And that, Ivelle had decided as she slowly pushed the blanket away from her body and sat upright upon the bed, was precisely why nobody would expect her to do something as foolish as sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night.
The thought seemed perfectly reasonable inside her head.
Ivelle had noticed that most of the decisions that eventually placed her in unfortunate situations had initially seemed perfectly reasonable inside her head. Entering Blackthorn Row disguised as a guard had seemed reasonable. Searching for Liriel on her own had seemed reasonable. Pretending that her injured leg was not actually injured had also seemed reasonable until she had nearly fallen directly in front of Zelos Mortum and found herself being carried through the streets like a helpless child.
Still, this was different.
This was only a walk.
A quiet walk.
She was not going to climb through a window, enter an underground criminal establishment, strike anyone with a weapon, or disguise herself as a guard. She simply wanted to leave her room, look around the mansion, and perhaps discover something useful before everyone inside the house became aware of how dangerously curious she was.
Although, judging by the way Maris and Elara watched her, perhaps they were already aware.
Ivelle carefully lowered her feet onto the floor and remained still for a moment as she waited for pain to travel through her injured leg. It did, though not as sharply as before, and she slowly pressed her lips together while deciding that she could endure it long enough to satisfy her curiosity.
Then she stood.
Her fingers immediately moved toward the door.
For one brief moment, Ivelle hesitated.
Perhaps she should return to bed.
Perhaps she should listen to the physician.
Perhaps she should stop behaving like a person whose curiosity was constantly attempting to get her killed.
Then again, she had spent an entire day inside this mansion without receiving a single proper explanation about anything.
That was enough to make anyone curious.
She slowly turned the handle.
The door opened.
And the moment Ivelle looked outside, the enthusiasm she had been carefully nurturing inside herself was extinguished as quickly as though someone had poured an entire bucket of cold water directly over her head.
Elara was there.
The young maid sat quietly beside the wall opposite Ivelle’s door, and although the corridor was dimly illuminated by the lamps burning along its walls, Ivelle could clearly see the blanket folded neatly across Elara’s lap.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Ivelle stood in the doorway.
Elara looked upward.
Their eyes met.
Then Elara’s expression immediately brightened with concern.
"Lady Ivelle?" she asked, rising quickly from where she had been sitting. "Did you need anything?"
Ivelle stared at her.
Of course.
Of course she was there.
Why had she expected anything else?
She had spent the entire evening attempting to convince herself that nobody would suspect her of leaving her room, apparently forgetting that the people inside this mansion seemed to have been given very specific instructions regarding her injured leg.
Elara was probably guarding her.
Ivelle’s eyes slowly moved toward the blanket.
Then toward the chair positioned near the wall.
Then back toward Elara.
The young maid continued looking at her expectantly.
Ivelle forced a warm smile onto her face.
"Nothing."
Elara blinked.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing at all."
The smile remained on Ivelle’s lips, though something melancholy slipped into it as she gave a small, humorless laugh.
"Don’t worry about it."
Elara looked unconvinced.
Ivelle did not blame her.
She was standing in the doorway in the middle of the night after supposedly going to bed.
There was absolutely no reason for anyone to believe that she needed nothing.
Still, Elara remained polite enough not to question her.
"Very well, Lady Ivelle," she said softly.
Ivelle nodded.
Then she slowly closed the door.
The moment it shut, she stood there.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the wood.
Then she sighed.
That had gone terribly.
Perhaps she could wait until Elara fell asleep.
Yes.
That was possible.
Elara was young.
Young people became tired.
Eventually, she would return to her own room.
Probably.
Ivelle turned away from the door and walked back toward her bed, though she had barely taken two steps before another thought entered her mind.
She stopped.
Then slowly turned around again.
There was something she wanted to know.
Perhaps it was unnecessary.
Perhaps it was ridiculous.
But after everything that had happened inside this house, she had reached the point where she could no longer prevent herself from asking questions simply because the answers might make her uncomfortable.
Ivelle returned to the door.
She opened it again.
Elara immediately looked up.
This time, the maid’s expression carried considerably more suspicion.
Ivelle pretended not to notice.
"Elara?"
"Yes, Lady Ivelle?"
Ivelle rested one hand against the doorframe.
Then she glanced toward the corridor before looking back at the young maid.
"Is this where you’re going to stay until morning?"
Elara blinked.
The question seemed to surprise her.
"Until morning?"
"Yes."
Ivelle gestured vaguely toward the corridor and then toward the chair.
"Here."
Elara looked around herself as though she had somehow forgotten where she was sitting.
Then she nodded.
"I suppose so."
Ivelle stared at her.
"You suppose so?"
Elara’s expression became slightly confused.
"Lady Maris instructed me to remain nearby in case you required anything during the night."
Ivelle’s shoulders dropped.
Of course Maris had.
That woman was becoming increasingly difficult to understand.
She had refused to answer Ivelle’s questions, insisted on calling her Lady Ivelle despite being repeatedly told not to, and now apparently arranged for people to remain outside her room while she slept.
Ivelle looked toward Elara again.
"You can go back to your room."
The young maid immediately shook her head.
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because that is not how it works."
Ivelle stared at her.
"How what works?"
"The rules."
There was a brief silence.
Ivelle’s expression slowly changed.
Then she murmured beneath her breath, "Rules. Rules. Everything in this house has rules."
Elara heard her.
Ivelle knew she had because the younger girl’s eyes moved toward her.
"Did you say something, Lady Ivelle?"
Ivelle immediately smiled.
"Oh, nothing."
Elara continued staring.
Ivelle nodded toward her.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle closed the door.
This time, she did not open it again.
There was absolutely no point.
She had been defeated.
By a chair.
A blanket.
And the rules of a house she had not even known existed until that morning.
Ivelle slowly walked back toward the bed before carefully lowering herself onto it, and the moment her head touched the soft pillow, the exhaustion she had been ignoring throughout the entire day finally seemed to settle heavily over her body. Her mind, however, remained as restless as ever, moving from one thought to another with no intention of allowing her the peace she desperately needed.
Liriel.
Zelos.
Maris.
The high walls.
The dresses.
Blackthorn Row.
Her injured leg.
Elara sitting outside the door.
Why had the dresses already been there?
Why had Maris pitied her?
Why had Zelos brought her into his house and then disappeared?
Was she truly free to leave?
Where was Liriel?
Ivelle slowly pulled the blanket over herself.
No.
Enough.
She closed her eyes.
She would not think tonight.
Whatever mysteries existed inside this mansion would still be there tomorrow. Liriel would still need to be found tomorrow. Zelos Mortum would still be irritatingly mysterious tomorrow. The walls would still be too high tomorrow, and the servants would undoubtedly still have rules they refused to explain.
Tonight, she was tired.
Tomorrow, she would worry about everything.
With that decision made, Ivelle finally allowed her body to relax.
And, for the first time since entering Blackthorn Row, she slept without waking to the sound of someone shouting, footsteps chasing after her, or the terrifying possibility of being discovered.
Unfortunately, peace did not last forever.
The following days passed more quickly than Ivelle expected.
At first, she had assumed that she would wake each morning with some new explanation waiting for her. Perhaps Zelos would finally appear and tell her why he had brought her into his home. Perhaps Maris would decide that enough time had passed and reveal the reason behind the strange pity she continued to show whenever she thought Ivelle was not looking.
Perhaps someone would explain why there had been three beautiful dresses waiting inside a wardrobe before Ivelle had even entered the room.
None of those things happened.
Instead, Ivelle remained inside the mansion.
One day became two.
Two became four.
And before she properly realized how much time had passed, an entire week had disappeared.
It was a strange week.
Maris and Elara were constantly involved in her life.
That was the only way Ivelle could describe it.
Every morning, Elara appeared to make certain she had everything she needed. If Ivelle attempted to walk too quickly, the young maid somehow appeared beside her. If she spent too long standing near a window, Elara would eventually ask whether her leg was hurting. If she attempted to wander somewhere unfamiliar, one of the servants seemed to appear with the polite but unmistakable intention of guiding her somewhere else.
Maris was worse.
The elderly woman did not follow her around.
That would have been easier to understand.
Instead, Maris seemed to know things.
Ivelle would mention something casually, only to discover that arrangements had already been made before she could properly ask for them. If she complained about being bored, books appeared. If she mentioned that she wanted fresh air, someone was instructed to accompany her into the gardens. If she asked whether she could leave the estate, however, the subject somehow became complicated enough that nobody gave her a direct answer.
That particular detail bothered her.
A great deal.
Still, despite her suspicions, nothing terrible happened.
Nobody harmed her.
Nobody demanded anything from her.
Nobody forced her to work.
Nobody even seemed to expect anything from her.
She ate.
She rested.
She spent time reading.
She occasionally sat in the gardens beneath the watchful attention of whichever servant had been assigned to make certain she did not do anything foolish.
And her leg healed.
Surprisingly quickly.
By the end of the week, the swelling had reduced considerably, and the pain that had once made walking difficult had almost completely disappeared. The physician returned once to inspect it and appeared satisfied with her recovery, informing her that she could gradually begin moving normally again.
That should have made Ivelle happy.
Instead, it gave her an entirely new problem.
Now that her leg was better, what exactly was keeping her inside the mansion?
The question became increasingly difficult to ignore.
Zelos had not appeared.
Not once.
Ivelle had occasionally caught glimpses of him from a distance during the first few days, though those moments had been so brief that she could not even be certain whether he had intentionally avoided her. Once, she had seen him crossing the far end of a corridor with another man beside him, speaking in a voice too low for her to hear.
Another time, she had seen his carriage leaving the estate.
But Zelos himself had never come to see her.
He had not asked whether she was comfortable.
He had not asked about her leg.
He had not demanded anything.
He had simply placed her inside his house and disappeared from her life as though she were nothing more than an unusual piece of furniture someone had forgotten to remove.
Ivelle sat one afternoon near the window in her room, staring at the gardens below with a deep frown on her face.
"What exactly is wrong with him?" she muttered.
The room, naturally, offered no answer.
She leaned back.
Why had he brought her here?
That was the question.
If Zelos had intended to keep her as a servant, surely someone would have told her what work she was expected to perform.
If he wanted her to repay him for rescuing her from Blackthorn Row, he had not asked for anything.
If he intended to imprison her, then he was doing an incredibly poor job of making her feel like a prisoner.
Unless—
Ivelle sat upright.
Unless this was for something in the future.
Her eyes widened slightly.
That possibility had not occurred to her properly before.
Perhaps Zelos did not need anything from her now.
Perhaps he would need something later.
Perhaps that was why she had been placed inside his wing.
Perhaps that was why there had already been clothes waiting for her.
Perhaps—
Ivelle stopped.
Her thoughts were moving too quickly again.
She rubbed her forehead.
No.
She needed answers.
Actual answers.
Not the ridiculous conclusions her mind created whenever she was left alone for too long.
And there was only one person inside this mansion who had been there long enough to know what was happening.
Maris.
Ivelle immediately stood.
Her leg no longer protested and that alone felt like a victory.
She looked down at herself with satisfaction before moving toward the door.
Elara, who had been instructed to attend to her less frequently now that her leg had improved, was nowhere nearby.
Good.
Ivelle did not need anyone following her while she conducted what she considered a very important investigation.
She stepped into the corridor.
Finding Maris did not take long.
The elderly woman was standing near one of the lower corridors, speaking quietly with another servant while reviewing something written upon a small piece of paper. Her silver hair remained neatly arranged, and her posture was as straight and composed as it had been the first day Ivelle entered the mansion.
Ivelle watched her from a short distance.
Maris looked peaceful.
Far too peaceful.
That was about to change.
"Butler Maris."
The elderly woman stopped.
For one brief moment, she closed her eyes.
Then she took a deep, slow breath.
It was not the breath of someone pleasantly surprised to hear her name.
It was the breath of a woman who had, over the past week, grown painfully familiar with the inquisitive nature of one particular young girl and had finally reached the point where she could recognize trouble before it even arrived.
Ivelle narrowed her eyes.
"Did you just sigh before turning around?"
Maris slowly faced her.
Her expression was perfectly composed.
"Good afternoon, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle folded her arms.
"Don’t change the subject."
Maris blinked.
"I have not changed the subject. You have not yet introduced one."
Ivelle stared at her.
That was annoyingly reasonable.
Maris continued watching her calmly.
Ivelle slowly pointed a finger toward the older woman.
"You knew I was coming to ask questions."
Maris’s expression did not change.
"I suspected."
"You sighed."
"I breathed."
"That was not an ordinary breath."
For the first time, something faintly resembling exhaustion appeared in Maris’s eyes.
Ivelle noticed immediately.
And despite herself, she smiled.
Maris had finally grown tired of her.
Good.
Perhaps that meant she was getting somewhere.