Preparations

The following morning, Cecilia hit in the face with both a wicker basket and a grand reminder—Tonight was the long-awaited Sisyphus Manor Ball!

Well, she would call it a reminder, but she never was informed of the specific date to begin with. Not that she was keeping track of time anyway; it seemed to pause and sway as it pleased. Plus, Dmitri had not done much to really tell her about the manor itself, so much as wax poetic about the “possibilities” of her role. In hindsight, it was a very misleading job ad that she never applied for.

And with this job, another day meant another meeting with another guest. But at least her recurring guests were the few with faces—A welcome coincidence that most likely was not by any means a coincidence.

Probably.

Blech, it was surprisingly stressful to be a self-aware character…

Regardless of that, she did at the very least get to enjoy the cool outside air alongside her favorite, most concerning heiress. Unsurprisingly, Calliope seemed to bring some scandal with her to the manor, as her mannerisms raised concern among the overly polite rabble. The other maids whispered that she wandered without escort, that she appeared in halls unannounced, as though she already knew the map of the house better than those who had served there for years. It raised rumor that perhaps she may have visited in secret with Lord Olrin when no one was aware. One servant even brought up Young Lord Peregrine as a possible suitor, but that idea was dismissed as quickly as it was conceived.

Less than intrigued in rumors of romance, Cecilia followed after Calliope, soon finding her in the greenhouse, the glass roof trembling faintly with sunshower rain. Pale light spilled across the broad leaves and hothouse flowers, setting their colors into jewel tones. The heiress stood by a stone basin where lilies floated, her reflection wavering in the water.

“I’m glad you’ve returned, my angel,” she said as Cecilia entered with a tray of refreshments. “It’s a relief that you’ve stayed this long.”

Cecilia bowed her head, setting the tray on the wrought iron table. She had schooled her features to calm, but even as she maintained a neutral expression, she felt Calliope’s gaze peeled back any layer she built—as if those blue, blue eyes could slip past her careful composure and touch her very thoughts, dipping her manicured fingers through the surface and into the meat beneath.

The heiress picked up a sugared violet from the tray, rolling it delicately between her gloved fingers, watching it with passive interest. “You know, this garden reminds me of a tale I read,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “A faerie who grew flowers by whim, as many as the lands could carry, but they bloomed only when watered by whispered secrets, heavy enough to pour into the roots. Imagine that, Cecilia, a garden fed by confidences.” She smiled, biting into the petal-sweet. “I do wonder what secrets sleep in this soil.”

Cecilia, tilting her head slightly, asked, “Do you study such tales often, miss?”

“Oh, constantly,” Calliope said, her tone airy. “Ancient magics, forgotten rituals, things people laugh at until they find themselves face-to-face with them.” She plucked a lily from the basin and let its stem drip water across her palm. “Tell me, Cecilia, Cecilia, Cecilia—Have you ever heard a voice in an empty room?”

Cecilia stiffened for a moment, just the barest flinch, but her shoulders slumped with the barest sigh. She should be accustomed to Calliope’s line of questions by now, and there was no use in trying to hide the truth from her. It almost felt like an indebtment, the heiress so leading in her pursuits of magical thinking. With that, she glanced at the heiress before looking into the stone basin, her own reflection fracturing in the disturbed waters. “To an extent,” she relented, “Sounds, more like.”

Calliope laughed gently, lily held under her nose. “Then the house is opening up to you, offering things you want but resist. With time, you will hear its words. It has told me things already.” She lowered her voice, conspiratorial once more. “There are doors here that do not always lead where they should. I think you’ll find them, too, one day. Perhaps you’ll open ones I am not permitted yet.”

She set the lily carefully on the water again, watching the ripples spread. “If I am still here, I would like you to tell me. I should like to see what you see.”

Cecilia bowed her head again, but her heart beat with unease. The guest’s smile was kind, her laughter soft, but the words…

They felt like a warning, and Cecilia was not sure about exactly what.

As Cecilia backed toward the door, the heiress’s voice followed her, sweet as honey, binding as silk. “Do not forget, my angel. Fictions are often truer than reality. Those who serve are always the first to hear the whispers.”