Nyasia looked out the window at the doors of Paragon Hall.
The dream came back.
After she died, her soul did not rise immediately. She saw Fay stumble into the main hall. Rian stood at the threshold, tall and still. His gaze was on her. Cold. Unmoving.
"My lord." Fay's voice broke.
She was pale. Tear-streaked. Kneeling.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-—all of a sudden, the lady was very sick. The fever didn't stop and three days ago she just—"
Fay sobbed into the stone floor.
Rian looked at her then. Really looked.
At the hands pressed flat against the ground.
"You were with her," he said quietly. "At the very end. You were there."
She broke down and wept harder.
"Yes, my lord."
"Good."
His voice didn't shake. But his hand did. Briefly.
Then he turned away.
A knock sounded at the door, cutting through her thoughts. She watched Fay entering without waiting, pushing a trolley with lunch laid out neatly. The room was often dim, but today the heavy curtains were drawn back, light pouring in.
"I'm sorry, Fay."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Fay blinked. "For what, my lady?"
Nyasia smiled, faint and sad. "For making you worry."
Fay found her lady by the window, seated on a cushion, long brown hair falling to her waist. Pale as always—yet now almost unearthly. Such an unparalleled beauty, trapped in this room, she thought. Never seen in public. Never even named outside these walls.
But you're well now, my lady. The count will be pleased," Fay said.
"What's happening in the main hall?" Nyasia asked.
"The count has just returned from the palace." Fay's lips pressed together. "Miss Nox is playing the flute for him."
For a moment, Nyasia thought of her half-cousin, Mirelle Rose Nox. They said she was among the best. Skilled on both flute and harp.
In her dream, she died alone. No father at her bedside. He was in the main hall, listening to Mirelle play the flute.
But later—as a ghost—she watched him crumble at her grave.
He did love her. He just didn't know she was dying.
Didn't he truly know? She had asked, often, in her dreams.
Nyasia rose, moved to the trolley, and lifted the cup without a word. Fay gasped as she poured the tea into a flower pot on the side table. A plant grew there.
"I don't know what's in that tea," Nyasia said, watching half the leaves turn yellow. "But I've been pouring into this pot for a week. And it's dying."
Fay gasped again, hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
"Miss… miss, you haven't taken your medicine at all?"
Nyasia looked at Fay. "Do I look worse?"
"W—well." Fay studied her. "You look less pale."
Nyasia looked back at the plant.
Sunlight could weaken her, sure—but not enough to keep her bedridden. Rian once brought her to the backyard garden. Green lawns. They were under a tree. Late afternoon light filtered through. She felt palpitations. That was all.
Yet three days ago, blood had risen in her spit. So she considered the unthinkable—something was wrong with the medicine. There was. When she stopped drinking it, she got better.
Poison.
She had always been sickly.
If there was poison, no one would notice.
Fay swallowed. "But you must tell the Count and the young lord. Oh my lady, you must tell them!" Her voice carried both exasperation and rebuke.
Must she? Would that be wise? Nyasia wondered.
"Why do you hesitate? I can see it in you, sometimes, as if something weighs on you. You were not like this before. I would not know what to do if something happened to you. Or… do you not trust me?" Fay asked.
Nyasia gave her a faint smile, brief and restrained. Then she turned to walk toward the windows and watched the garden.
In her dream, Fay hanged herself after her death. She shouldn't have. But she did. That death made Nyasia realize her own had been strange. Fay carried guilt. Otherwise… why? She had known of the illness. She had died because her mistress had given up. Perhaps that was the sin. Not enough fight.
"I'm sorry, Fay. Your mistress is very weak," Nyasia added, almost to herself.
"Miss, don't think like that at all. I don't know. I've got no evidence. But I see no reason other than Madam—" But Fay didn't finish.
"My aunt has something to do with it?" Nyasia took a brief sideways glance. "Why do you think so? Aunt's always been kind."
Fay's eyes trembled.
She turned to Fay, who met her gaze with quiet solemnity.
"You ask if I trust you," Nyasia said, her voice low. "Trust requires honesty. I've been honest about how I feel. I hope you will be honest about yours."
"I don't trust Madam Nox," Fay whispered.
Madam Divya Nox was the count's younger half-sister. Five years ago, after her merchant husband's death, Madam arrived at the manor with her daughter. Fay told the lady how Madam stayed silent when a guest at the manor mistakenly called Miss Nox the count's daughter.
"Oh," Nyasia replied.
After her death, Mirelle was adopted, made a Rashet heiress, and later married the Third Prince.
"I want to attend the family dinner tonight," Nyasia continued. "Don't make a fuss. No need to tell anyone."
If she was meant to die today, she was never meant to attend this dinner. Her brows furrowed. Something should have happened by now.
Fay's eyes widened at the lady's gentle, almost casual announcement. Her lady would enter the grand hall—for the first time in ages.
It would shock everyone!