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Master Otavio tilts his head and gives me a look somewhere between scorn and pity. “Are you stupid? Do you even realize why a substitute is sent on a trip instead of the princess? Do you know what’s at stake?” His expression contorts in fury. “You might get killed.” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t allow you to risk it. You matter too much.” His voice has a strange, rare, raw honesty.
The thought that he worries about me had never crossed my mind. I’ve always sort of seen him and Andrezza as father and mother figures, and yet he’s always been so cold, so distant, always demanding perfection, always saying I’m not good enough. And yet… He cares.
A different thought then crosses my mind, and it makes me angry. “Why can the other substitutes risk it, then?”
“They’re well trained.” His voice is flat now.
Great. There it is. He does think I’m incompetent, despite everything. And if perfection isn’t enough to prove my worth, what hope can I have? Perhaps life will be better if I leave. But what am I even going to do? Where am I going to go? Can I get a job with my knowledge about courts and kingdoms and lords? Hardly.
A cold feeling settles in my stomach, fear pricking my skin with the realization that my life is about to crumble. All because of a smile. A stupid smile that feels insignificant now that I threw my life away.
I want to double check if he means it, if I’m really expelled, but it sounds humiliating. Odd how I can still fear humiliation when I’m at such a low point.
His expression then changes to a placid calm. “Someone’s coming. Get yourself together.”
I breathe in and think about my kindred soul again. That’s the only thing that can bring me some calm amidst this turmoil.
He opens the door and Andrezza walks in. She’s so very beautiful, with brown skin, deep brown eyes, and long black hair peppered with a few strands of gray. I trust her, and her presence puts me at ease. I’ve often wondered if I should tell her everything, tell her what I am, and yet Master Otavio always said that she’d have me killed if she knew it. Indeed, in her classes, I got to hear her opinion about darksouls, and that should terrify me. It’s confusing.
“There you are!” There’s relief in her voice. “I thought all the substitutes were sick. You know well about Lord Stratson’s state and his family, don’t you, Astra?”
“Yes.” My voice is still shaky.
She nods. “Get ready, then, as you’ll need to go to his wedding reception, and the carriage leaves in forty minutes.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Master Otavio says. “We don’t know what they ate, and she might get just as sick as the others.”
Andrezza glances at me, then looks at him. “We’ll have to risk it. You know how much our king hates failure.”
Otavio lifts his shoulder in the tensest shrug I’ve ever seen. “Well then, let’s hope she doesn’t vomit on the way.”
“I’ll make sure she has an extra dress and a bucket in the carriage.” She turns to me. “Go to your room. The attendants will get you ready.”
Really? I’m not expelled? Or is Master Otavio going to wait until I’m back? My stomach then growls and I have to say something about it. “I didn’t have breakfast.”
Andrezza gestures at me to keep going. “I’ll ask them to send something light for you in your room.”
I bow and prepare to leave. When I reach the door, I hear Otavio’s voice.
“Astra.”
I turn.
There.
It’s coming.
His face is calm, but I can see the contained rage beneath it. “Just because you were spared of whatever caused their nausea now, it doesn’t mean you will be spared again. Be very, very mindful of what you eat.”
I know what his words mean, and yet I need to give a reply. “We don’t choose what we eat, master.”
Andrezza shakes her head. “He’s saying nonsense, little Astra.” I never know if that’s endearing or demeaning. “We still don’t know what happened, and it’s probably not their fault. Now go!”
I don’t wait even a second.
When I reach the hallway to my bedroom, it strikes me: I did it!
I secured my place on the trip. And if Otavio’s behavior in front of Andrezza is any indication, he’s not going to have me expelled or punished. At least not publicly punished.
