging for one more truth that might help their search.

And he knew he wouldn’t tell her the truth—that there was nothing left to hope for. That during the nights, he’d gone to dozens of places not marked on their map. And still hadn’t found even a whisper of Lillian York.

Lucas would lie, of course, when he told Athanasia they’d find her eventually.

It was well past midnight when he returned to the Tower. Silence greeted him like it hadn’t been expecting anyone.

The candle was out. The princess was probably already asleep. Good. He was too tired to lie to her face just yet.

But on the threshold, Lucas felt it. A slight shift in the air. A different kind of silence.

The book was gone from the table—though Athanasia usually left them scattered. Her presence was missing. Not just from the room, but from the air, from the magic—gone.

He stepped closer. On the edge of the table, held in place by an inkwell, lay a folded piece of parchment. Lucas unfolded it, but the words didn’t settle into meaning right away—like they resisted forming thoughts. His fingers gripped the page tighter than they should have.

“There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude, but someday I’ll find a way to repay the debt.
Until then, I hope you’ll forgive me for stealing the book.

Take care of yourself, Lucas.

NOT Princess Athanasia de Eldjeo Obelia.”

Chapter Text

— You’ve all been granted an extraordinary honor. Serving Her Highness Princess Janet is not a duty handed out lightly — the elderly woman with a cane lectured. — You are expected to be twice as attentive and three times as capable. No mistake will be forgiven. If you falter — you’ll be outside the gates by the end of the day. Is that perfectly clear?

Athanasia nodded along with the other girls, who were clearly nervous. For them, this truly was an achievement. One of them, as rumor had it, had already worked in the palace for two years and was only now being promoted. Some came from wealthy merchant families, eager to give their daughters a chance — and willing to pay a small fortune for it. Athanasia had no time for such things.

She had arrived at the palace less than two weeks ago, claiming to be a poor orphan. To do so, she altered her appearance to resemble a frail village girl. A few forced tears and a sorrowful tale of life without parents in a remote hamlet were enough to place her as a lowly helper in the forgotten quarters of the palace estate.

Her career as a maid was going brilliantly. Thanks to magic, Athanasia could run carrying heavy baskets, and when no one was looking — teleport short distances. Her “work ethic” couldn’t go unnoticed. For a pittance, she performed a ridiculous amount of labor.

And now, after working as a gardener, dishwasher, and cleaner, someone finally “took pity” on her — or so they thought. The head maid decided that the greatest achievement a poor orphan could hope for was to serve during a tea party.

As soon as the old woman left, the girls began whispering anxiously. The Ruby Palace was cloaked in rumors. Despite everyone dreaming of serving the princess — where pay was the highest — nerves ran high.

— Why do you think they called us from the main palace? Doesn’t Her Highness already have enough maids?

— Word is the countess dismissed over ten girls last week.

— If only we could take their places.

For some reason, no one questioned Rosalia Judith’s authority here. Her name echoed everywhere — even in the Jade Palace, where she had no business meddling. Athanasia couldn’t blame them. She herself was living proof of what the countess was capable of — removing a crown contender if needed.

The maids had little time to prepare. They had to change into clean, starched uniforms meant to show status. Then came the task of helping transport everything the other servants hadn’t managed to carry to the tea site.

And that turned out to be quite a lot. It was hard to imagine what the main setup looked like, or what had been brought from the Ruby Palace. Athanasia and two lively girls were left carrying a pile of napkins, tablecloths, and linens.

— Are you sure you want to carry that too, Lili? — one of today’s partners asked. — You know the princess won’t be there yet to see and praise it.

— I’m strong — Athanasia shrugged. There was nothing in her figure to suggest she could carry such weight, but she felt sorry for the other girls who had no choice.

— Suit yourself.

Even with the magic holding the bundles for her, Athanasia was tired by the time they arrived. The tea party was set by the lake, which meant a thirty-minute walk on foot.

She still hadn’t earned enough trust to be given any responsibility alone, so she always had to be surrounded by other servants. But that had its benefits: older maids gossiped constantly — about each other and about those in the palace.

Drawing suspicion was too dangerous. Athanasia wasn’t about to start asking about Lillian York. Instead, she inquired about the old Harem Palace and those who once lived there. That’s how she learned that during her absence, the story of Janet’s poisoning had grown wild with rumors.

People whispered that Athanasia had tried to attack her sister again at the trial — this time with magic. Some believed she had been killed by the Emperor. Others were convinced she was secretly plotting a rebellion. The missing princess was spoken of so frequently, there was no need to ask.

By the lake, even more work awaited. Now it was clear why so many dishes had been brought. Several tables with chairs were set up across the clearing — each had to be decorated and arranged properly.

Every step was watched closely by several people from the Ruby Palace. They reacted to the smallest mistake as if someone were trying to ruin the entire event. The maids panicked and made more mistakes.

The servants who had arrived an hour earlier still hadn’t finished decorating — arranging giant flower vases and stringing ribbons. It was their third attempt.

When the maids were done with the tables, they had to help the kitchen staff with the food. Before all the desserts and dishes had been placed evenly, one girl had already been sent away for eating an apple.

Here, magic was no help. Athanasia had to rely on etiquette alone to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

Then came the tea, brewed in advance to cool slightly — so the guests wouldn’t overheat in the already stifling weather.

The scale of this “friendly gathering” was astonishing. For a princess from the Harem Palace — a crumbling place where she and Lillian had fended for themselves — this was another world entirely.

— Does the princess always hold tea parties this lavish? — Athanasia asked the girls she came with, in a whisper.

They glanced toward the overseers and whispered back:

— Not always. It’s just that there haven’t been any celebrations for a while. They want to make this one special.

The last tea party had been far more modest — as if everyone understood it wasn’t a pleasant gathering, but a death sentence for Athanasia.

Bitter memories. She had purposely avoided any contact with her family for as long as she could. In the months spent in the Black Tower, Athanasia had learned to control her magic well — but not perfectly. Every time she thought about her father or sister, her magic slipped.

If that happened here — in the palace — and her disguise spell broke, sneaking in a second time would be impossible.

The preparations ended almost exactly as the first voices echoed from the garden path. A few maids arranging the flower vases nearly dropped their compositions — they straightened at once and vanished from sight. Athanasia, however, remained. She had the role of tea server and stood by the table with the porcelain, watching as the guests began to arrive one by one.

They came in pairs or small clusters, walking slowly, as if each one of them hoped to become part of the landscape — flowing gowns, glittering earrings catching the sun beside polished glass, smiles reflected in crystal.

Something about the moment felt unreal. They looked just as guests of an imperial tea party should — refined dresses, gemstone jewelry, their hairstyles immaculate, their etiquette rehearsed to perfection. And yet... Athanasia had grown unaccustomed to such luxury during her time outside the palace. There, dresses were worn for years, not bought for a single afternoon.

By tradition, guests were not allowed to sit until the hostess of the tea gathering arrived. So they were served chilled drinks in tall glasses and light appetizers. Servants passed around delicate desserts — fruit shaped like roses, crackers topped with pink butter — all to sweeten the wait and build anticipation.

Athanasia, balancing her tray, approached two young ladies she hadn't seen since her past life. Lady Verena — the daughter of a duke from a distant province, sent to the capital in search of a husband — and beside her, none other than a girl from a powerful merchant family, Lady Marion. Once upon a time, these two could hardly stand each other. Now, they appeared nearly inseparable.

— Rosalia Judith never fails to impress — said Verena, eyeing the embroidered napkins at the table.

— Oh, she didn’t plan all this herself — Marion smiled behind her fan. — She just knew who to force into doing the work.

Verena chuckled softly. Time passed, but some people never changed.

They noticed Athanasia and took small fruit baskets from the tray, returning to their conversation.

— Are those dates?

— This one? Yes, I think so.

— The chef behind this must be from the Imperial kitchens.

— Trying to make a statement after such a long silence? — Marion mused, eyes glinting.

— If that was the goal, it worked. Last time I had dates was at Rebecca’s birthday celebration.

The name hung in the air. Athanasia hadn’t managed to walk away in time, so she pretended not to hear.

— Well, Rebecca always did enjoy standing out. Remember how she showed up to Christine’s tea party in that— — but Marion fell silent. Her gaze had shifted left.

Another guest approached. Elena Ireyn, with the lilies braided into her hair — the symbol of her house — just as always.

— Not in front of her — Marion whispered quickly. — You know how she reacts when someone brings up Rebecca since the funeral.

Athanasia was sure Elena had caught the last words, but she smiled gracefully nonetheless.

— Good day. I feared I’d arrived too early — she said warmly. — I’m glad there’s already company to speak with. The flowers today are magnificent. Even dew-roses are blooming as if they knew we were celebrating.

— Oh, Elena, you always notice such details — Verena replied instantly, her voice softened.

The servants from the Ruby Palace suddenly straightened like statues, lining the edge of the clearing. They stiffened, eyes fixed toward the path.

There was no need for an announcement. Everyone knew who was about to arrive.

Janet stepped beneath the arch of roses like one of them — in full bloom and flawless. Her gown shimmered in the sunlight, and tiny pearls at her sleeves sparkled like dewdrops. She smiled brilliantly, outshining the sun itself — the way only she could.

Athanasia froze. Her hands, holding the silver tray, trembled slightly. Her entire plan — all the deception, all the effort to hide — seemed to pale against this one moment. Janet was alive, untouchable, wrapped in luxury and adored by all. While Athanasia had once stood trial and been branded a poisoner.

And beside her — Rosalia.

She moved slower, with that same chilling grace that made people lower their eyes. Athanasia’s fingers itched to cast a spell right at her face. Just one movement would be enough.

But she had to control herself. She wouldn’t find Lillian otherwise.

— Move! — One of the maids gave her a small nudge with her elbow.

Athanasia nodded, as if awakening. She took a deep breath and walked back to her station. Thankfully, she had been assigned to the tables at the edge. The center — around Janet — was served by Ruby Palace attendants, the most trusted.

Guests showered Janet with compliments — one girl spoke admiringly about the embroidery on her dress, another about how her hairstyle framed her delicate face. Janet laughed lightly, sometimes placing her fingers to her lips, as if she hadn’t heard such praise a hundred times before.

— Please, girls — she said at last. — Sit. I’ve been waiting for this day so eagerly!

The servants bowed and quickly began bringing out the food. Athanasia poured the tea with practiced grace, as if born to do it. The only thing keeping her from perfect focus were the conversations she couldn’t avoid overhearing. Coincidentally, she was once again near the two most talkative girls.

— So then — Marion sighed. — Three of the most eligible bachelors in the Empire… and not a single one looking to marry.

— Aren’t they? — Verena teased. — I have the impression that Ijekiel Alpheus decided long ago who holds his heart.

The girls around the table sighed dreamily, in perfect unison.

Oh yes, even the furthest corners of the Empire had heard of the princess and the young duke’s romance. After Janet was poisoned, Alpheus had moved into the Imperial Palace for good — to stay by her side. Now, he lived in the knights’ quarters under his own merit, training to become the next Sword of His Majesty.

Athanasia’s eyes slid back to Rosalia. The woman sat apart, watching every guest with keen, calculating eyes. Her fingers slowly turned the massive ruby ring on her index finger. Roger Alpheus, Ijekiel’s father, was her ally — in more ways than one.

— Do you think we’ll see any Arlantan guests today? If the young duke shows up, they might come too — one girl asked. — I’ve heard some of them are from rather noble families…

— And very handsome — Verena added, nudging Marion under the table.

— Unfortunately, the most handsome one’s heart is already spoken for — another girl sighed, gazing adoringly at Janet.

It seemed her sister charmed everyone with little more than her sweet smile. Athanasia clenched her teeth. Janet would never have to worry about her heart turning to crystal or her body being torn apart by the roots of another cursed tree.

None of these girls — sipping tea and discussing love as their favorite pastime — would ever know that pain. Their hearts might break and heal again, learning lessons in time. But for some, there was only ever one chance.

Marion took another sip of tea.

— And then there’s the mysterious Wolf. He’s still unbetrothed, isn’t he?

— He’s always alone. Sometimes I think he always will be — another girl sighed, dropping her head dramatically. — But he’s so beautiful!

A loud sigh came from the next table. Elena rolled her eyes.

— If only you knew what he’s really like — she muttered.

— What is he like?

Heads turned toward her with hopeful eyes. The heir of House Irein had a reputation strong enough to stir the hearts of many young ladies.

There had once been rumors that Athanasia might be betrothed to him. Knowing his calm nature, she would have been thrilled if it had turned out true. Talks of a match between the Ireins and the Imperial family had started long ago, after Athanasia had given her only dance at her debut to the Lone Wolf.

In truth, he was the only one who had asked. Every other boy had been too enamored with the new star — Janet — or too wary to move as the succession balance trembled. Athanasia had always suspected that dance had been a small thank-you gift from Elena.

Lady Irein tried to dodge further talk of her brother, but her luck had run out. The questions quickly turned toward her.

— There must be someone you like?

Elena lowered her head, letting her dark hair fall over her face.

— I just value character more than charm — she said softly.

— How diplomatic.

The girls giggled again.

Athanasia remained nearby, following the other servants’ example. She had to be invisible — yet attentive to every detail before the guests even noticed. It was exhausting work, and the conversations, constantly pulling up old memories, didn’t help her focus.

The celebration began to quiet. Voices softened, phrases shortened. Girls now exchanged glances more than laughter. Even the lavender-syrup ice cream no longer drew delight — spoons turned slowly in their fingers instead of lifting to their lips.

And then Janet rose and clapped her hands.

— Time for something special — she said, smiling playfully.

A boat appeared at the shoreline. Silver, with embroidered cushions and a sheer canopy at its prow. Two palace oarsmen guided it, and at the center — like a scene from a stage — sat a small spread of grapes and fruit.

The effect was immediate. Guests leapt from their seats, forgetting everything else. They hurried to get closer, eager as children near sweets. Each one wanted to be nearest to Janet — the center of all attention.

Athanasia, meanwhile, gathered plates from the table, clearing what was left. Maids fluttered about — some removing linens, others bringing trays of fruit for the final course.

Her motions were precise, mechanical. But her mind worked elsewhere.

"The archives. They must have records — decrees, appointments, dismissals. If Lillian was officially exiled, there has to be a trace."

She could already see herself slipping away from duty, switching into a palace cloak, sneaking down to the archive wing. The old documents were stored in deep cabinets there. With luck, she wouldn’t draw attention at all.

For a moment, Athanasia paused, staring at the glittering lake. The boat had already drifted to the center, where round green leaves cradled blooming water lilies. White and pink, they swayed gently — like dreams just out of reach.

She caught a glimpse of Lady Irein leaning over the edge, examining a flower — then turned back to her task. The faster she finished, the more time she’d have tonight.

A splash. Sharp. Out of rhythm with the lapping waves. And then — a scream.

Not everyone reacted immediately, but some rushed to the lake at once.

Elena was gone from the boat. The water rippled, leaving a dark circle expanding outward. Her body broke the surface, hands flailing, grasping for anything — the edge, the air. But she was too far for the boatmen to reach in time.

And in the water — something moved.

— Grab her! — someone screamed, but everyone just shouted. No one knew what to do. The oarsmen turned their heads wildly, frozen.

They too had seen it — something green slicing the water. A thick vine-like shape, twisting toward the girl.

Athanasia clenched her fingers. She saw it—every time Elena tried to resurface, something dragged her back down. Like hands. Like… shadows beneath the water.

— Pull her out of there! — Rosalia commanded.

But not a single servant dared to wade deeper than knee-level. Someone ran for help. Even if, by some miracle, someone nearby had the courage to dive in, it might already be too late.

Like the others, Athanasia stepped toward the water, as if enchanted. She had no right to intervene. She was a maid, an invisible shadow.

She had no right to intervene. She wasn’t a princess here. She was a shadow.

And then someone else burst out from behind the shrubbery — a young man in a knight’s uniform, his cloak still half-unfastened. Ijekiel Alpheus. He needed only a heartbeat to freeze in place before dashing to the lake, already unbuckling his sword and tearing off his outer layer as he ran.

He didn’t even hesitate—just as the water reached his knees, he dove.

"He’s mad," Athanasia thought. "They’ll drown him too."

But everyone’s attention was fixed on the heroic gesture. Cheers, gasps, hopeful cries. No one else could see what she did — that the true horror hadn’t even begun. The boy didn’t stand a chance.

Athanasia crouched and lowered her hands into the lake. Her magic — gentle, like a breath — slipped into the water’s depths… and immediately met resistance.

Something was down there. Alive. Natural, but twisted. It moved with the erratic grace of a hundred limbs. And the moment it felt her magic — it flared with rage.

"Damn it…"

Massive green whips rose from the lake — no longer hidden, no longer restrained. They looked like snakes, grown from rotted lilies. A new wave of screams erupted from the boat.

The guests onboard shrieked, rushing to the opposite side, tipping the vessel dangerously. If they didn’t calm down, they could easily join poor Elena’s fate.

"Not a bad idea," Athanasia thought grimly. "A terrible idea."

But the threat only seemed to spur Ijekiel forward. Instead of hesitating, he swam harder.

Athanasia waded deeper. Her legs trembled — from cold or resolve, she didn’t know. One wrong move could doom them all. There was no time to reflect on the choice she had made.

Elena was the only one who had ever helped her. A single dance — a meaningless gesture to others — had given Athanasia a fleeting taste of a world that should have been hers. And to repay that debt, she would risk others. Even her own sister.

Elena surfaced once more — and vanished. Swallowed. This time for good.

"All or none," Athanasia decided.

Magic surged from within her. A powerful pulse sent a wave crashing against the boat’s hull. It rocked violently. Screams echoed across the water.

The second wave — sharper, more precise. The boat capsized.

Water boiled with screams, splashes, panic. One girl clung to another. Someone cried that she couldn’t swim. Pink lily petals scattered, mixing with beads and ribbons from ruined dresses.

— Save the princess! — Rosalia’s voice roared above the chaos.

Several people dove into the lake, despite never having swum before. Saving Janet was worth the risk.

Now, no one cared about what lurked below. Athanasia dared to unleash her magic fully.

A brilliant flash dulled beneath the murky water. Far beneath, the creature shuddered pitifully, limbs thrashing. Then the tendrils above sank limply beneath the surface.

Only Ijekiel noticed something unusual had happened. His face — half-hidden by wet hair — twisted in surprise. But without hesitation, he dove.

— Save her… — Athanasia whispered. — Since you insisted on going in.

The maid sent for help finally returned. With her came several young men, clad in the same training uniforms as Ijekiel. They looked to be about his age — likely newly knighted squires.

Athanasia mentally counted them, hoping every one of them could swim. She recalled every spell she knew. In these heavy dresses, their chances of reaching shore were minimal. Casting such intricate magic to reach the lake’s center was no easy feat. She couldn’t risk summoning another wave — it might scatter the wreckage farther from shore. Instead, she calmly cast buoyancy spells on those panicking the most.

It wasn’t enough. She needed to get closer. She moved forward. The water reached her waist as she cast a charm on herself and began swimming awkwardly.

Athanasia couldn’t swim — not really — but she managed to push forward in the right direction.

Meanwhile, Ijekiel proved himself more capable than expected. He was already nearing the shore, clearly summoning all his strength to keep moving, Elena clinging unconscious to his back.

Compared to Athanasia, the knights were far stronger swimmers. They quickly reached the lake’s center. Some helped the girls who hadn’t yet made it to the overturned boat.

Once the spells had been cast on everyone, Athanasia grabbed one of the girls thrashing helplessly in the water, sobbing uncontrollably. Her face was still sticky with sweet syrup. If Athanasia recalled correctly, her name was Lavinia. The same shrill voice that hadn’t stopped crying even now, after being told she was safe.

They reached the shore almost at the same time.

Lady Lavinia collapsed the moment she stepped onto dry land. Her movements sluggish, eyes hollow. The two of them emerged onto the bank amid wails and groans. A gust of wind made Athanasia shiver. But she couldn’t risk using magic to warm herself.

Someone threw a cloth over them — thick, dark, bearing the princess’s crest. Athanasia wrapped herself quickly, praying she hadn’t used too much mana and that the disguise spell wouldn’t begin to falter.

— Is everyone alive? — one of the Ruby Palace maids called out, scanning the shoreline. She quietly counted the guests.

In the chaos, it was hard to notice the one thing that worried Athanasia most. On the grass, just a bit away from the crowd, Ijekiel knelt beside the girl he’d laid down on the cloak he’d thrown earlier. His hands cradled Elena gently, her body still wracked with coughing. Her cheeks were pale, eyes wide — as if she still couldn’t believe she was breathing.

They were both soaked, but he trembled more than Athanasia or Elena. She tried to prop herself up on her elbows but slipped. Ijekiel caught her before she could hit the ground again, pulling her back against him.

— Did you call for a healer?! — he shouted hoarsely.

Someone rushed to obey. It only seemed to irritate him further.

— I’ll carry her myself, — he growled, shooting a scathing look at the maids who could only offer more towels.

— I’m fine, — Elena protested. She meant to say more but turned abruptly and vomited. This time, the towels were not unwelcome.

Ijekiel swept her hair aside, awkwardly twisting it to keep it out of the way. He didn’t move from her side.

Watching this strange scene, mouth slightly open, Athanasia nearly missed the moment Janet was carried ashore.

She was being carried — though clearly against her will. She could walk just fine, but she didn’t protest as the knight held her with reverence, like a sacred relic. His face was familiar. Not just from the palace. Athanasia bit her lip. She was sure she’d seen him back at the academy.

Servants rushed to help them.

Despite the crying and nervous laughter around them, one could almost say it all ended well. No one had been left behind with the creature at the bottom of the lake. Elena had been saved.

Ijekiel was still trying to persuade her to see a healer immediately. And then, suddenly, she pushed his hand off her shoulder. It was a sharp motion — decisive, not grateful. Lady Irene’s face remained ghostly pale, but her eyes flashed with steel. Ijekiel froze. Then silently stepped back.

It seemed no one noticed their little scene. Attention had already returned to where it always belonged.

To Janet.

Chapter Text

The procession of soaked guests was escorted to the Ruby Palace. Along with them, what was left of the food had to be brought inside, and this time, warm tea was to be brewed.

Lady Elena was carried off first, without waiting for the others. The physician was already on his way to her.

— In the water... did you see it?
— It flipped the boat!

Shivering from the cold, the girls spoke over one another, telling their rescuers what had happened. Their stories were so tangled that it was impossible to tell whether anyone had actually noticed magic being used.

Fortunately, Athanasia and the other servants who had entered the water were allowed to remain at the Ruby Palace and change their clothes on site. Within half an hour, they were hastily helping to prepare the large dining hall so the reception could continue.

Some servants were sent back to the Jade Palace, as there simply wasn't enough room for everyone. Others carried dishes from the garden to the Ruby Palace or helped guests dry their hair. Athanasia was among the latter.

Janet’s wardrobe was enormous. So much so that each guest could choose a gown in their favorite color and style. Usually, these piles of clothing had to be discarded, since Janet couldn’t gift them to anyone — it would have been considered rude, as formal attire was worn only once. But today, there was no choice, and the young ladies eagerly grabbed the most exquisite fabrics they had ever laid eyes on.

In the hardest times, Lillian had altered the same dress three times so that it would look different and Athanasia could attend events again. She had never owned so many things. Athanasia bit her lip while lacing a corset for the loud young lady she had helped earlier on the shore.

In truth, she had never much liked appearing in public. Interacting with her peers had always been difficult and drained time that could be better spent studying or helping Lillian, who managed the palace all by herself.

Life in the Black Tower had been the only time Athanasia enjoyed choosing what to do and what to learn. Back then, clothes meant nothing to her — and now, they shouldn't have either.

The maids who had been with Athanasia silently headed back to the garden where more work awaited, but she didn’t rush to follow. Once the guests had settled down and their hair was no longer dripping, they were led from the small chambers into the dining hall.

The knights who had come to the rescue were also invited to the reception as honorary saviors. They had changed into dry clothes much faster — despite needing to return to the barracks first — and now occupied seats on the right side of the table, smiling warmly at the girls who quickly took their places across from them. Conversations started, and playful jokes echoed through the room.

Only someone was missing.

Janet had yet to reappear after retreating to her chambers. The last anyone saw her, the princess was barely holding herself together, on the verge of tears. Athanasia suspected Ijekiel was with her, trying to offer comfort. The tea party that had required so much preparation and was supposed to be special had been completely ruined. A few girls quickly tried to argue otherwise, but it was no use. That was the truth.

And it showed in the mood: none of the guests were thrilled to spend the rest of the day with ruined hair and washed-off makeup. Thankfully, they had the tact not to leave the party immediately.

Their moods shifted too quickly. Moments ago, they had been delighted by the celebration and the adventure — now they sulked over their appearance. But once Janet returned, they would smile again, sincerely and warmly, as if nothing had happened.

Athanasia had seen enough. It had been interesting, briefly, to find herself in the Ruby Palace, to witness how carefree life went on without her — but it was time to end this. Somewhere deep inside, she had to suppress a constant irritation, and she couldn’t hold it in forever.

There was nothing to blame Janet for. Her sister truly believed in the world she had grown up in — a world that revolved around her every second and never strayed from its orbit. Janet knew that soon she would come downstairs, the girls would sympathize, tell her it wasn’t so bad — and within a week, everyone would forget, and everything would be fine. Even Elena, the only one who had been in real danger, would end up apologizing for the inconvenience.

The ending would be the same regardless — a happy one. The best possible. Nothing else could happen to the lovely Princess Janet.

Only Athanasia had to flee from the stigma of being a murderer and search for Lillian. After she found her, she would have to decide what to do with her long magical life — moving across the map in search of a new home and constantly fearing that her heart might turn to crystal. Better to get on with that than torture herself with these feelings.

In the hallway, the head maid was issuing orders. Athanasia approached her out of formality only. She hoped to be told to return to her quarters. While disorder still reigned in the Ruby Palace, she could use the time to gather more information.

— The guests have been escorted to the hall, as instructed. May I be of any further service?

The head maid tilted her head to peer behind Athanasia, assessing the situation. There were enough free hands now, considering that the space had been reduced and it was inappropriate for too many servants to bustle about in front of the guests. Yet she hesitated before responding.

— Kaira, are you finished in the hall? — she called out to a girl briskly heading toward the kitchen with an empty tray.

The girl stopped beside them and reported:

— Appetizers and tea have been served. We’re still bringing out the main courses.

The voice was familiar. Athanasia turned her head more sharply than she should have, staring at the girl with wide eyes.

— Is something wrong? — the girl frowned in response.

She asked what was wrong, when everything was wrong. Athanasia bit her tongue hard to keep herself in check. The head maid spoke for her:

— She’s new, from the general staff. Take her with you — she can help. And hurry, the countess is already in a foul mood!

With a slight delay, Athanasia silently followed the girl, her gaze burning a hole in the back of her head.

There couldn’t be two identical Kairas. Just as there couldn’t be any justifiable reason why she was now serving in the Ruby Palace. Rosalia was extremely particular about the people around her. It was hard to believe she would have accidentally hired a girl who, just a few months ago, had been the only maid of the First Princess.

The kitchen was bustling. Cooks were hurriedly reheating dishes on large pans, while assistants arranged everything on plates. The food had cooled while the girls were changing, and now it was harder to make it look presentable.

— That’s ready to go out! And don’t forget the sauce boats! — the plump chef shouted across the room, pointing at the meat.

Kaira moved quickly and wordlessly, as if she had worked here for years. Her movements were practiced and confident. Athanasia simply copied her.

After Lillian had been exiled, there had been a period when the Harem Palace stood empty. Occasionally, servants from the main palace brought food and assigned funds to Athanasia. Sometimes they came to clean — but never stayed longer than necessary. That’s when the princess began learning to manage things on her own, just like Lillian used to do.

Eventually, someone had found that arrangement suspicious. One morning, Athanasia opened her door to find two girls standing outside, both no older than herself. They were appointed as her new maids. Kaira had been one of them.

Back then, Athanasia thought the issue was their inexperience. The other girl had been clumsy, breaking half the dishes. Kaira worked slowly, which meant Athanasia had to help her with even the smallest chores. It had seemed that, because of her kindness, Kaira grew fond of her. She had tried to cheer Athanasia up and had often passionately insisted that it was unfair how all the attention went to Janet.

And now, she was serving that very same Janet. And not looking particularly bothered about it.

— Something bothering you? — Kaira suddenly asked, stopping in the doorway of the corridor.

Athanasia’s expression was unreadable.

They were alone in the corridor. The kitchen was far enough from the hall that no one would hear them through the noise.

Athanasia tightened her grip on the silver tray handles.

— Have you been working in the Ruby Palace long?

Kaira straightened her back. The question wasn’t unusual, but her lips curled slightly when she answered:

— Why do you care?

"I want to know how long ago you betrayed me," Athanasia swallowed the words. The girl before her might think herself superior now because of her position — but against magic, that meant nothing.

One spell could pin her to the wall. Another would force her to speak and reveal everything. Athanasia could get rid of her so no one would ever know. This was the first time she had considered using her power in that way — and the realization horrified her.

Lucas wouldn’t have condemned such methods. What frightened her was something else entirely — her father would have done exactly the same.

— It’s been a rough day. I wonder if things like this happen often, — Athanasia deflected and brushed past the girl with a confident shoulder.

Kaira muttered irritably:

— If you’re already shaken by this, you don’t belong in the palace. Her Highness’s servants must be ready to give their lives for her if necessary.

She didn’t clarify which palace — but it hardly mattered. The Jade Palace belonged to Janet just as much as the entire Empire. The Emperor’s servants were, by default, the servants of his beloved daughter. The only question was whether Kaira would actually uphold her lofty words when the time came.

— I’ll remember that, — Athanasia said, quickening her pace.

By the time they placed the trays of meat on the table, Janet had returned to the guests. She wore a new, elegant gown only slightly less grand than the last. Her hair had already been dried and styled into a simple updo.

If one didn’t know what had happened just an hour earlier, it could have seemed like the tea party had simply moved indoors. Only the presence of the invited knights betrayed that something had gone wrong.

Janet sat at the head of the table, and next to her — the knight who had pulled her from the lake. It seemed he’d been granted the seat of honor as a reward. He tried hard to contain a wide, joyful smile.

— Ser Crainy, you rushed to the princess’s aid so bravely, — someone praised.

Athanasia circled the table unnoticed, setting down the plates of food. The servant’s greatest strength — being invisible. No invisibility spells, just a plain appearance and the right uniform.

— Indeed, without hesitation, — Lady Marion confirmed.

Her friend, Lady Verena, was meanwhile pulling a piece of lakeweed from her hair and politely placing it on a napkin.

Crainy dipped his chin modestly, his ears flushed pink from the praise. With a light cough, he assured them:

— For the princess, I wouldn’t hesitate to give my life.

It was the second time Athanasia had heard that phrase in the past half-hour, but this time, it was easy to believe. Ser Crainy was still very young and lacked the somber look most knights his age bore. His promise sounded like a child’s earnest words.

As though her thoughts had been drifting, Janet blinked. Her lips stretched into a tense smile.

— Such an honor for me, — she said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. — If not for your bravery, the worst might have happened. Fortunately, we’re all safe. It’s a pity the celebration was ruined.

Nothing happened.

Athanasia froze, still holding the napkin she had taken from Lady Verena. At first, she couldn’t tell what felt wrong — just a sense that something was missing.

The moment Janet mentioned the ruined party, someone should have objected. At least one person should have said it was all right, that they were grateful for her care — for the gowns she lent them, for the tea and fine food served in this hall.

This was the moment the situation should have smoothed over — but nothing happened.

Janet’s charm had flickered off. Some guests were adjusting clothes that didn’t quite fit. Others were trying to strike up conversations with the knights, asking in hushed voices about their families and backgrounds. Everyone’s attention had drifted — not focused on her.

Amid the quiet conversations, Marion suddenly decided to fan the flames:

— Ser Ijekiel still hasn’t returned. Is he all right?

At the mention of his name, Janet straightened her back. She raised her cup to her lips but didn’t take a sip.

— He said he’d catch up, — one of the knights explained. — He was in the water longer than anyone. He probably needs more time to compose himself.

— It’s perfectly understandable that he’d need a moment to calm down, — Marion agreed. — Poor Elena nearly drowned in his arms.

Everyone fell silent for a while. Though they didn’t know it was Athanasia who had ensured her safety, it was obvious Elena had suffered the most. She was under the physician’s care now, but no one could say how quickly she would recover.

The food remained untouched — no one had any appetite. Politeness now worked against them: the guests couldn’t leave early, and Janet couldn’t dismiss them while they were still hungry. No one had the energy to lift the mood.

The hope that things would brighten when Ijekiel returned proved false as well. He arrived much later than expected, casting only a brief glance at Crainy, who was seated in the place that normally belonged to him, and then sat beside him. When asked whether he had seen the monster, Ijekiel responded curtly.

The knights were the first to say their farewells. They had missed their morning drills and now needed to make up the hours. Crainy expressed his gratitude several times for the honor of being by the princess’s side and promised repeatedly that he would always be there if needed. Ijekiel stayed behind.

Then Rosalia appeared. She tried to cheer the girls with a few light words, but quickly realized they weren’t in the mood. Barely a few minutes passed before she declared that the princess, like everyone else, needed rest.

No one objected, and the remaining guests quickly gathered their things. Janet saw each one off to their carriage, a gesture of gratitude. With that, the long-drawn tea party was officially over.

Just like last time, Athanasia wasn’t released immediately. Kaira made her help with the cleanup. Because of the guests’ wet shoes, the floor in the foyer was covered in spots that needed to be scrubbed away before morning.

While following orders, Athanasia tried to gather any bits of information she could.

She was carrying water when Janet returned. As always, her aunt and Ijekiel were by her side — though their presence did little good. Athanasia pretended to be scrubbing the floor near the stairs, where she was less visible.

Janet was crying. She still couldn’t believe that there had actually been a monster at the bottom of the lake — a creature no one had suspected until the tea party began. She described the horror she’d felt when she found herself in the water, unable to swim.

— They’re all angry with me now, — she sobbed, — Lady Marion didn’t even say goodbye.

Up to that moment, Ijekiel had been silent, but at her words, he looked at Janet attentively. Athanasia saw clearly how he tilted his head, examining her hairstyle.

— Janet, where’s your lucky hairpin? Didn’t you wear it for the party?

That morning, Janet had worn a tiara — Athanasia remembered it well. For such a hairstyle, subtle pins were chosen, not something that would draw attention away from the main piece.

Janet’s face fell even more.

— I lost it. Probably when I fell out of the boat, because it wasn’t there once I got to shore. Even my lucky hairpin got lost today! What a terrible day!

Rosalia pulled her niece into a tight hug to comfort her.

— Our friend will make you a new pin. Don’t worry about it, — she whispered. In her arms, Janet wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks. The countess gently stroked her head. — I told you, didn’t I? That girl must’ve cursed us.

— My sister would never do such a thing, — Janet protested.

At that moment, the stairs blocked Athanasia’s view of their faces. And they couldn’t see her either — the maid who suddenly threw her rag to the floor and stood up.

— Oh, my sweet little girl, who else could it be? Just think: first, she tried to poison you, then she disappeared. After that, your lucky earrings went missing, now your hairpin, and bad things keep happening. But don’t worry — you have a family, and we’ll take care of you.

So that’s how they explained away their problems? Everything was Athanasia’s fault — for the simple crime of surviving. Who would they have blamed if the magic tree hadn’t saved her on the day of judgment?

Yes, today she had endangered Janet’s life — but only to save her friend. Had Athanasia stood by and done nothing, the princess would already be writing a letter of condolence to Elena’s parents.

They had the power and influence to do whatever they wanted to the Empire. Her father had never intended to leave the throne to his first daughter — that much had always been clear. But Rosalia wanted more. She had chosen the most defenseless target she could find and blamed her for all her sins — simply because she believed she would never be punished.

The flow of mana coiled menacingly around Athanasia. She looked down at her hands, which had begun to pale from the strain of keeping her magic in check. If she lost control, the spell disguising her appearance would collapse.

She wasn’t sure whether she even wanted to hide anymore. All it would take was one step forward. Then they’d see her. Ijekiel first, then Janet and her aunt would turn around too. They wouldn’t be able to do anything if she attacked here and now. Ijekiel didn’t even have his sword.

Athanasia wanted to do it. To step out and scream that she had never once harmed her sister. To force the countess to look her in the eye and admit — she had poisoned her own niece just to rid herself of Athanasia, a blemish in her perfect world.

There were no mages in the palace, so no one sensed the magic boiling over. Janet had no idea that danger stood only a few meters away.

Athanasia swallowed hard. She had to keep herself together. She couldn’t lose her head and act rashly. Her sister didn’t deserve any more sorrow today. Even now, she was defending Athanasia.

Rosalia spoke again. She said they all needed rest and that tomorrow would be a better day. Janet asked Ijekiel to stay the night at the palace, and they began debating whether that would be proper. Voices echoed around Athanasia, but she couldn’t grasp the meaning of their words.

It took all her strength to make herself move. She tried to do it quietly, so they wouldn’t notice she had been eavesdropping the entire time. She threw the rag into the bucket, picked it up — without using magic — and slipped away through the side corridor leading to the kitchen.

Only then did she remember how to breathe. She focused on drawing in air, then releasing it — as if there wasn’t a fire of resentment blazing inside her.

Her first impulse was to teleport away. To vanish from the palace, leaving behind the bucket of dirty water in an empty corridor. To find herself somewhere in the quiet of night and forget that she even had a family. She had the resolve for that.

But then, she wouldn’t be able to find Lillian. And she would have to live knowing that, in the Ruby Palace, Rosalia was using her name to terrify her sister. She would watch as more and more people in the Empire suffered each day under laws pushed by Alpheus.

Maybe they all truly deserved a real curse.

Footsteps echoed around the corner. Athanasia quickly checked that her appearance still resembled a maid’s, though her magic had weakened.

Kaira appeared in the corridor.

— Where have you been? The head maid is looking for you, — the girl hissed irritably.

Before Athanasia could come up with an excuse, Kaira began scolding her:

— Hiding out here to escape the work? The floor won’t scrub itself. We still have to wipe down all the furniture in the hall and starch the clothes before returning them to the guests. I’m not doing all of that alone.

Another reason not to leave. Not only Rosalia, but all those who had marched Athanasia to the execution grounds would remain and live long, happy lives. Kaira would never feel an ounce of guilt for her betrayal.

— Come on. We have to report in and get back to work.

Kaira had already turned to head toward the light when Athanasia decided to test something.

— I heard someone say the First Princess cursed her sister to eternal misfortune when she failed to kill her. Do you think it’s true?

The girl froze, her broom lowering. Then she slowly turned back to make sure the question wasn’t a joke. Her face had gone pale, but her eyes quickly narrowed in scorn.

— I don’t have time for superstitious gossip. And I suggest you don’t either, — she said sharply.

As soon as she disappeared through the doorway, her steps quickened.

"That’s right. If I were to curse someone, I’d start with you."

Athanasia’s lips twisted into a crooked smile. Above all, they didn’t want her to return. Knowing that, she couldn’t just leave old friends behind.

She wouldn’t act like a child, rushing into a petty fight — not when she now had someone to learn from. Athanasia had to be grateful for the lessons her enemies had given her. And she knew she could repay them in kind.

She followed after Kaira. They returned to the foyer, where neither Janet nor Ijekiel were present anymore. The head maid, head lowered, was reporting to the countess — who clearly wasn’t satisfied with the results.

Athanasia pretended she hadn’t heard a word. She stepped forward ahead of Kaira, head bowed, and spoke in the most polite tone she could muster:

— The hall has been cleaned. Is there anything else I can assist with here?

The head maid muttered something vaguely, as if only now remembering her presence. Of all the servants from the general staff, only Athanasia had stayed this late.

— Who is this? — the countess asked.

— A maid from the Jade Palace. She helped today, after the princess’s boat capsized.

A heel clicked softly as Rosalia stepped closer. Her arms were folded, idly spinning a closed fan on her wrist, as she examined the girl before her.

— Raise your head, — she commanded.

Athanasia obeyed, but stared past her — at the wall behind her — avoiding eye contact at all costs. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back if she met Rosalia’s gaze.

— What’s your name?

— Lillian.

Rosalia’s lip curled slightly at the name. One wondered whether she remembered the other Lillian — the one she had disposed of years ago.

— Where are you from?

— Dresden, — she lied without hesitation. Athanasia had only visited the city once while searching for Lillian and knew almost nothing about it.

— You’ve strayed far from your family, — Rosalia remarked, narrowing her eyes.

Athanasia had another lie ready:

— I’m an orphan, Your Grace.

A pause followed. She was being assessed.

— Well then. You’ve done good work today, Lillian. The princess appreciates loyal servants.

Those who would jump into fire and water for her, like Crainy. Under the best of circumstances, Athanasia might be allowed to spend more time near Janet. She resisted the urge to reply with irony.

— I don’t deserve such praise. Doing everything possible for the princess is my duty.

She tried to say those words sincerely. Not like Kaira, who only wanted to prove herself, but like that boy who had thrown himself into the lake to fight a monster and save someone. Athanasia didn’t consider herself a good liar — but she had had some time on the road with Lucas to practice playing different roles and learn how to be convincing.

That experience hadn’t gone to waste. Rosalia let out a satisfied hum and turned to the head maid:

— Prepare a place for her among the palace maids. Starting tomorrow, this girl will work in the Ruby Palace.

Chapter Text

Athanasia felt her eyes burning from exhaustion. She allowed herself to close them for a moment, to rest, and once again ran through everything she had spent the night on.

Since questioning the servants had given no clues in the search for Lilian, she decided to try another way. Any hiring or dismissal of palace workers was always recorded in the household ledgers. After a bit of investigation—which involved eavesdropping on private conversations of the steward of the Imperial Town—she learned that the old records had been archived.

Instead of sleeping, she spent her time reading through thick scrolls filled in most carelessly. Truly, it seemed that no one had ever checked what exactly the stewards recorded, so valuable information was mixed with rubbish. Sorting through that chaos took great effort. Worst of all, it had yielded no results.

When Athanasia lifted her eyelids again, the first ray of morning sunlight stretched across the unfurled scroll before her. The archive was located in the distant wing of the Jade Palace. Few ever came here, judging by the grime on the tall windows that reached the ceiling.

At this hour, the Palace Town was awakening. Servants rose at dawn to finish their mountain of chores before their masters began the day. Yesterday, Athanasia had been lucky—no one in the servants’ quarters of the Ruby Palace wanted the unfortunate orphan girl to be placed among them. Thus, for now, she had a room to herself. Of course, such luxury would not last long, and soon she would have to share it, but Athanasia hoped not to stay here too long.

Her plan required her reputation to be flawless. Only then could she remain in the palace where Rosalia held sway.

Life here flowed according to a strict schedule, something hard to adjust to after months spent with Lucas. There was no sleeping in, and complaints were not accepted. The endless routine consumed nearly the entire day, especially since she had to hide her magic.

What she missed most, though, were conversations. Lucas often said she talked too much and asked too many questions, yet he never stayed silent in return, even when she pried into his many secrets. He always gave her something to occupy her mind instead.

Lucas didn’t like telling stories—he preferred to share knowledge. Rarely would he recount a funny incident, imitating the people involved; most often, he turned everything into a lesson, something he had learned or understood from the situation. His long life was filled with relentless learning and discovery, forever seeking a piece of knowledge that could overturn the world. Athanasia liked that. A higher purpose made petty troubles—like her face on every “Wanted” poster—seem laughably small.

The atmosphere of the Ruby Palace was quite different; no one here tried to support one another or offer advice. For some reason, the pay was much higher, and thus competition was fiercer. Although great pay did not inspire Athanasia, she understood why others did everything possible to hold on to such a profitable position.

Helping others was not in the interests of the average servant. Perhaps it was done deliberately, so that no one dared raise their head too high.

Athanasia moved back to her room and hurriedly changed into the black-and-white uniform, pinning a white cap upon her head. A few minutes later she was ready to play the role of a devoted and grateful maid. The day shift of her sleepless life was beginning.

After tea, Countess Rosalia ordered that two more maids from the Jade Palace be reassigned to serve the princess. They were given no time to learn the layout of the Ruby Palace or their new duties; all they were told was to follow the head maid, carrying linen or dishes, or cleaning the many empty rooms.

The princess herself was spoken of kindly. Janet never shouted and never took her anger out on the servants. The only difficulty for those who served her directly lay in her impossible requests: sometimes she wanted flowers in her chambers that did not bloom in that season, or dishes she could not describe. No one was punished immediately for failure, but Janet’s disappointment alone was reason enough for the offender to be assigned the dirtiest work.

Still, the real trouble came from Lady Rosalia. On days when the countess was in poor spirits, she could dismiss a servant for anything. Whenever that happened, they sent to her those whose loss would be least regretted. No one dared to question her right to command anyone except, perhaps, the Emperor himself. It had become clear that the countess’s word would soon turn into the word of her niece—whose father would do anything for her.

Athanasia climbed the stairs with a tray in her hands, following the head maid, who carried a platter of fruit. Carrying tea was the simplest task she had been trusted with lately—and the most dangerous, for the tea was meant for Lady Rosalia.

Even from the corridor one could hear shouting—something about an overturned ship and a lake monster that had not been found. While they hesitated, wondering whether to interrupt the unpleasant conversation, the door opened from within, and a pale butler hurried out. He was told, as he left, that it was his last chance to find the princess’s lucky hairpin before evening. The consequences could only be guessed at.

The head maid sighed. She had no choice but to enter and hope that Rosalia’s temper would spare them.

The countess sat on the couch, and beside her, in a soft armchair, was a troubled Janet, while behind the princess a girl was busy arranging an elaborate hairstyle upon her head.

— Idiots, all around me, — said Rosalia irritably.

The girl doing the hair froze for a moment, uncertain whether the insult was meant for her.

— Aunt, you should not upset yourself so, — said Janet gently. — Worrying too much will only worsen your health.

Janet leaned forward to place her hand on the countess’s shoulder. Rosalia sighed heavily.

— How could I not worry, knowing that my dear niece’s life was placed in danger? What is my health worth under such circumstances?

— Don’t say that!

The tea was meant to be an occasion to forget unpleasant events and return to the normal life of young ladies—endless parties, idle conversations, and the search for suitors. Instead, they had become better acquainted with the lake monster, and now some were even whispering that the princess was cursed. Athanasia found that rather a witty turn of fate.

The maid silently placed the platter on the table; Athanasia set down the tea beside it. Rosalia cast a sharp glance at the food.

— I trust you did not bring sour grapes again this time.

— No, my lady. Everything was checked.

Athanasia had already heard the story about the unripe grapes—from the girl who should have brought the tea, but had begged someone else to take her place.

Janet reached for a slice of apple just as the girl behind her was fastening the last braid of the complicated hairstyle. The braid, which was meant to frame the princess’s head like a crown, slipped to her shoulder, and the maid rushed to fix it. She managed to do so, but this time Janet turned her face toward the window.

Athanasia hid her smile in a bow. She and the head maid were just about to leave when Janet suddenly spoke:

— Lately the birds have stopped singing. That must be a bad omen.

— Janet, what are you saying?

— Perhaps I truly am cursed…

Indeed, that was what people whispered behind her back—that Athanasia had cursed the family to eternal misfortune or something of the sort. But she knew well what deeds were her own and what were not. Janet’s string of misfortunes was mere coincidence, nothing more.

— My dear girl, don’t dwell on dark thoughts. This evening you’ll dine with the Emperor; he’ll be saddened to see you in such a mood.

Rosalia leaned forward and placed her hand over her niece’s. Janet lowered her eyes doubtfully.

— My misfortune cannot pass to my father, can it?

— No curse could ever harm Princess Obelia. The birds must have flown away for a little while. You’ll see—they will soon return.

The last words she spoke with special emphasis, looking toward the servants.

It was a strange request. Not that there was any difficulty in hearing birdsong in the morning—the birds would sing if only the window were opened. Yet the head maid seemed far more unsettled by the remark than Athanasia herself.

— But before… — she began, then swallowed her words when she caught Rosalia’s gaze, which clearly said she wanted to hear no more. — Of course, they’ll return soon.

The servants left the room in silence. Athanasia followed the elder woman, watching carefully how the conversation had affected her. The head maid’s shoulders were drawn tight, her eyes on the floor. She seemed to be turning possibilities over in her mind, finding no solution.

Curiosity prevailed, and Athanasia matched her pace.

— What happened to the birds?

The maid gave a weary shake of the head and sighed.

— The princess used to feed them from her balcony. They gathered there constantly, and the place was always filthy. So the countess ordered them all to be killed a few months ago.

So that was it. Now the birds were wanted again, to keep Janet in good spirits. And when she tired of them? They would simply be destroyed once more.

Athanasia was not the only one who found it absurd. Fortunately, no one planned to bring in living birds. Instead, a magician from the Imperial Court was invited to conjure an illusion of them singing in the morning, until the princess was satisfied.

No servant could have known it beforehand, but this plan turned out to have certain complications. When the court magician arrived an hour later, the task was explained to him.

Athanasia, quite coincidentally, decided to dust the stair railing nearby. She was curious whether her father’s magician could detect disguise magic from that distance. She had greatly overestimated him.

— And how, pray, am I supposed to do that? — the elderly man protested as soon as the head maid finished her explanation. He was dressed rather comically, more like a traveling stage conjurer, with a pointed hat and robe.

— Use magic, of course. That’s your job, not mine.

— I can create the image of a bird, but not its song. That’s simply impossible!

Not truly. Sound magic was difficult, because few could imagine the desired sound precisely enough. It required spellwork—likely written incantations.

— But the princess wishes it! — insisted the maid.

The magician lowered his voice and repeated mournfully:

— Her wishes do not make the impossible possible.

Lucas could have produced a whole choir of birds without effort. But Athanasia lacked such experience.

Not that she pitied either of them—or anyone else in that palace. They all knew whom they served and had chosen that path themselves. Even if she could have used her magic, she would not risk exposure for such a trifle.

Still, gaining a few of Rosalia’s closest attendants in her debt might prove useful. The countess would soon be more vigilant than ever. Considering Athanasia’s plan for the evening, a bit of goodwill would not hurt.

Below, the magician was still protesting that he could do nothing. With every word, the head maid grew more desperate. A solution was needed by morning, or the princess would be unhappy—and someone would suffer for it.

Athanasia did not hurry. They needed first to exhaust every other idea, to see that none would work. Only then would she “accidentally” think of a way to help.

At last, the magician departed, promising to ask his colleagues and send word—an obvious lie.

It was hard to believe that court magicians could be so helpless. One would think that only the best of the best served the Emperor, yet this one hardly gave that impression. Athanasia had known in advance she would be disappointed, but still she let her own mana flare around her until she shone like sunlight—a beacon for anyone with real senses, like a candle flame in the dark.

The magician did not so much as glance her way. The brazen lure failed to draw his attention; he left the palace calmly, as though nothing unusual were near.

“What kind of fools do they hire?” Athanasia thought with rolling eyes. These were the people she had feared all her life—the ones she had let trample her—and yet even her father’s magi could not sense her standing before them.

Then her own senses caught something else: a strange pulse of magic, coming not from the wizard but from somewhere close by. Athanasia turned—there was no one else around. The maid below had already gone about her tasks.

But the magic remained. She approached the source slowly; it led her to a large decorative flowerpot. The plant was exotic, but hardly magical.

Examining the pot closely, she finally noticed it—a small piece of silk lying beside it. She carefully reached down and picked up what proved to be a fine handkerchief. Every noblewoman carried such things, to wipe her face or hands, and particularly lovely ones could even be given as tokens of favor.

Yet this one was unusual. The embroidery revealed exquisite craftsmanship: the stem of a lily looked alive, impossible to paint better. The magic within the fabric was the opposite of any curse Athanasia had encountered—it did not draw magic in, but repelled it.

It was a charm meant to protect its owner. Such things were precious, kept close, and often passed down as heirlooms. Most likely, one of the tea guests had dropped it—but how had no one reported the loss?

Lilies were the emblem of Elena’s house—that was Athanasia’s first thought. But Elena had been taken to the physician immediately after the lake incident, so she had not been in the Ruby Palace that day. Etiquette did not forbid embroidering flowers from other houses’ crests, so the charm could have belonged to someone else entirely.

The door opened. Athanasia swiftly hid the handkerchief in her apron pocket and began to dust the flowerpot.

Two maids passed by without noticing her—they were too busy preparing a hot bath for the princess. The imperial dinner was only a few hours away, and there was little time left for preparations.

Nor for Athanasia’s plan. As soon as they left, she forgot about the dust and hurried to her room.

She had brought few personal belongings with her to the palace, as the guards at the entrance inspected everything carefully. The book she had stolen from Lucas had caused so many questions that she had been forced to smuggle it in separately.

Openly, Athanasia possessed only a comb, a small pouch of coins, a bit of clothing, and a porcelain bird with a chipped wing.

She did not wish to part with that last precious thing. The broken bird had become, for her, a symbol of herself—unable to fly. It was unpleasant to imagine how the one small object that had once given her hope would now be used to please her sister’s childish whim.

Yet the plan demanded a sacrifice, however small.

She carefully took the whistle from the drawer beside her bed and blew softly. A faint chirping filled the room, a sound that reminded her of other times. In the Black Tower, Athanasia had often sat on the windowsill to listen to that melody, which brought birds from the forest to her window.

How strange to think that now the porcelain bird’s song echoed far from there, in a place she had never intended to return to.

The handkerchief with the lilies she left behind in her room. Later, she would find out to whom it belonged and return it, but for now there were more important matters.

It was lunchtime for the servants, so finding the head maid was not difficult. The woman sat in a corner of the kitchen, chewing bread without appetite. When Athanasia came closer, the maid lifted her head reluctantly.

— Do you want another task?

— Not exactly. I’ve already been assigned to help in the garden this evening.

— Then what did you come for?

The kitchen clattered with dishes as the cook’s helpers cleaned up. They were in good spirits, knowing that the princess and countess would dine at the Jade Palace tonight. Once the cleaning was done, they could rest until morning.

The cheerful noise around them only made the maid’s detachment more visible. She could not eat calmly until she found a solution to her dilemma.

— I was just thinking… about the birds… — Those words caught the head maid’s attention at once, so Athanasia continued, feigning hesitation. — Since the real ones no longer come to the palace, perhaps the princess would be cheered by their song instead?

She drew the porcelain bird from her pocket. The maid tilted her head, studying it closely.

— What is that?

— I found it when traveling to the capital with a caravan. Someone must have thrown it away because of the broken wing. It’s a whistle—it sounds just like a real bird. Of course, it isn’t alive, but it would be less trouble.

The maid’s face froze, then stretched in astonishment. In that moment, the pieces fell into place in her mind: the magician’s mute illusion and the whistle before her. The answer to her problem had appeared out of nowhere.

Waiting until a thoughtful smile appeared on the woman’s lips, Athanasia raised the bird to her mouth and blew. The kitchen filled with a bright, living chirp, and everyone nearby turned to look. That was all it took—the maid reached out at once.

— Let me see it closer.

Reluctantly, Athanasia obeyed.

— A curious thing indeed… I believe it will do nicely. You’ve done well.

The maid turned the bird in her hands, greasy with bread crumbs. Athanasia flinched at the sight.

— I’m glad to help. Only, please—be careful with it. It’s the only thing of value I own.

— Yes, yes, of course, — the maid waved her off distractedly, already thinking about visiting the Magicians’ Tower that evening so the illusion could be prepared. — You may take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned some rest.

Athanasia thanked her politely, knowing the words meant nothing. She had already promised the gardeners to clear away the fallen branches in the evening, and she intended to do so regardless. Only that way could she be sure she’d avoid suspicion tomorrow.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the trees. Athanasia lounged in a chair on the balcony, her feet propped up on a crystal table—the most shameless act of her entire life.

Rosalia’s chamber was close to Janet’s. From here, if she turned her head, she could see the balcony where the princess would have breakfast in the morning. She deliberately did not look that way—it would only irritate her.

Fortunately, the tall trees also hid from view the Jade Palace, where her family would already be sitting down to dinner. Janet would wear a sweet, girlish dress with ribbons; her father would greet her with a compliment, reminding her she was his beloved daughter.

Here and now, Athanasia tried to summon the sense of peace she had last felt sitting on the windowsill of Lucas’s laboratory. The same sun. The same quiet whisper of wind. Yet within her raged too much to find calm.

It wasn’t the invisibility spell draining her strength, nor the purpose that kept her waiting on this balcony for over an hour. What angered her most was everything about this place: the familiar faces, the opulent decor, and most of all her own helplessness.

Magic took much of her energy, leaving little time to search for Lili. The information she had gathered so far was scarce, and at this pace she might have to stay another month—or two.

And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure it, in any sense of the word.

Only when the door handle clicked did Athanasia stir, confirming that the plan had begun to unfold. Dusk had already fallen, and no one was permitted to light lamps merely for cleaning, so the girl who entered—a dark-haired maid—closed the door behind her, placed a lantern on the crystal table, and laid a cloth beside it.

Kaira remained with only a small broom in her hands as she glanced about the room. For several minutes she moved quietly, dusting surfaces, then quickly wiped the table and windowsill. The room was cleaned twice a day, each surface polished to a shine, so there was little work to do—so little that a single person could manage it.

Invisible, Athanasia watched her from the corner for a while, then grew bored and perched lightly on the edge of the coffee table. On the other end stood a finely carved statue of a great predatory bird in flight. Its gaze, proud and cruel, reminded her of the countess herself. It fit perfectly among the excessive luxury of Rosalia’s chamber. A costly piece, by the look of its gilded plumage—and above all, symbolic.

Rosalia Judith was the sort of person who liked to underline her importance in every detail. She chose clothes and paints that proclaimed her rank before she ever spoke. Once, to Athanasia, the countess had resembled a poisonous insect, her bright colours warning others to keep away.

Now, looking at the statue, Athanasia saw the same nature reflected in its sharp eyes. Rosalia was a predator, ever poised to strike. The gem-studded eyes of the bird glinted ominously in the lantern light.

Kaira did not take long. She finished making the bed and, at the end, took a biscuit from the tray on the bedside table. Athanasia was preparing to depart, but instead of leaving, the maid threw down her rag, took the lantern, and went to the dressing table.

Rosalia kept her finest jewels locked away. On the surface she left only those trinkets she did not much care about—cheap by her standards, but dazzling to someone like Kaira. The girl gently lifted a pendant with a garnet shaped like a rose and held it to her neck, admiring the reflection.

Athanasia leaned forward, curious to see what would follow, a smile curling at the corner of her lips.

Kaira would not dare steal, of course. The consequences would find her before morning. More likely she wanted only to dream a little. Next, she took a pair of silver earrings and put them on, turning her head from side to side before the mirror, smiling shyly at herself.

How ironic, Athanasia thought. It was people like Kaira who had taught her that dreams were dangerous things.

“I could never betray you as cruelly as you betrayed yourself, dear.”

The stand beneath the predatory bird creaked softly as Athanasia lifted it. It was surprisingly heavy.

Kaira flinched, looking toward the door—but when no other sound followed, she relaxed again. In the half-light, she could not see the statue hovering in midair.

Rosalia did not hide her cosmetics either; they lay in the top open drawer. Kaira unashamedly dabbed a little rouge on her lips, then lifted a bottle of perfume to her nose. The scent was so sharp that she hastily set it back. When she raised her eyes again, two bright blue orbs stared at her from the mirror.

Kaira let out a shriek, clapping a hand over her mouth. She spun around—but there was no one behind her. Trembling, she dropped the lipstick back into the drawer and tore one earring from her ear.

Then Athanasia appeared again, this time closer.
Kaira froze like a statue herself—the very image of the bird Athanasia still held behind her back. Her face was ghostly pale, her breath shallow. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to speak, but only a faint squeak emerged.

Just like a rat in the dungeon, thought Athanasia, remembering how she had ended up there because of this girl.

— I remember the last time we met, — Athanasia said quietly. — I was sitting at a table much like this one.

Kaira backed away. Athanasia did not move a step.

— Perhaps Janet was impressed by the hairstyle you gave me that day, when I went to poison her. Otherwise, why would she take into service her wicked sister’s maid?

— You… you! — Kaira grabbed the first thing at hand and hurled it at her.

A flash of gold flared—the shield of magic—and the vase shattered into shards. Kaira ran to the door, wrenching the handle desperately, but it did not budge.

— I didn’t do anything! I had no choice! — she cried, pulling harder, her voice breaking. — They would have executed me too! I swear, I didn’t do anything!

— Truly? Then why are you here now?

— They said they’d kill me otherwise!

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Athanasia raised her arm, the statue poised like a weapon.

— Tell me now—what did you do?

Kaira’s legs gave way and she sank to the floor, covering her head with her hands.

— They never explained… — she sobbed. — They just told me to place an empty bottle on your table… I didn’t know anything!

The poison vial. The guards had said they found evidence in Athanasia’s room—but she had thought that a fabrication. How absurd that the court had believed it, considering she had been arrested straight from the tea table, right after Janet fainted.

— If you say so… 

Out of the corner of her eye she caught her reflection: dressed in black, cloak at her back, hair tied up, eyes burning with the same fury as her father’s—the very thing she had sworn never to become.

Athanasia threw the statue. Not at Kaira—at the mirror. It struck the glass, shattering the reflection into a thousand fragments. The golden shield flared again, protecting Athanasia from the flying shards.

Kaira screamed, a sound that tore through the room. She pounded on the door, pleading for help, sobbing so loudly she did not hear the hurried footsteps in the corridor. When the door burst open, it struck her side and knocked her to the floor.

— What happened here?!

Two figures froze on the threshold, staring at the scene—the shattered mirror, the maid sprawled on the floor, and beside her the broken head of the bird statue.

— What in the…

Kaira scrambled to her knees, clutching at the butler’s sleeve.

— Thank the heavens you heard me! — she gasped. — She’s here—she’s here, the princess! We must call the guards!

The butler shook off her grip. Dark smears of blood stained his sleeve where her cut hands had touched it.

— Do you have any idea how much that mirror cost? — he said in horror.

The jeweled eyes of the broken bird glinted from the floor, already promising the scandal that would erupt when the countess saw the state of her chamber.

— You don’t understand! Princess Athanasia! She’s here!

Ironically, Kaira pointed straight at Athanasia’s face. If she had taken two steps forward, she would have poked her in the cheek—but no one could see her.

— Have you lost your mind?!

— I swear! It was her!

The head maid seized Kaira by the hair, dragging her into the corridor’s light. One silver earring still gleamed in the girl’s ear—a mistake that ruined her.

— Did the princess put that on you as well? — the woman hissed.

Kaira tried to break free, but the grip only tightened.

— We should call the guards, — the butler muttered, already stepping out to fetch them.

Within moments he returned with two soldiers. The whole time Kaira repeated the same thing—that she had done nothing, that she had only looked at the jewelry, when suddenly the runaway princess appeared and attacked her.

But traitors will always be treated as traitors, no matter whom they serve today. No one listened to her cries.

The butler began picking up the scattered debris, muttering about how soon they could replace the mirror. Clearly, it would not be before Rosalia’s return.

Athanasia watched the spectacle from a few paces away, carefully avoiding anyone’s touch as they moved about. What she had been waiting for happened soon enough.

The head maid, having checked that the trinkets on the dressing table were still in place, remembered something else.

Rosalia’s most valuable jewels were never left in sight. The enormous necklaces worth whole estates were kept in a locked cabinet. When the maid went to pull at the carved handle, the lock gave way easily. Inside—nothing. The boxes of jewels were gone.

Only then did Kaira grasp her true situation. For breaking a costly mirror she might have been dismissed, perhaps fined her wages. But losing Rosalia’s treasures? That was ruin. The butler’s face went from red with fury to white as chalk. The guards exchanged nervous glances.

— It wasn’t me, — Kaira whispered through her tears.

— Then you’d best tell us where the missing items are right now, — said the head maid coldly.

— The princess… I saw her… I swear…

The butler glanced at the clock on the wall. Dinner should be ending. Janet might stay with her father a bit longer, but they would return soon.

— Guards, take her away.

Kaira’s screams echoed through the palace, drawing curious onlookers despite the threats of extra work. A crowd followed as she was led down to the cellar, where she would be locked until the countess returned to decide her fate.

Their fear was well founded. When Rosalia learned of the theft, her wrath would fall on everyone, without exception. Not even Janet’s pleas could calm her then.

They did not yet know that Athanasia already had plans for those jewels.

Rosalia Judith had many loyal servants—some of whom had testified in court that they saw Athanasia pour poison into a cup and smile when Janet fell ill. Athanasia intended to reward each of them in turn, leaving behind a small gift for their devotion.

Chapter Text

Perhaps Athanasia had been the only one to sleep that night. Knowing that anything could happen at any moment, she had decided to stay in her room, putting the investigation off for a day.

It was, oddly enough, easy to fall asleep, comforted by the image of the very girl she had set up being settled in the dungeon. She liked to imagine Kaira following the same route she herself had once walked: led down a dark corridor into the damp cellars, thrown into the furthest cell where even the single torch’s light could not reach, left to make the acquaintance of Rozi and Jenny — two scrawny rats forever trying to steal a prisoner’s bread. After some time, Kaira would be dragged back into the bright daylight her eyes had long forgotten, and accused of sins she had not committed. Then she would scream her defenses, but they would only bounce back as echoes from the walls.

Perhaps someone would pay heed to Kaira’s words — that she had seen the fugitive princess. But by the time anyone believed her, there would be ample time to make the next move.

Palaces hated excuses most of all.

At sunrise there came a knock at the door. Athanasia had only just glanced at her reflection in a cup of water when a guard entered her room.

— The countess’s orders: everyone to assemble in the great hall. — he announced.

Through the open doorway she could see other guards and servants hurrying as they had been commanded, hastily throwing on what they could. Those who lingered too long were shoved along with little ceremony.

Athanasia snatched up the cloak she used for garden work and joined the bewildered stream of people, which whispered ceaselessly among itself. Rumours had already begun to spread overnight about the way Kaira had been led away by the guard. Those who had worked late had witnessed how Rosalia stormed into her chamber like an enraged storm, and how afterward she raged at the head maid and the butler over the missing jewels.

— It’s definitely Kaira’s doing, what do you think she else did? — someone muttered.

— I saw the broken mirror… — another voice answered.

— The butler tried to disperse everyone. Think she smashed anything else?

— I heard her screaming that the former princess has returned.

— Nonsense. There’s enough guard in this palace that not even a mouse could slip through, let alone a wanted princess.

— Still, it’s eerie… You know those rumours about rebels… What if she does to us what the Emperor did to the harem attendants’ servants?

— Look…

The moment the topic turned interesting and Athanasia pricked up her ears, everyone fell silent. Young Ijekil Alfius passed by, paying no heed to anyone. He was headed to the servants’ quarters, where only the guard remained.

— If he’s here, the countess does not trust the guard. Things are bad.

And indeed, things were not well. They found themselves waiting in the great hall. Rosalia Judith stood with the princess on the stair, looking down at the assembled ranks of servants below. The butler and the head maid stood among them, no higher than the rest.

The countess’s gaze pierced like needles of ice, accusing each of those present of the deed. And yet most still did not know what Kaira had actually done.

For a time there was silence. The newcomers fell into line quietly, without a word, and if anyone made the slightest sound the butler shot them a look that could kill. In such an atmosphere it was especially hard to remain calm. The servants turned their heads cautiously, searching for any sign of how this might end.

Only Athanasia stood straight. Years of training with the princess had taught her how to keep her composure in oppressive silences at receptions where everyone hated her. Now she kept her head cool, secure in the knowledge that, whatever happened, she would remain safe.

Inside she felt nothing — neither triumph nor remorse. She had done what had to be done. If those responsible for her true crimes were to go unpunished, then at least they would pay for this one. The authority of Countess Rosalia Judith needed undermining.

Throughout the palace she was the only person who could control herself at that moment. Janet shifted from foot to foot, uncertain what to do. She disliked scandal and, surprisingly rarely, found herself in it. Now she did not know how to behave. She twisted her hands together and forced herself not to look at the servants.

Rosalia, by contrast, swept her gaze across each face in turn. She searched for suspects who might dare to defy her. Only the little fan in her hand — which she nervously opened and closed — betrayed that even she felt uneasy.

They were to be told Kaira’s words. If that were so, the dreadful tales of Athanasia’s vengeance no longer sounded like mere stories. Even without proof, such coincidences would make anyone nervous.

It called to mind the rumours the others had been telling on the way — rebellion in Obelia? Something unthinkable. Athanasia could not imagine anyone truly rising up against the Emperor, the sun of their nation.

More than that, from Lucas’s book she knew rebellion could not succeed, for only where Obelia stood could the Empire be ruled. Though she knew of lone acts of disobedience, it could not blossom into something truly revolutionary.

Unless one defined every merchant who refused to pay his taxes as a rebel. Then it might all make sense.

At last, something happened. The guard returned, led by Ijekil. Alfius approached the countess and Janet and spoke to them in a low voice. With each word Rosalia’s brows dropped lower and her lips pressed into a narrower line.

All watched the changes in her face, and at some moment someone noticed what the guards held in their hands. One carried three necklaces set with enormous stones; another bore bracelets and a handful of rings.

The servants began to jostle to catch someone’s eye, but soon that mattered less. Rosalia finally addressed them.

— So we have rats among us, — she said; the girl beside Athanasia shuddered at the words. — Someone has taken my niece’s kindness for weakness. Each of you was taken into this palace to serve the future of our Empire, yet for some this honour proved worth less than a handful of gold.

She paused while someone squeaked out a denial. Then, pointing sharply at the jewels in the guards’ hands, she continued —

— Rats that bite the hand that feeds them and cares for their lives… and as if that were not enough, dare to threaten the Imperial family. Well, if our mercy is not appreciated by all, then you will taste our cruelty. All those involved in this theft will be punished for treason against the Crown at once. Let this be a lesson to the rest.

A few guards stepped forward. For a crowd in which everyone truly believed themselves innocent, that was enough to spark panic.

Then they seized the first victim.
A sweet girl with red hair and freckles, dressed only in a thick nightshirt, was dragged into the centre of the hall, her arms twisted behind her back. Her scream cut through the servants like a blade, ringing in their heads. It was pure despair — different from the kind Athanasia remembered.
That same girl had attended Janet on the day of the poisoning. It was she who had called for help, and she who first claimed that Athanasia had poured something into the cup.

The second was a man who worked in the gardens — the first, that day, to rush at Athanasia to prevent her escape.

Then came the third: a tall, dark-haired woman with bright eyes. Long after Athanasia had taken a position at the palace and spent nights under the veil of invisibility, wandering the halls, she had learned the woman’s true nature. That servant had a habit of prying secrets from others and selling them, betraying Rosalia’s sins for favour.

And the last — an older woman who had served the countess for many years. For her, this was surely a bitter blow. She struggled, crying out to Rosalia, hoping that years of faithful service would earn her a chance to be heard.
She would never have betrayed her mistress — as loyal as the old dog that had followed Rosalia from the Judith estate to the palace.
Athanasia had planted something special on her: a diamond ring worth a small fortune.

Rosalia ordered her niece escorted to her chambers to rest.
For Janet, raised far from trouble, such a scandal was a shock. Pale and frozen, she was led away by her governess.

Athanasia’s gaze followed her sister until she vanished down the corridor. Then, almost of its own accord, her eyes shifted and met another’s.
Ijekil’s golden eyes betrayed unease despite his outward composure. His hands were straight at his sides, his back taut beneath his knight’s uniform — rigid with discipline.
Even from this distance, it was clear: he was watching Athanasia, not anyone else.

— The rest will receive no punishment today, — Rosalia announced, raising her voice above the cries of the captured servants, — but know this: it was your final warning.

With that, she gestured to the guards, who knew their task well and set off toward Janet’s chambers.

While the accused were being led away, no one was permitted to leave. All were forced to watch.
A few, especially the faint-hearted, grew ill, but they too were not dismissed.
Only when all had fallen silent did the butler climb the stairs where the countess had stood and deliver yet another speech — on the importance of loyalty.

As his words droned on, unease sank deeper into every soul present.

At last, they were released. Slowly, people dispersed — some to their rooms, others straight to work if they had managed to dress.
A few would decide to resign the next morning, leaving their posts empty for some time.
Those who served in the palace were ambitious and diligent, but that did not mean they were ready to tangle with a web of intrigue sharp enough to take one’s head — sometimes quite literally.

For now, Rosalia would have to reconsider her attitude toward her servants.
She would need to show that just as traitors were punished, the loyal would be rewarded.
A perfect opportunity for Athanasia, who needed a little more influence for her next step.

Despite knowing this, she couldn’t unclench her fists. These were half-measures.
She should have cut the problem at its root instead of wasting time and strength on small pawns easily replaced.

— Lilian! Are you deaf or what?!

The name was shouted a third time before Athanasia remembered that it now belonged to her. She turned sharply, brushing someone’s shoulder in the crowd.

The head maid was waving her over. Behind her, Ijekil was speaking to the butler, giving instructions. Though he did not look her way, Athanasia felt his attention fixed on her all the same.

— What were you doing last night? — the maid asked.

— Cleaning branches in the garden.

The answer brought not surprise but suspicion. The woman pressed:

— Didn’t I tell you to rest?

— I’m sincerely grateful, madam, but I promised the gardener I’d finish the task on time. I didn’t want to leave it to someone else.

The maid pressed her lips together thoughtfully. If she had doubts, she had no proof.
Few had worked outdoors that evening — most had been inside. And indeed, several had seen Athanasia carrying trimmed branches alone to the burning pile.

The butler bowed to young Alfius and hurried toward Janet’s chambers.
Ijekil, however, came closer and asked the head maid —

— Have you resolved the matter of the princess’s attendants?

— Not yet, — she replied, — we’ll take all the girls to the countess today for inspection before hiring a new staff.

All of Janet’s maids were to be replaced, for “safety.” They discussed requirements for new servants, but Athanasia paid them no attention. Whoever they hired, it would make no difference.

Far more interesting was the familiar, subtle tremor of magic that surrounded Ijekil.

He clearly carried a protective charm, though from the outside it was impossible to tell where.
Aristocrats often wore enchanted family relics for protection, yet there were no visible ornaments on his uniform.

Athanasia couldn’t recall sensing that same magic earlier, when they’d crossed paths in the corridor of the servants’ wing. Had she grown careless, or had something changed in that short time?

Ijekil nodded slightly toward her.

— And what about her?

— I still recommend this one, given what we discussed. The most important thing now is to keep the princess from falling into despair. Lilian is capable and learns quickly — I believe she’ll be useful.

“The most important thing for you,” Athanasia thought, “is to keep your own head safe.”
The maid, fearful for her life, was focused only on pleasing her masters.

Surprisingly, Ijekil said nothing more. It wasn’t entirely clear why the duke’s son involved himself in palace affairs at all. Janet’s blind affection and Rosalia’s friendship with Roger had granted the young man an unusual authority — far beyond what was due to someone not yet formally the Emperor’s sword.

— Lilian, did you hear? Your task for today is to keep order in the princess’s chambers.

— As you command.

— For now, just replace the flowers. There was to be a fitting with the modistes today — I don’t know if they’ll still come after such a morning — but if they do, tidy up afterward. While the princess dines, prepare the bath and check the oil in the lamps. Understood?

— Yes, ma’am.

On her way to the room, Athanasia passed anxious faces of other maids who had already changed and were heading back to work. She tried to memorize each one, so she could later see who would still be employed by month’s end.

The guards searching the quarters had not been careful. In some rooms they left overturned bedding and scattered personal items. Athanasia owned far less; when she opened her door, there was no heap of clothes on the floor. The pillow and coverlet lay askew at the edge of the bed, but at first glance nothing else had changed.

When she planted the jewels, she had known there would be searches. She had prudently hidden Lucas’s book, which would certainly have drawn the wrong attention, but it had never occurred to her she’d be worrying about anything else.

Now she pulled open the top drawer first. The comb and other trifles were in place. Only one thing was missing — the embroidered handkerchief she had picked up the day before.

For the first time that day, Athanasia’s nerves tightened. She checked every likely spot, to no avail. The handkerchief was gone — and there was only one place it could be now: Ijekil’s pocket.

She sat on the edge of the bed and thought it through again.

The guards would have been more than enough to search all the rooms, and yet they had summoned Alfius at dawn. He was trusted more than anyone. The countess would only take such a step if Kaira’s claims — that Athanasia was somewhere in the palace — had pushed her to it.

In her speech Rosalia had mentioned someone daring to threaten her; that must have been it. She had not taken Kaira seriously, yet she could not rid herself of doubt. That was when the faithful hound became useful.

Athanasia had gloated too soon; her own actions had nudged matters toward exposure. Perhaps half the palace staff were slow-witted, but no such thing could be said of Ijekil. Roger had raised his son from childhood to be his copy — or an improved version. He would soon suspect that something about her was wrong.

It was all too neat and convenient: an orphan from a remote corner of the Empire, about whom nothing was known, doing three times the work without complaint — and at the ill-fated tea she had been one of the first to rush to help. She should have chosen another name and posed as the daughter of a poor family.

It was too late to rewrite the past now. No one had proof yet — otherwise she would not have been allowed near the princess. She simply had to lie low for a while, continue her invented story, and draw less attention.

She would not remain in this palace forever. She needed only a little more time to finish her business; then she could tear off the mask and none of them could touch her.

Steadying herself, Athanasia changed and hurried to carry out the first order of the day. She deliberately used no magic to gather the flowers more quickly — in case someone had decided to watch her — and reached Janet’s chambers once the countess had already left. All the better; Rosalia’s fury had not abated, evident in the speed with which the butler dashed through the corridors, barking orders at everyone he passed.

Janet’s rooms were in an unusual state of disorder for the palace. A fitting with the modiste had been scheduled before last night’s incident and never cancelled. Despite general confusion, the appointment had been kept, and now sofas, tables, and chairs were buried under bolts of fabric, lace, and all the tools the seamstress had brought with her three assistants.

Janet stepped out from behind a tall screen in a sky-blue gown that made her look like a cloud and twirled so everyone could see better. Ijekil, seated in the sole chair not smothered in materials, gave a brief glance and nodded.

— This one is pretty.

— I liked the previous one more, — Janet remarked. The assistants quickly produced a dark-green fitted dress with gold embroidery.

— Your Highness will look wonderful in anything, even if I make no effort at all, — the modiste cooed.

No one paid Athanasia much mind. Only Ijekil cast a swift look at the bouquet in her hands and turned back to the screen with a frown.

Moving along the wall without a sound, Athanasia drew the wilted flowers from the vase and poured fresh water for the new bouquet. She had chosen lilies on purpose, hoping they would be noticed. If Ijekil remembered the handkerchief and asked, she would simply say she liked the flower — her name was Lilian, after all.

Ijekil did not care. Janet, stepping out to show another dress, sighed heavily:

— Today truly is dreadful. Even the flowers have wilted, — she murmured, then pointed at a bolt of deep maroon cloth lying on the sofa. — Make something from that.

— But, Your Highness, you’ve always asked for light shades. If you want velvet, I can bring you a broader palette to choose from.

— I don’t want light anymore. In fact, take away all these childish dresses — I don’t like them now.

She puffed out her cheeks like a child as she said it. Athanasia was certain the change in taste was not sincere. Her sister, receiving less and less attention, needed a way to take it back. A new style that would shout on her behalf that everything happening displeased her.

Hard to imagine how she would endure when something truly serious happened.

Janet disappeared behind the screen to try on the darkest of the ready dresses. From there she continued to give instructions:

— Remove the lace at the neck and make the neckline a little wider. I plan to order a necklace and the dress must suit it.

— As you wish, Your Highness. Though you know, high collars are returning to fashion in Arlant…

— No. I need a cut that will let me wear a necklace. Shorten it.

The modiste argued no further. For the first time during the fitting, Ijekil showed interest and asked carefully:

— You want to order a necklace instead of a lucky hairpin.

Janet emerged again, now in a simple house dress. The fitting was drawing to a close.

— Exactly. I’ve already lost earrings, hairpins, and rings. This time I want something that fastens more securely.

At the end, the assistants laid out several pairs of shoes, from which Janet quickly chose the darkest.

— And when do you expect your new talisman? — she asked.

Ijekil’s hand drifted unconsciously to the pocket over his chest.

— The man was meant to arrive next week, but my aunt says he’ll be delayed on business for a while longer. Once he comes, he can enchant a new charm for me.

Athanasia had no idea whom they meant. She knew of few sorcerers among courtiers or nobles — and fewer still capable of crafting a ward. Why hadn’t Janet turned to the court magicians? They certainly understood protective charms.

— And where is he now, did she say?
— I didn’t ask. And also, replace the belt on the green dress; I don’t like it.
— Do you really think you need talismans? You manage perfectly well without them.
— Are you joking? — Janet’s hand flashed so suddenly that the assistant jumped back. — Ever since I lost the hairpin, it’s been nothing but misfortune!

Janet’s cheeks flushed, her eyes filling with tears. She wasn’t wrong: the hairpin had vanished the very day Athanasia appeared. Only her conclusion was mistaken.

The servants politely averted their eyes. Ijekil rose and stepped closer.

— Unpleasant things happen in every life from time to time. It’s normal.

— But not this many! One after another! I don’t know what to do until I have that talisman…

Janet embraced him without hesitation, and the young man said soothingly:

— Time will pass faster than you think. They say your new history tutor should arrive any day now. You’ll be able to throw yourself into lessons and won’t notice how quickly your new necklace is ready.

Ijekil’s hands settled gently on her shoulders. He did not draw her in, keeping his distance, but she closed it herself, tucking her face against his chest.

— Easy for you to say. I don’t like studying the way you do. Yesterday I tried to reread the textbook we never finished with the previous tutor, but it’s so dull… Too much useless detail. I hope this one is at least a little interesting.

Ijekil sighed. Proof of Janet’s efforts still lay on the writing desk — a book left open. Athanasia tried to sidle closer and glance at it, curious to know what passed for difficult for an heir to the throne.

From outside came a light, melodious chirping. Athanasia froze, not at once recalling what it meant. The last time she had heard that sound was the day she learned her father’s secret and left Lucas. The porcelain bird’s song carried her back to the windowsill of the Black Tower.

Janet raised her head and peered past Ijekil. Through the glass doors she saw a bright speck glide playfully along the balcony. Forgetting her grief, Janet hurried to open the doors for a better look.

The assistants turned their heads too when they noticed the astonishing sight: a large bird with coloured plumage circling the balcony as if flown straight from a storybook. When Janet reached out her hand, the bird did not startle, yet would not let itself be touched, lifting away instead.

— Ijekil, look at that! I’ve never seen anything like it.

No wonder — the bird was not real. Had anyone managed to grasp it, their hand would likely have closed on air. An illusion was far easier to control than a full magical puppet. Its beak did not even move, though the chirping continued. Somewhere nearby two people had to be hiding: a magician and someone to blow the whistle. They had not exerted themselves to make the act convincing.

It did not matter. Janet had what she needed — a motley ray of hope, proof that the world still favoured her.

Seizing the moment, Athanasia bent over the desk to see the book. The open page showed a map of mineral deposits in the northern mountain region Obelia had conquered a century and a half ago.

An ordinary history textbook. When Athanasia was small, there had not been enough money to hire every tutor a princess required, but there were books from the Imperial Library. Sitting alone in her palace, she had devoured them one by one, simply to kill time and keep from going mad.

It was hard to say whether the problem was Janet’s laziness or Athanasia’s having read too much instead of speaking to living people. Still, considering that the Emperor grew weaker by the day…

If tomorrow the Empress were a girl who could not master the last century’s history, who did not know whom Obelia fought or why — what decisions would she make? How could Janet issue a decree if she did not understand what crops were grown in her country and what they affected?

Athanasia had once thought Rosalia a foolish, hysterical woman who overprotected her niece and ignored the real danger of such upbringing. She had underestimated her badly. The countess had a plan she had been executing for years. Part of that plan now was to pretend she truly cared which colour dress the princess would choose for her next visit to her father.

If Janet reached the throne, she would be a helpless ruler. Lacking knowledge of her own, she would always lean on the people she trusted most: her aunt and the young Duke Alfius. Every word of theirs would be gospel to her.

Under such circumstances, Ijekil need not worry about Janet’s studies. As soon as it became possible, she would surely become engaged to him, and then Alfius would be Emperor.

Rosalia had removed Athanasia not on a whim, but because she was a real threat. From the moment of her debut — when the elder princess was first allowed to meet the aristocracy — someone among them might have seen their advantage in a more educated heir taking power. Keeping Athanasia away from balls was not enough, so the countess had risked poisoning her own niece to eliminate the only rival.

Only unbelievable luck had saved Athanasia from death. Even had one court found her innocent, another would have followed — and another after that. In the end, the poison would simply have been placed in Athanasia’s own cup. Rosalia Judith had done everything to leave her no chance, and the only force that had blocked her was the Tree of Obelia.

— Is something wrong?

Athanasia jerked away from the book, as if caught at something illicit, and nearly bumped noses with Ijekil. His gaze studied her face, calm and intent, then dropped to the page.

On the balcony, Janet followed the magical bird with her eyes, marveling at the figures it drew in flight. The modiste was jotting measurements into her notebook while her assistants folded fabrics.

— Forgive me, — Athanasia bowed meekly, — the illustration simply seemed interesting.

Ijekil’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. He stood close enough for it to verge on impolite, yet did not step back. She tried to mask her tension with embarrassment.

At this distance, the contours of magic were clearer. No doubt: the handkerchief lay in the pocket over his chest.

— Fascinating, indeed.

She should not have mentioned the illustration; a map of northern mineral deposits stirred little interest. Athanasia murmured another apology, but he seemed not to hear.

— Lilian, isn’t it?

— Yes, sir.

She lowered her head further so he would not see the spark of anger in her eyes.

— Who are your parents?

— I am an orphan, sir.

Naturally, he could easily have learned that from the head maid that morning.

— And how did you come to the palace? — No hint of sympathy or suspicion; just another question in a clear, even voice. He was far harder to read than most.

— The steward of the Jade Palace was very kind and allowed me to help in the laundry to earn my living.

If you suspect something, say it outright, she thought. One more question and she wasn’t sure she could keep up the act.

— Rapid advancement for a girl from the streets, — Ijekil observed. And before Athanasia’s patience snapped, he turned and tossed over his shoulder — I won’t keep you from your work.

Athanasia bit her tongue. Did he know something, or was he keeping tension on purpose?

She picked up the bouquet and made to leave. As a final check, she looked back: Ijekil stood on the balcony behind Janet — still enraptured by the performance — smiling gently, sharing her delight. His acting was impeccable.

Athanasia closed the door behind her. Her list for the day was long, and now it had gained one more item. She needed to deal with the bothersome hound that had picked up her trail.