"Oh, Lily, I have to tell you something," Julian said, his voice light, casual, as if we were discussing the weather. His knife slid cleanly through the roast on his plate, the silverware chiming delicately against porcelain.
I glanced up from my half-eaten meal, curiosity sharpening. Julian rarely spoke during dinner unless it was urgent or calculated.
"Someone wants to buy our land," he continued, unbothered, chewing leisurely. "They're offering a generous sum."
A cold ripple slid down my spine.
Please don't let it be the Duskvales.
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to that name that refused to leave me—Althaea. It had been the final word whispered in that fragmented dream, clinging to the edges of my mind like smoke. She was connected to Alistair, somehow. Althaea Duskvale—daughter of the late general, beloved by the royal family, and, most significantly, the newly named Saintess of Lysoria.
And yet, I never cared for her.
In the novel, she had been little more than a prop. The loyal best friend. The moral compass. A noble, spotless shadow beside the love interest. Bland, like overcooked vegetables without seasoning—nourishing in theory, but devoid of substance. There was something hollow in her character that always made me uneasy, even if I couldn't name it.
Julian's voice cut through my thoughts. "His name is Theron Valemont D'Arcane. He's a commanding officer of the knights—and the brother of King Lysoria's first wife."
D'Arcane? That name had never appeared in the story.
"Really?" I said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Strangely, I felt... pleased. Maybe because this version of Althaea didn't feel like the one I'd read about. Maybe because I was starting to believe there was more to her than the pages had ever revealed.
Dinner ended. Silence bloomed around me, soft and contemplative, as evening sank deeper into night. Still, one thought haunted me.
What kind of person was Althaea Duskvale?
A knock shattered the quiet.
"My lady? May I come in?"
Emily. Perfect timing.
"Yes, come in," I called, straightening slightly as the door creaked open. She stepped inside, her expression bright with curiosity and loyalty.
"How can I help you, my lady?"
"I need information," I said slowly, watching her carefully. "I want everything you can find about Althaea Duskvale. Who is she? Who she was. Everything."
She bowed. "Of course, my lady."
Althaea was still young, barely more than a girl. But if my memory served me, her appointment as Saintess was imminent. If this world was unraveling from the path I once knew, then I needed to understand her before the pieces fell too far out of place.
Later, changed into my nightgown and beneath the covers, I stared at the ceiling, the pressure of unanswered questions pressing on my chest.
What will you show me next, Lily?
Sleep pulled me under.
But not into the same darkness.
Instead, a dim light flickered before me—soft, pulsing like the inner workings of a clock. And then, the shadows shifted.
Blood.
It slicked my hands.
Pain tore through me, jagged and burning—like I'd been dragged across fire and glass. My limbs screamed, nerves aflame. My eyes fluttered open to a blurred world of overturned chairs and cold, empty desks.
The Velmora Institute of Magical Arts.
So this was Lily's life after enrollment.
I tried to move, to lift my head, to see who had done this to her—to me—but their faces were shadows, voices reduced to sharp laughter that scraped against the walls of my skull.
"Wake up," I whispered again and again. "Wake up…"
Then a voice rang out—firm, cutting, filled with command.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? STOP RIGHT THERE!"
The laughter died. Footsteps scattered like leaves in a storm. The tormentors fled.
And then, warmth.
"Don't go into the light yet, Lily," a voice murmured—a voice I knew but could not name.
Warmth spread through me like sunlight through cold stone. The agony dulled. The wounds closed. I was whole again—healed.
But before I could see his face, the dream dissolved.
I bolted upright in bed, gasping. My hands flew to my back, where the worst of the wounds had been. Smooth skin. No pain. No blood.
Nothing.
Like it had never happened at all.
The room was quiet. The moon hung still in the window. But sleep would not return—not after what I'd seen.
Slipping on my shoes, I lit a lamp and crept through the halls. Each step felt familiar. I had done this before—in the world I came from. Midnight walks. Soft songs beneath my breath. Wandering until sleep found me again.
The estate was silent. Peaceful. The stars overhead were brighter here than back home. So clear, so impossibly vast. I hummed an old tune without realizing it, my feet carrying me through the halls and eventually... outside.
The back of the estate stretched into a forest, calm and inviting in the moonlight. A perfect place for a picnic, I thought absently.
I felt sleep tug again.
But just as I turned to go back, a flicker of light caught my eye.
One of the rooms—still lit.
I crept closer, curiosity pulling me toward the warm glow. Peering inside through a crack in the door, I froze.
A maid was inside, rummaging through drawers, peeking under the bed, and flinging open the closet.
Lily's grandmother's room.
I remembered the rumors: the eccentric matriarch who'd hidden her treasure—gold coins scattered across the estate, buried like secrets. She'd been paranoid, they said. Obsessed with thieves. No one had ever found the stash.
But this maid—she was searching like she knew.
I couldn't confront her. Not directly. I was still just a child. Vulnerable. One hidden blade and I could be silenced.
So I ran quietly, searching for an empty room. Just three doors down, I found one. Inside, I located a length of rope, sturdy and long. I dragged a chair and a table into place, tying the rope around one of the legs using a mooring hitch—a quick-release knot I could loosen from a distance if needed. Then I crept back and placed the setup just outside the grandmother's room.
A distraction.
When she turned to investigate the noise I created, I darted inside and locked the door behind me, shoving a chair beneath the knob to reinforce it. Even if she had a key, the chair would jam it long enough for me to slip away.
I hid in the nearest room, barely breathing, heart pounding. Time crawled.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then fifteen more.
Only then did I dare to move.
The room was silent again. The maid was gone.
But the questions weren't.