Chapter 14: Through the Veil

*Kiro’s POV*
The next morning, I got up earlier than usual. The sky outside was still gray, the first light of dawn barely peeking through the curtains. The air felt heavier than normal — maybe it was just nerves.
I finished my morning routine quickly. Stretched, washes, and prepared breakfast. Nothing out of place. I kept my movements natural — no rushing, no hesitation. Mother didn’t seem to notice anything different.
After breakfast, I excused myself from classes under the pretense of running errands for the Head Maid. Sir Reginald and Sir Lucien didn’t question it. They were the type who believed in responsibility, not explanations. That worked in my favor.
I kept my distance but made sure not to lose sight of the new maid — the one from the fallen noble house. Her name is still unknown to me, despite being here for more than a week, which made me realize how rarely she spoke to anyone. She was quiet, precise, always by herself. Every movement she made looked rehearsed.
She started her day cleaning the second-floor halls, then the sitting room, dusting portraits and arranging vases. I followed from a few rooms away, pretending to polish door handles or sweep corners. When she moved to the kitchen, I acted like I was fetching ingredients to bake. Every step she took I watched — she had a strict pattern, except one thing stood out: she never stayed long in public areas. She often hanged by the garden browsing the flowers, always comes circling back to the same flowers before heading back inside after a few moments.
By noon, she took a tray from the kitchen, one I noticed she prepared herself. Not one of the kitchen maids touched it. A covered bowl, a small pot of tea, and a few towel folded neatly beside them.
She carried them carefully toward the Duchess’s wing.
That was my cue.
I took a side route through the servant corridor and waited near the hallway junction that led to the Duchess’s room. Just as she was about to enter, the door opened from the inside — doctors and healers filed out, muttering among themselves in low, grim voices.
“Her condition’s worsening.”“The toxins are spreading faster than purification can catch.”“It’s not natural… no spell residue, no curse marks either—”

"It's not an infection either, nor a virus, I haven't seen a case like this."

Their words tangled together like a bad omen.
Then I saw Mother following behind them, her hands clasped in front of her, worry plain across her face. When her eyes caught mine, she blinked in surprise before saying, “Perfect timing.”
She approached, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Look after the Duchess for a bit, alright? I’ll escort them outside and prepare dinner. After that, bring I'll her grace some food, but make sure Istella is doing well, okay?”
“Understood,” I said quickly. So that's her name, Istella.
As soon as she and the others disappeared down the hall, I turned toward the half-open door. The maid was already inside.
I took a breath and stepped in.
The room smelled strange — not the usual scent of polished wood and lavender oil, but something sour and metallic underneath it. The curtains on the windows were half-drawn, letting in a dull light that made the room feel colder than it was. The drapes on the canopy of the bed were let down, barely anything inside was visible in such a dimly lit room.
The maid was wearing a mask and a pair of rubber gloves, she sat down by the ducchess' bedside on the other side of the room far from the door with a wet towel in hand, cleaning the Duchess’s arm. She froze the moment she saw me. Her eyes — gray and sharp — cut through me like shards of glass.
“What are you doing here?” she asked flatly.
“I was told to assist you,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
She didn’t reply. Instead, she wrung the towel tightly, water dripping down onto a bucket big bucket on the floor, why is the water so dark? Then she continued wiping the Duchess’s skin.
I stepped closer to the bedside, pretending to check the blanket, but the closer I got, the more the smell hit me — rot and iron.
That’s when I saw it.
The Duchess’s left arm wasn’t pale — it was black. The veins looked like thick cords of ink crawling up her skin, pulsing faintly. From beneath the skin, something black oozed out slowly, staining the sheets and the towel despite the maid’s effort to clean it.
She let out a groan, her body tensing in pain. The black veins spread further up her shoulder, mixing with the faint traces of red that still clung to healthy skin. It looked alive — moving on its own, like something was growing beneath it.
I forced myself not to flinch.
The maid’s expression didn’t change. She just kept dabbing at the wound with that same wet towel, her movements methodical, emotionless.
“What happened to her arm?” I asked quietly.
“Doctor’s orders,” she said curtly. “We’re keeping it clean.” That's not valid answer to my question.
But she didn’t look at me when she said it.
The Duchess groaned again, her breathing shallow.
I took another step closer, my eyes shifting from the Duchess to the maid’s hand — her fingers were shaking slightly. Nervous? Or something else?
Either way, I was sure of one thing now.
This wasn’t an illness.It was spreading too unnaturally.And the maid didn’t seem surprised at all. Which was particularly suspicious, call me paranoid, but a former noble handling this kind of thing with little to no reaction, doesn't add up.
I sat myself onto a small stool opposite to her. The Duchess laid between us — frail, silent, the rhythm of her breaths uneven.The only sounds were the faint dripping of water into the bucket and the damp cloth dragging softly across skin.
“I heard your name was Istella,” I began, keeping my tone casual. An icebreaker of sorts.
She didn’t look up. “So people gossip about me now,” she said, clipped and cool. Her eyes stayed on her work.
“Not gossip,” I replied. “Observation. You’re quiet. It makes people curious.”
“Curiosity is a bad habit,” she muttered. “Especially for servants.”
I smirked faintly. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not curious — just bored.”
That earned a small pause. A faint shift in her expression — not quite a smile, but something softer.She wrung out the towel and pressed it gently to the Duchess’s arm. The dark water trickled down into the bucket again, rippling faintly. The smell of iron lingered.
“You’ve been here over a week, right?” I asked, pretending to adjust the sheets. “Still haven’t heard you speak more than a few words to anyone. You’d think the others would’ve warmed up by now.”
“Some things aren’t worth warming up to,” she replied, voice steady but quieter. “It’s better that way.”
“Better for them,” I said, “or for you?”
That caught her off guard. Her hand hesitated mid-wipe before resuming again. “…Both.”
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. “You came from the western border of Lakora didn't you?”
Her gaze flicked up at me — sharp, uncertain. “Who told you that?”
“Your accent,” Thinking quickly. “You speak like the old gentry from the southern valleys. Hard to miss.”
Istella exhaled slowly through her nose,"So commoner brats travel country to country now?" I stayed silent. As though weighing whether to reply. “That life’s gone,” she murmured. “What good does it do talking about it?”
“Maybe none,” I said, shrugging. “Or maybe a little. Sometimes it helps to say things out loud — reminds you you’re still human.”
She gave a bitter laugh under her breath. “Human,” she echoed, shaking her head. “My parents didn’t see it that way.”
I didn’t press her for details, I can feel it was something weighing her thoughts. Silence filled the space again — heavy but patient. Eventually, she continued on her own, her tone quiet but steady.
“When our house fell, they offered me as a bargaining chip,” she said, wringing the towel again. “Told the Duke I could be sold, or used by the soldiers. Their own daughter. They thought it could save them.”
Her hand trembled faintly as she wiped the Duchess’s arm. “The Duke. He was… furious. Not at me — at them. He said nobles like that didn’t deserve their title. I remember his voice — calm, but angry enough to shake the battalion behind him.”
I didn’t interrupt. I just listened, eyes lowered to hide the pity she clearly didn’t want to see.
“They were taken to the dungeons for lashing,” she went on softly. “Then sent away as prisoners of war. I thought the Duke would have me beaten too — to finish what they started.” A breath. “But he didn’t. Neither did the Duchess. I was expecting  a situation far worse than my household. Instead, she… she gave me a warm welcome, treated me kindly. Let me rest, eat, sleep without fear. She even gave me work here. It was the first time I didn't feel I was inside a house, but... home.”
Her voice cracked slightly. She blinked hard, as if she could force the tears back through will alone, but one slipped down. She looked away immediately.
I said nothing — just leaned forward and gently reached for the towel she held, letting my fingers brush hers for a brief second before helping dab the Duchess’s arm.“I think she saw something in you,” I said quietly. “Something your parents never did.”
That made her glance up at me. There was gratitude there — faint, uncertain, but real. “You don’t know me,” she said. Her tone was defensive, but her voice had lost its edge.
“No,” I agreed. “But I've met all kinds of people. And you don’t seem like someone who gave herself up to her situation. You talk like someone who survived it.”
That earned me silence again — but this time, it wasn’t cold. Just thoughtful.
She wiped at her eyes quickly with her sleeve and sighed. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought, commoner brat.”
I chuckled softly. “Likewise, potato.”
That caught her completely off guard. “Potato?” she echoed, blinking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I leaned back with a grin. “Elmario told me. Said he caught you eating the last cassava cake in the pantry. Thought nobody would notice.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “He— he told you that?”
“Oh, he told everyone,” I said, teasing. “Swore vengeance over his stolen dessert. You’re infamous now.”
Her face turned pink, and she looked away quickly, trying to hide the smile that slipped through. “I was hungry,” she muttered. “It smelled good.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said lightly. “Just… maybe next time, leave a crumb or two. Elmario’s been grieving ever since.”
A small laugh escaped her — hesitant, but real. The kind that made the heavy air feel lighter for a brief, fragile moment.
“Don’t tell him,” she said softly, almost pleading.
“Your secret’s safe,” I promised. “As long as you don’t call me commoner brat again.”
She snorted quietly. “No promises.”
For a while, neither of us spoke. The Duchess breathed faintly, the air thick with medicine and metal, but the tension between us had eased. She no longer looked like a suspect — just someone clinging to what little warmth she’d found.
Maybe I’d judged her too quickly.Maybe that was my mistake.
But as I looked at the Duchess’s arm again — the veins still pulsing black under her skin — a chill crept up my spine.
Istella was no longer my enemy.But I was certain she knew more than she dared to say.