She rests her weight on a walking stick—not that she would need it. But it, too, is fashionable. The jewel resting at the top of the stick is of the most expensive kind,rapeorite, a stone that is only found in one region of Tartareia that is now the home of the House of Psalis—or the hybrids, as mother would derogatorily call them. They are of both Aperite and Tartareian descent, but they have sworn their allegiance to our realm some hundred thousands years ago. Despite wielding great power due to their mixed background, they are only respected out of fear. Pureblooded Tartareians, like my mother, despise them. Even though they have legendary abilities, very few have managed to achieve top positions. They might not be openly reviled because they are beneficial to the realm, but they are openly snubbed. The fact that my mother proudly displays herrapeoriteis an insult since they have long stopped the trade with other houses. The mere fact that she owns one makes a mockery of their so-called autonomy.
Her grey eyes widen with shock. She does not look at me. She barely acknowledges me. She only stares at the dead body of Miss Lavendale.
Taking a few steps forward, she stops before the puddle of blood. She is wearing expensive shoes, almost as red as the blood. But she would never allow such a lowly substance to touch her.
“Hanth!” She yells. Her voice travels through the palace, reaching my father. He is never far, his ear attuned to every littleword or sigh of my mother’s. In a matter of seconds he teleports to our location.
“Inaria?” He asks as he comes toward her. “What is the matter?”
My mother points toward the dead body. He slowly turns, assessing the situation. His lips flatten, his eyes narrowing as his gaze moves from the dead body to me.
“You did this?”
I shake my head.
“Do you see anyone else around?” My mother interjects. “It would not be the first time either,” she mutters under her breath.
“But I did not?—”
“Four governesses he’s had and they are all dead. Now it is Miss Lavandale.”
“But—”
“I did not ask for your opinion,” she turns sharply to me.
“I did not kill them either,” I whisper in a low voice.
My father contemplates the issue as he studies the dead body. I can only hope he sees the same as me. She was killed by a blade. I do not have a blade—I am not allowed to carry one.
The only defense I am allowed is Upsila since she can get quite vicious when I am threatened. But Miss Lavandale does not have any bite marks either.
How could I have killed her when not only did I not have a weapon to do so, but I also could not have fought her. For her miniature stature, Miss Lavandale is a grade C spiritual energy user—she has four energy gates open where I have none.
She could have defended herself, yet there are no self-defense marks anywhere.
“I did not kill her,pateri,” I tell him. “You must realize that?—”
“Go to your room, Nykander. I shall deal with you later,” he interrupts me.
“But—”
“To your room,” he raises his voice.
Hanging my head down, I beckon Upsila to follow me as I head to my room. The way there is longer than usual, marred by my incessant worrying and a glimmer of guilt.
Despite knowing I did not kill her, I cannot help but wonder if somehow I did.
I am not allowed to cultivate my energy, nor engage in any physical training. I have been told I do not have the aptitude for it. My classes are solely theoretical to at least prepare me for an administrative position once I become of age.
But mayhap an outburst of energy may have caused this—something I cannot control. I have read about cases in which a surplus of energy became erratic because the wielder in question did not have the necessary training to control it.
Could that have happened to me without realizing?
Those thoughts plague me as I close the door to my room. I sigh heavily and remove the leash from Upsila’s neck, letting her roam freely around. She heads straight for her small water fountain and drinks greedily, so I add some food to her bowl to eat in case she is hungry as well.
If only I had heightened hearing abilities like my father… Then I would be able to hear what him and mother are talking about.
My heart is heavy in my chest as I take a seat on my bed. Why does death follow me everywhere?
