And on the last day of their punishment, Athea dressed in her most loved gown. With Mira she went into the garden and carefully picked flowers, which she finally made a wrap for with writing papers she had previously taken from Kyra's father's study.
Then she waited in the evening for Kyra to leave her room, which she finally did. Athea replaced the flowers in the vase on top of the table beside Kyra's bed with the new ones she had carefully picked. She smiled all through this, and Mira had wondered what the real plan was.
Well, the flowers were just the plan. There was nothing else behind the gesture. Only that for the whole week, Kyra was ill from an allergy. And because even for a family of healers, to heal, one must first find the cause of the illness. It took days before the flowers were discovered to be the perpetrator. Kyra was allergic to the blue iris Athea had added to the flower bouquet.
Even when it was discovered that Athea had personally picked the said flowers, she kept a straight unfaltering expression. When Athea was asked why she had changed her cousins flower vase herself, she lied through her teeth.
she explained that she had picked a few too many flowers and had decided to gift some to her cousin instead. It was borne out of her goodwill, nothing else. As no one would originally think Athea of being that level of evil, they waived it aside.
Also, the fact that no one knew about Kyra's allergy solidified her claims.
Everyone believed her. Well, except Kyra. For she instantly knew Athea had done that intentionally; it was borne out of revenge and not of any goodwill. She could swear that she saw a smile at the corners of Athea's eyes that day. She had no evidence and so couldn't bring it up. Athea had gone scot-free, but it became the beginning of their many little wars.
Mira had spent the rest of those years wondering how Athea knew Kyra was allergic to blue iris flowers. For no one in the whole family knew, not even Kyra herself, not her mother.
Diane finished picking the exact flowers she wanted and took a good look at them sitting pretty in the basket. Mira had carried it as she followed her around while narrating what she had described as her first flower incident.
The fact that Athea was not as naïve as she imagined gave her a weird, satisfying feeling. Now she knows to not act timid within here too, because someone who had done that level of revenge would not have acted overtly soft with the Ravenforth manor occupants either.
"Do you think she will like them?" Diane asked suddenly, cutting Mira off from her storytelling.
"I don't know, Athea; the duchess is not someone who is easily impressed. Why do you think she will not?" She asked Diane, who smiled as she traced her fingers along the tip of the flowers.
"If she does, good. If she doesn't…" She shrugged a little. "It won't change anything." Diane knew she had made the right choice in picking her little bouquet.
She ran her fingers through the selection: a few blue irises, white camellias that looked like they were just about to bloom, the pink freesias, a few snapdragons, a single white protea, purple asters, and the ace of the collection, the light purple thistles.
If Diane had not gone to med school, she would have made a successful career selling flowers. She grinned at this thought. It would be nice if the duchess had no idea of the symbolism of flowers, but it would be cuter to see her reaction if she does.
A maid whom Diane had seen several times at the house strode toward them, stopping a few steps away. She gave a slight bow towards Diane.
"I think we are almost late, milady."
Right.
Diane had ended up spending more time here than she planned to. Mira passed the flower basket to the maid, who took them with her to prepare them. Mira took Diane's hand and led her into the kitchen hallways and into the dining room, where a table that could contain twenty diners sprawled. On it were food of different kinds and sizes. Diane wondered how many more people were joining them for breakfast.
Until now, she did not realize how hungry she was as she slowly dove her fork into the meat that was on the plate closest to her. Mira, who sat opposite to her, passed her a plate that contained something that looked like dumplings made from a soft dough. Diane picked one into her mouth, and it melted immediately. She relished the sweet taste of the fillings, which tasted of salmon and Irish potatoes.
"Those were your favorites, milady." Mira said, passing more plates towards her.
Diane could not remember the last time she had had a hearty meal. When her mother was still alive, she would randomly cook her her signature dishes of baked potatoes and chicken breasts marinated in garlic oil. Diane would come home to a tableful of food and her mother's smile.
After she died, Diane never ate at home. Eating reminded her of her warmth. And so while at the hospital, she would drink coffee in the mornings and eat the sorry excuse for food they offered at the hospital's cafeteria during lunch breaks.
For dinner, she ate whatever junk she buys, and for most nights she didn't bother about dinner. For nights when she would be on duty, she'd snack on bread. At home, she just falls asleep on an empty stomach.
"Are you crying? Why? What is wrong, milady?" Mira asked, taking her out of her reverie. Thinking of her mother would always leave her in tears. She looked up at Mira, who was almost getting frantic with worry, and shook her head in denial.
"No Mira, I'm alright. And no, I'm not crying; it must be the chili." She said, forcing a smile as she took another bite of the dumplings that tasted of her mother's baked potatoes.
Mira took a glass cup on the table and poured her a grape-colored drink. She passed the cup to Diane.
She took a sip and immediately regretted it.