The Maroon Slaughter had been classified exactly as:“Incident involving observable manifestations of prohibited arcane activity.”
Which, in the Assembly’s language, meant:we are not explaining this, and you are not asking.
So, she hadn’t asked. At least aloud. Until now.
Now the silence felt like complicity. Like something rotting beneath the floorboards of her life.
She rubbed her thumb along her wrist absently, half-expecting the red thread she no longer wore to be there.
Her solitude was interrupted by the soft rustling of skirts. Evelyne glanced up to find Isildeth approaching, a new maid trailing just behind her.
“Milady,” Isildeth greeted, dipping her head slightly, “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
Evelyne closed her book, letting her gaze linger on the girl behind Isildeth a moment longer. Time to go back to the present.
The same one from last night’s supper. She stood with hands folded, eyes downcast, posture as proper as a textbook.
“This is Vesena,” Isildeth continued, stepping aside so that the girl stood fully in view. “She will be accompanying you to Varantia and serving as your personal maid.”
Vesena lowered her head in a respectful bow. “It is an honor, Your Highness.” Her voice was soft with the distinct lilt of a southern accent.
Evelyne studied her for a moment, taking in the small details—the lack of nervous fidgeting, the calm way she held Evelyne’s gaze without overstepping propriety.
“You were chosen by the prince’s household?” Evelyne asked.
“Yes, milady,” Vesena confirmed. “I was trained under the high chamberlain.”
Evelyne turned to Isildeth, raising a brow slightly. “And what do you think?”
Isildeth’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. “She listens well and follows orders. She will serve you loyally.”
Evelyne inclined her head. “Then I suppose we will see how well we will both adapt, Vesena.”
Vesena did not waver. “I will not disappoint you, milady.”
Evelyne studied her a moment and gestured toward the opposite seat at the small stone table. “Sit. Join me for a meal.”
Vesena hesitated only a second before bowing her head. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
She moved toward the chair, seating herself carefully, hands folded in her lap. A servant appeared swiftly to place another set of utensils before Vesena, then retreated in silence.
Evelyne poured herself another cup of tea. “Tell me about Varantia,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “Not the version I hear in diplomatic briefings. The truth.”
Vesena looked at her cup but hadn't touched it. “It’s different from here, Your Highness. Warmer, yes, but not just the weather. People talk more. Not to be rude, just… they don’t see silence the same way. There’s sometimes music in the streets,arguments in the markets, neighbors who touch your arm when they speak.”
Evelyne tilted her head slightly. “And the prince?”
Vesena’s lips curved slightly. “Prince Alaric is generally well regarded. He makes a point of being seen—walking among the people, speaking plainly. It’s something they seem to respect. The court holds him in regard. He is the sole heir, after all.”
Silence stretched between them. Evelyne reached for a piece of pastry, breaking it apart. The delicate flakes melted on her tongue.
“Tell me about the Emperor and Empress. What manner of people are they?”
Vesena paused for a moment before speaking. “Emperor Emrys values progress and knowledge, though his rule is not without opposition. Empress Aurevia is clever. She sees all, says little, and strikes when least expected. Her enemies underestimate her at their peril.”
“And where does Alaric stand between them?”
“He is his father’s son but with his mother’s instinct,” Vesena responded.
