Chapter 13:
My Time at Reastera Chateau
Dinner marked Amillia's fourth meal, but not her last. Sistilla was in attendance—apparently between jobs—and so Amillia had rushed to the dining hall with an extra spring in her step. Of course, her attendance would mean another episode of the "cold war" starring Sistilla and Conroy. They usually kept it civil, only inciting tactical quips at opportune times.
They ate in isolation, or it felt like it. We servants—and slaves—hung back, but that only added to the feeling of isolation. That was not to say they ate in silence. To the contrary, with Sisitilla and her father bantering away, and Amillia constantly asking what they meant with their particular turns of phrase, they were more animated than your typical sitcom family. But their conversation echoed off the walls almost like the room itself was in on the conversation. They should really look into something sound-absorbing.
"I have some important news to share with you all," Conray said after trading the necessary disapproving jabs at his daughter. "I have been in correspondence with King Lelemier, and after several exchanges, it was decided it would be beneficial for Princess Lucial to acclimate to her soon-to-be—hopefully—new home. Therefore, in one week, Lucial will be arriving." This proclamation got the full attention of the whole table, and even Amillia paused her eating to give her full attention.
"This is great news!" Sistilla said, overjoyed at this announcement. "Will she need an escort??"
Conroy levied a disapproving look, pressing two fingers to his forehead. "The King is more than capable of arranging safe transport for his daughter. You needn't worry."
"Oh..." She shrugged. "Bummer."
"It will be so nice to have another young lady in the house," Valarina said, bemused. Though why she felt the house needed another young woman in particular, when they already held a distinct majority, who could say?
"Yay!" Amillia jumped up. "Lucial always plays with me!" She then shot a dirty eye at Sistilla. "Unlike some sisters!" To my surprise, she took some offense at this unprovoked attack.
"What!? I play with you all the time!"
"Really? Then can we have a tea party after dinner?" Again with the tea parties, and right after a major meal.
"I can't tonight. I've got guild work." She put on an apologetic smile.
"See? You never play with me!" This time, she crossed her arms and pouted.
"Come on, Amillia. Don't be like that," Sistillal pleaded with her sister. "You know the Adventurers’ Guild is important to me."
"You know, maybe your sister is right. Maybe you have been prioritizing the guild too much. Family should always come first." If Conroy hadn't already shown his hand, this might have seemed an honest comment. But anyone could recognize clear manipulation. Sistilla felt the same way.
"I see what you are trying to do, Father. It won't work," she responded, perhaps a little annoyed. "I always make sure my family is taken care of. I am even marrying Prince Orland for the family's sake."
"Please. You fought me tooth and nail over that arrangement. I was ready to give it up."
"Yes, but I came around. The tremendous sacrifice I made for House Uvald." She made a theatrical gesture of hardship.
"You only came around because you fell for that boy, and never had the decency to acknowledge your father was right!" Sistilla's antics did not amuse Conroy, but this was par for the course; I doubted it would impact their relationship.
Their comedic routine continued on for a while longer. All the while, Amilia continued to sit cross-armed, pouting, food uneaten, every one of their quips only deepening her frown.
Thankfully, with Sistilla out, Amillia scrubbed the post-meal tea party and went to her bath without a fuss. I did the same, but unlike her, I rather enjoyed the experience, and not only because it marked the beginning of my reprieve from Amilia; I may have become a little too accustomed to melting into the hot water. Of course, that level of relaxation would have been impossible without the chair I brought to bar the door; the PTSD was real.
Eventually, the water cooled to the point where I felt like drying off. I donned the same clothes as before, sans the shoes; I wouldn't put those on if I could get away with it. I only had the one set, so if they started to smell, that was their problem—I wasn't about to wash my only set of clothes naked, what with Mimka lurking about. As I set off for the closet, I made sure to drag my chair with me. The washroom had chairs of its own, but none with the integrity that lent a sense of security. My chair was a solid oak monstrosity that could have withstood the impact of an ogre's club. It had held a prestigious role until it got a scuff. Then it was straight off to the incinerator! Or would have been without my reprieve. To think they were just going to throw it out! Well, one man's trash is another man's security blanket.
When I arrived back at my closet, I reared back upon seeing it already alight. But after the instinctive response, I scrunch my face with indignation. As a slave, I had no such thing as propriety with concern to my personal space, but it still felt like a violation. I stuck my head through the door, arming an ambiguous quip to hurl at the intruder, but the building hot air came rushing out in a sharp exhale upon seeing Valarina. For whatever reason, this didn't strike me as anything unusual. She was a roving phantom that drifted around the mansion. Well, I guess a phantom's presence would be unusual, though not necessarily its location. This is a good analogy for Valarina.
"Oh... Huff... Olavir... Huff... I'm glad... Huff... I made it in time," She said between gasps for breath. "Here..."
"You can catch your breath, Valarina. It's not like I'm going anywhere." For whatever reason, seeing her out of breath instilled a sense of sympathy. She had expended a great deal of effort, but how she had done so, I couldn't say. However, it might have something to do with the rather large mirror she rested her hand upon.
With my leave, she got her breathing under control. "I told you earlier I had something for you. So here it is!" She nodded to the mirror. So this was what she was talking about? It looked expensive, but did I really need a mirror? Guess it couldn't hurt.
This one swivelled, angling up and down, with a round, oval shape. It stood about 6 feet in height and had a metal frame. Although it had a thin frame, it must still be rather heavy.
"Well... Thanks," I said, then muttered, "I guess."
"You're welcome," She said with her signature innocuous grin. Actually, Amillia had the same dumb grin, though it wasn't off-putting on Valarina.
"So, what am I supposed to do with a mirror anyway?"
"Well, you can look at yourself, of course." Yes, that is what mirrors are typically used for. Then again, maybe I was the asshole for even asking the question. In societies without mirrors, seeing one's reflection is regarded as mystical. "Also, if you are the paranoid sort, you can angle it to keep sight of your blind spots." Well, that comment caught me off guard. Not the kind of comment I would expect from her. "But I think you should use it to look at yourself." Her smile shifted a little.
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Well, because you take pride in your appearance." True enough. Despite being a slave, I did put effort into my appearance. I even stopped sleeping in my clothes despite having nothing to wear to bed—hence the chair. "And umm..." She timidly pushed the tips of her fingers together. "Maybe there are areas where there is less pride than you are aware of."
It took a second to click, perhaps because Valarina didn't strike me as the tactful sort. But once I caught on to her subtle hint, some of my hue must have faded as I rushed to the mirror. My hair remained wet from the bath, but I still combed it. My eyes widened. It was lopsided! Long story short, Fox ears are not conducive to human hairstyles, and without visual guidance, I had apparently been getting the hair divide between the ears wrong. Why had nobody told me this?! Not even a snide comment! Just letting me sit in shameful ignorance! Immediately, I got to fixing this injustice.
"I had the feeling you weren't going for the... Umm, asymmetrical look."
"If you thought that," I said, fixing my hair. "You could have said something sooner."
"But then you would be left to suffer with no way of correcting it," she replied.
"I could have found another mirror around and used that." Amilia's room had one, for instance.
"Oh..." She covered her mouth. "I never thought of that." An airhead through and through. Maybe I should be grateful she didn't leave me in the lurch like everybody else.
"Why were you hyperventilating anyway?"
"Because that mirror is heavy!"
"Wait—" I jerked my head towards her. "Are you saying YOU moved this mirror?"
"I did. And I had to be quick about it. Mimka especially would be angry if she found out I was moving stuff in the old storage closet."
"Old storage closet?" I gave the mirror a shake. Yep, definitely quite heavy. Valarina stood perhaps 5 feet 5 inches, but as slender as a coat rack. A stiff breeze could knock her over. "And how did you even manage to move this?"
"It's a closet where they keep things they no longer need. It's really dirty since nobody ever goes in. Well, accept me. But don't tell anybody!" That seemed on point. "I moved it with this cart." She pointed to a dolly-like wagon I had somehow missed.
"It doesn't look like it could easily accommodate this mirror." I looked them both over, searching for a good solution.
"It was a struggle to keep it from falling off. I had to hug it tightly to the cart. It's hard to move quickly that way."
"Why would you need to move quickly?"
"I didn’t want to get caught. Then they would know I was in the closet!"
"They?"
"The maid servants! They really don't like dirt," She insisted. "If they caught me moving this from the west wing, they would be quite cross."
"The west wing?! That's on the other side of the building!"
"Yeah. That's why they would be upset if they thought I was dragging a dirty mirror across the entire chateau." Her face adopted a smug look of satisfaction that I'd seen somewhere before. "But I cleaned it first!" she said, then added with a thoughtful gaze, "Though it was less dirty than I expected..."
"Well... You showed them." What else could I say to that?
"I did, didn't I?" She beamed. I guess she was easy that way. "Anyways, before I go. The tailor finished making proper-fitting clothes. I left them on the umm... over there," she said, pointing to the wad of sheets serving as my bed.
"Oh yeah. I forgot about those. I suppose it would be nice to have some clothes that actually fit," I said, tugging at the formal tarp draped over my body and walking over to find several sets of clothes, all in different colors, no less. It seemed the tailor earned his keep.
"Well, see ya, Olavir." Valarina waved goodbye and whisked herself away, riding the dolly out like an oversized scooter. I shut the door after her, making sure to buttress the door with the chair, angling it into the doorknob. I didn't want any wayward, heavy-handed maids to come wandering in.
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