"Did you know that every Divine Lady before you met a tragic end?" Jean asked abruptly, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.
Salviana flinched at the morbid topic but tried to wave off the gloom. "Enlighten me," she said, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely eager to hear it.
Jean leaned forward, clasping her hands in her lap. "It's said that the Divine Ladies, blessed as they were, all carried burdens too heavy for any mortal soul. Each one had a unique channel through which they glimpsed the future. Yours is art—but others were different."
Salviana breathed deeply.
"There was Lady Ismara, who saw visions through reflections in water. She married a nobleman, believing he'd protect her from what she saw. But her visions showed her his betrayal long before it happened. She lost her mind trying to change a fate that couldn't be altered, and she drowned herself in the river that had betrayed her."
Salviana shivered but continued stitching, her needle moving in rhythmic precision.
"Then there was Lady Marith, whose visions came through her dreams. She lied to her people, claiming she foresaw peace and prosperity, but the truth was far darker.
When the truth surfaced, they turned on her. She died in exile, haunted by the futures she never dared to share."
"And Lady Helindra?" Salviana asked, her voice soft despite herself. She'd heard about that one before. She was the last one to exist before her.
Jean nodded gravely. "Lady Helindra's visions came from the stars. She saw her own death in the constellations but couldn't understand it until it was too late. She was struck down by an assassin her dreams had warned her about but failed to prepare her for. Each Divine Lady fell, not because of their visions, but because of their isolation. They bore their burdens alone."
Salviana's gaze dropped to her embroidery, the needle slipping slightly as Jean's words settled heavily over her.
"But Alaric would save me," Salviana said softly, her voice trembling with both hope and defiance.
As if in response to her declaration, the needle suddenly pricked her finger. She inhaled sharply, but instead of tending to the wound, she let the blood bead and drip onto the cloth.
The sting was nothing compared to the doubt clawing at her heart.
"What if he poses the threat?" Jean asked, oblivious to what had just happened.
Salviana raised her head sharply, her golden eyes locking onto Jean's. "I can't even accuse you of reading too much—you've done everything too much your entire life." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "I trust Alaric, Jean, and one day, you'll see that it was the right choice."
Jean hesitated, studying Salviana's resolute expression. "I think you're the best Divine Lady to ever exist," she said after a moment, her tone sincere. "The world needs you, Salviana."
Salviana let out a laugh, light and melodious despite the heaviness of their conversation. "That's because I'm the only one you've known," she teased, her lips curving into a soft smile.
Jean smiled back, but the weight of her earlier words lingered in the air, an unspoken reminder of the dangers Salviana faced—and the fragile hope she carried.
Jean swore in her heart that she would do whatever it took to protect Salviana, even if it meant ignoring the ghost haunting her conscience.
The weight of her guilt grew heavier with every passing day. She hated that she had acted against the Princess of Lucius and had no idea how to confess her actions.
"Salviana," Jean whispered, her voice unsteady.
Salviana looked up, surprised by the rare use of her name. "Oh? Yes?"
Jean hesitated, her throat dry. She reached for a glass of water and took a sip, stalling for time. "I… I have to apologize. I'm sorry," she began, her words trembling.
Salviana blinked, her brow furrowed with concern. "What happened?"
Jean inhaled deeply, summoning her courage. "I hurt you. I betrayed you. I didn't mean to, but I—"
Before she could finish, the door burst open, and Alaric stormed into the parlor.
His sharp blue eyes scanned the room, locking on Salviana with a mix of urgency and fear.
"Fiery!" he called, dropping to his knees in front of her. His voice was frantic, his expression wild. "Where are you hurt?" He sniffed the air as if trying to locate the source of her pain.
Salviana could only blink in confusion, taken aback by his sudden appearance and dramatic reaction.
Earlier in the garden…
"What are you reading?" Lucius's voice interrupted Alaric's solitude.
Alaric, seated on a garden chair, glanced up briefly. He had washed and changed into fresh clothes after the chaotic events of the morning, retreating to the garden to calm his thoughts.
The sight of Salviana, so forgiving and fragile, lingered in his mind, and he found solace in the crisp air and the distraction of a book.
"A book on gardening," Alaric replied, his tone flat but civil.
Lucius hummed, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Sheep rearing might suit me better when I return," he mused.
"You're a poor man, Lucius. That much I'm sure of. And I'm not funding your fantasies," Alaric teased, his lips curving into a faint smirk.
Lucius scoffed, stepping closer. "Do you feel any differently?" he asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.
"In what sense?" Alaric asked, eyes still scanning the page.
"Well, you've drank the Divine Lady," Lucius said pointedly.
Alaric sighed and closed the book, resigned to the conversation. "I live for another taste, but there's no significant difference," he admitted, knowing Lucius wouldn't drop the subject.
"You probably need to take more. Or maybe try something different," Lucius suggested.
Alaric leaned back, fixing Lucius with a sharp gaze. "You've found your 'destiny helper,' so why are you still bothering me?"
Lucius's voice grew sharper, tinged with frustration. "Because of your origin, you stubborn fool. If you knew where you came from, you'd meet your kind. Maybe then I'd be free of this guilt."