But I know better. She is terrified of what the future will bring.
Because that Lady is my mother.
And that babe?
That babe is me.
3
Year 10,981 of the House of Silla Reign
Palace Kyr, North of Sattoriya, Tartareia.
Rivulets of blood fall to the ground. Miss Lavandale’s eyes are wide open, but she is unmoving. Her back rests against the off-white facade of the West Wing of the Kyr palace. Her dress, a pretty summer muslin the color of mustard, is now forever stained red.
She’d spent her entire monthly wage to buy it.
A pity that she did not get more uses out of it.
Upsila, my dog, sniffs the pool on the floor. Her tongue darts out to lick the blood but I stop her. She barks at me, unhappy that I am pulling on her leash, but if left to her devices, she would do more damage. She is a hunting dog after all.
There is a large gash on Miss Lavandale’s neck, running from ear to ear. It looks to have been made by a sword, but there is no sharp object nearby. There is nothing that could have harmed her, but harmed she was.
How?
The question plays in my mind on a loop. Staring at her body, frozen in time as it is, I try to comprehend how the situation had degenerated so badly.
A pounding erupts in my ears. My breathing intensifies as guilt overwhelms me.
Did I…do this?
Did I kill her?
With no other person nearby, that would be the logical answer. But I did not do it—I do not remember doing it.
Miss Lavandale came to get me for my lessons in history. We exchanged a few words only, the last being my agreement that I would be there shortly after finishing Upsila’s training. She nodded and said she would wait for me.
That was our last interaction.
I turned my back to her for a few moments and then I heard a scream. When I turned, she was already against the wall, bleeding to death.
The blood flew rapidly at first, but as minutes passed, the flow begins to ebb.
I could not move. I simply stared at her as life left her body.
Even now, I find it hard to move, yet I know I should let someone know about what happened.
The more time passes, the more guilty I will look, even though I consider myself to be innocent.
But am I? Am I truly?
A loud gasp resounds from behind me.
Slowly, I turn.
“I did not do it!” That is the first thing that flies out of my mouth. “It was not me,materi.”
My mother takes a step forward. She appears perfectly put together as always. Her dark hair is put up in a sumptuous updo despite the fact that it is midday and there are no guests to entertain—today, tomorrow, or for the rest of the week. Butthat is the manner of my mother. She is of the opinion that not even the servants can see her looking anything less than perfect. So every day, she has her maid dress her hair and adorn her in precious jewels from head to toe. Even her dress, a deep burgundy, is more fit for the ballroom than for a walk in the gardens.
