Three more days passed in a blink, and I still had nothing.
Just more bruises, more humiliation, and the growing certainty that I was completely fucked.
Victor had beaten me during "training" yesterday, his idea of welcoming his little brother back to health. I'd tried to deflect, but my stats were still garbage. He'd knocked me flat within thirty seconds and left me bleeding from lip.
"You're pathetic," he'd said, not even breathing hard. "How are we related?"
The physical pain had faded by evening.
But Cassandra's words still stung.
I'd passed her in the hallway, attempted a respectful greeting.
But she'd looked at me like I was dirt on her boot.
"You're still alive?" Her voice had been cold. "I thought Father would have dealt with the embarrassment by now."
Then she'd walked past without waiting for a response.
The casual dismissal. The open disgust. The implication that my continued existence was an inconvenience to the family.
At least Victor's violence was straightforward.
Cassandra's contempt was surgical.
And now here I am, kneeling at the edge of the balcony couch, my hands working at her calf muscles while she lounged like a queen granting audience to a peasant.
The balcony extended from the east wing's sitting room, overlooking the manor's gardens. Wrought iron railings enclosed the space, and a hanging couch, suspended by chains, designed for lazy afternoon reading.
Cassandara lay stretched across the cushions, one arm propped under her head, the other holding a leather-bound book.
The afternoon sun caught in her hair, and I had to admit, even while hating this entire situation, she was striking.
Her features were refined, elegant and dangerous.
Her silver hair fell loose around her shoulders, freed from its usual severe braid. It shimmered in the sunlight, contrasting with the deep crimson of her casual dress.
She wore no jewelry except a single silver ring on her right hand, engraved with runes I didn't recognize.
Her grey eyes scanned the book's pages with focused intensity, occasionally narrowing when she reached some interesting passages.
Everything about her screamed competence, power, control.
And I was kneeling at her feet, massaging her legs like a servant.
My thumbs pressed into her muscle.
"Is this good, sis?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice neutral.
She didn't even look up from her book.
Tsk.
She snapped the book shut and turned her head just enough to glare at me over her shoulder.
"Can't you even do a proper massage? Good for nothing idiot."
Her words were casual, dismissive, like commenting on bad weather.
Then she rolled onto her stomach with fluid grace, the silk dress shifting with the movement. She adjusted her position, propped the book open again in front of her, and gestured vaguely toward her feet with one hand.
"Actually put some effort into it this time."
Not a request. A command.
I stared at her back for a moment, my jaw clenched.
This was my life now.
The family embarrassment, useful only for menial tasks that even the servants found beneath them.
I shifted my position and moved to her feet, my fingers wrapping around her ankle.
Her feet were bare, toenails painted with a subtle shade of silver that matched her hair.
I pressed my thumbs into her arch, working the pressure points I vaguely remembered from... somewhere. Maybe my old life?
Did I knew massage techniques?
Apparently Jin's body retained some muscle memory, because my hands moved with practiced efficiency.
Cassandra made a small sound—not quite approval, but not another complaint either.
She turned a page in her book, completely absorbed.
I worked in silence, my mind racing behind the blank expression I kept carefully maintained.
My fingers pressed harder into Cassandra's foot, frustration bleeding into the movement.
"Gentler, idiot," she said without looking up. "You're supposed to be relaxing the muscles, not trying to break them."
"Sorry," I muttered.
She made that dismissive sound again and continued reading.
I adjusted my pressure, returned to the methodical work, and tried not to think about how far I'd fallen.
From senior programmer working himself to death in an office, to poisoned noble boy, to... this.
Kneeling on a balcony, massaging my sister's feet while she read some book and occasionally insulted me.
She made a small sound of satisfaction as I worked at a particularly tight muscle in her heel.
Still didn't acknowledge me beyond that.
I was furniture. A tool. Something to be used and dismissed.
Think. There has to be an angle. Some way to—!
Cassandra suddenly sat up, swinging her legs off the couch and away from my hands. The book snapped shut as she stood in one fluid motion, adjusting her dress with practiced efficiency.
"I'm getting lunch," she announced to no one in particular. "Don't follow me."
She didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked toward the door leading back inside, her bare feet silent against the balcony stone.
I stayed kneeling there for a moment, watching her retreating back.
Lunch.
Which meant the kitchen.
Which meant—
An idea formed.
Desperate, maybe stupid, but it was something.
I pushed myself to my feet, my legs protesting slightly after kneeling for so long. Cassandra was already halfway across the room, heading toward the hallway.
"Sister," I called out.
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder with obvious irritation. "What?"
I swallowed.
"When you're getting your lunch... could you ask them to reduce the salt in the soup? For my meal?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"My stomach has been... sensitive lately." Not a lie. The poison had been wreaking havoc on my digestive system for weeks. "Too much salt makes it worse."
Cassandra stared at me for a long moment.
Then she made that dismissive sound again.
Tsk.
"You're so pathetic, can't even tell the servants yourself?" She turned fully to face me, arms crossing over her chest. "What, are you afraid they'll poison you if you give them instructions directly?"
The irony of that statement nearly made me laugh.
"I just... they don't listen to me," I said quietly, which was also true. "But they listen to you."
Cassandra studied me with those cold grey eyes, and for a terrible moment I thought she'd refuse just to spite me.
Then she turned toward a maid who'd been waiting silently in the corner of the sitting room, one of Cassandra's personal servants who'd traveled back with her from the academy.
"You heard him," Cassandra said dismissively. "Tell the kitchen staff to reduce salt in his soup. And make sure they actually do it, I won't have incompetent servants ignoring basic instructions."
The maid curtsied deeply. "Of course, my lady. I'll inform them immediately."
"Good." Cassandra didn't even look at me again. "Now leave me alone, Jin. I've wasted enough time on you today."
She walked away and disappeared into the hallway.
The maid followed a moment later, moving with quick, efficient steps.
I stood alone in the sitting room.
It was a long shot.
But if Vivienne was preparing my evening meal...
Please. Please let this work.
-------------------
Elara descended the servants' stairs, her mind already organizing the task Lady Cassandra had given her.
Simple enough.
Tell the kitchen staff to reduce salt in the young master's evening meal. Ensure they followed the instruction.
Cassandra was particular about orders being executed precisely. She didn't tolerate incompetence or half-measures, which was why Elara had risen to become her personal maid despite being relatively young.
Attention to detail. That's what mattered.
The kitchen was warm when she entered, filled with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread.
Several servants moved about their tasks.
And near the main preparation table, Vivienne Raith.
Elara paused in the doorway, surprised. The lady of the house rarely came to the kitchen personally, she usually gave instructions to the head cook and left the actual work to the staff.
But there she was, standing over a wooden bowl, her back to the door.
Elara cleared her throat politely. "My lady."
Vivienne's shoulders stiffened, just slightly barely, noticeable, before she turned with a warm smile. "Yes? Oh, you're Cassandra's girl, aren't you? Elara?"
"Yes, my lady." Elara curtsied. "Lady Cassandra asked me to relay instructions regarding the young master's evening meal. She requests that—"
"I'm handling the Jin's meal personally," Vivienne interrupted gently, her smile never wavering. "The physician has very specific requirements for his diet. Did Cassandra need something else?"
Elara hesitated. The interruption was polite but firm, clearly meant to dismiss her.
But Lady Cassandra had been explicit...
"Make sure they actually do it."
"Lady Cassandra specifically asked that the salt be reduced in his soup," Elara pressed carefully. "For his stomach sensitivity."
"Of course, of course." Vivienne waved her hand dismissively. "I'm well aware of Jin's dietary needs. I've been managing his meals for years."
She turned back to the bowl, and Elara caught a glimpse of what was inside, thin soup, vegetables, and some grey-white powder.
That she had sprinkled it over the soup, stirred with a wooden spoon.
That wasn't salt.
Salt was kept in ceramic containers on the preparation counter, clearly labeled and accessible to all the kitchen staff.
Whatever Vivienne had just added came from something she had been holding.
And she'd done it when she thought no one was watching closely.
The other kitchen staff were occupied with their own tasks.
No one else had noticed.
Elara's mind raced.
This could be nothing. Could be some medicine the physician had give, kept separate from regular ingredients.
But the way Vivienne had waited until she thought she was unobserved...
The way her movements had been so careful, so practiced...
Lady Cassandra needs to know about this.
Elara curtsied again, keeping her expression neutral.
"Thank you, my lady. I'll inform Lady Cassandra that you're personally overseeing the young master's meal."
"Please do," Vivienne said warmly, already ladling the soup into a serving bowl. "And tell Cassandra I appreciate her concern for her brother's wellbeing."
Elara turned and left the kitchen, her footsteps measured and calm until she reached the servants' stairs.
Then she ran.
-------
Cassandra sat in the small dining room reserved for family members taking informal meals. She'd just taken her first bite when Elara burst through the door, slightly out of breath.
Cassandra set down her fork.
"My lady." Elara approached quickly, lowering her voice despite the room being empty. "It's about the young master's meal preparation."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "I gave you simple instructions. Was there a problem?"
"Lady Vivienne is in the kitchen," Elara said carefully. "She's preparing his meal personally."
"So?" Cassandra picked up her fork again. "That's not unusual. Vivienne has been... attentive to Jin's care."
The word 'attentive' carried a hint of sarcasm. Everyone knew Jin was the family embarrassment, hardly worthy of such dedicated concern.
"My lady, I saw..."
She told what she saw.
Cassandra paused, fork halfway to her mouth.
"Medicine?" she asked flatly.
"Perhaps." Elara's expression was troubled. "But she waited until the other servants weren't watching."
Cassandra set down her fork and studied her maid carefully. Elara wasn't prone to dramatics or wild speculation. She was observant, precise, reliable, exactly why Cassandra had chosen her.
If Elara thought something was wrong, then it was wrong.
"Show me," Cassandra said, standing abruptly.
She followed Elara out of the dining room and down the hallway toward the kitchen, her mind already analyzing possibilities.
Vivienne had married their father twelve years ago, shortly after their biological mother died.
The timing had always seemed... convenient. And Jin's health had been worsening since she started her tuitions, outside the manor...
Is she doing it?
They reached the kitchen entrance. Through the doorway, Cassandra could see Vivienne still at the preparation counter, now arranging the soup bowl on a serving tray with a cloth napkin and spoon.
Cassandra stepped into the kitchen, her presence immediately drawing attention. Servants straightened, the old woman at the bread counter pausing mid-knead.
Vivienne turned with a warm smile. "Cassandra, dear! What brings you to the kitchen? If you need something for lunch, you only had to ask—"
"What did you just add to Jin's soup?" Cassandra asked flatly, cutting through the pleasantries.
Vivienne's smile didn't falter, but something shifted in her eyes. "Medicine, dear. The physician—"
"From your pocket?" Cassandra took a step closer.
"It's specialized medicine that needs to be kept separate—"
"Show me."
The command hung in the air.
For a long moment, Vivienne maintained her warm, maternal expression.
Then it cracked, just slightly.
"Cassandra, I don't appreciate being interrogated in front of the servants over simple meal preparation. If you have concerns about Jin's medical care, we can discuss them privately—"
"I said show me." Cassandra's voice dropped to cold, flat tone. "Whatever you're keeping in that pocket. Show me. Now."
The kitchen had gone completely silent. Even the fire seemed to burn quieter.
Vivienne's hand moved unconsciously to her dress pocket, a defensive gesture.
"This is ridiculous," she said, but her voice had lost some of its warmth. "I'm your father's wife. You can't just—"
"You." Cassandra pointed at the old woman by the bread counter. "Have you seen Lady Vivienne add things to the Jin's meals before?"
The old woman's eyes went wide. She glanced at Vivienne, then at Cassandra, clearly torn.
"Answer me," Cassandra said. "Or I'll have you dismissed for withholding information."
"I... my lady." The words that came out her mouth were barely above a whisper. " She always sends us away first. Says she'll handle it personally."
Cassandra turned to the two younger girls by the washing basin. "You as well?"
They nodded, frightened.
"My dear, this is completely unnecessary—" Vivienne started.
"The pocket," Cassandra interrupted. "Show me what's in the pocket, or I'll take it by force and we can explain to Father why I had to physically search his wife."
The threat was clear. Designed to leave Vivienne no good options.
Either comply, or escalate into a physical confrontation that would demand Father's immediate involvement regardless.
Vivienne's jaw clenched. Her hand tightened on the edge of the preparation counter.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch.
She placed it on the counter with more force than necessary.
"Satisfied?"
Cassandra moved forward and picked up the pouch, feeling its weight. Something powdery shifted inside.
She loosened the drawstring and looked inside.
Grey-white powder.
Cassandra had studied poisons at the academy. Basic toxicology, know what your enemies might use, know how to counter it. She had honed herself in almost every art.
This looked like nightshade compound. Mixed with... ironbane, if she wasn't mistaken.
Both toxic. Both used for slow poisoning.
But Vivienne... she didn't know it, thought she could just lie and get away, as she herself couldn't differentiate, if not her making it herself.
Cassandara looked up at Vivienne, her expression completely neutral.
"This is medicine?"
"Specialized treatment for his condition—"
"This," Cassandra said coldly, "is poison."
The kitchen erupted into gasps and shocked whispers.
Vivienne's mask finally cracked completely. "You have no idea what you're talking about. That boy has been sick for years—"
"Because you've been poisoning him." Cassandra's voice cut through the protests like a blade. " You've been poisoning son of a Raith family!"
"This is absurd—"
"Shut up." Cassandra hissed. "Jin's health started declining right after you married into the family. Right after his mother died."
She looked at the servants gathered in the kitchen, all of them watching with horrified fascination.
"Everyone stays here," Cassandra commanded. "No one leaves this kitchen until Father arrives."
She turned to Elara. "Fetch Lord Aldric. Tell him there's an urgent family matter requiring his immediate attention. Go. Now."
Elara curtsied and ran.
Cassandra turned back to Vivienne, the poison pouch still in her hand.
"You're going to explain everything," she said quietly. "And you're going to do it in front of Father and every witness in this room."
Vivienne's expression had gone cold, calculating. The warm stepmother mask was completely gone.
"You've made a terrible mistake, Cassandra."
"No," Cassandra said. "You did."
"He's an embarrassment—"
"Still a Raith!"