After class, Harlotte followed the original heir’s routine—eat when it was time, sleep when it was time. Such predictability left him with no opportunity to investigate.
He had planned to spend the afternoon in the library, poring over books on this world’s history and myths. Truth often hides in the corners of history, and to uncover it one must understand the past.
He took a brief nap of roughly an hour. Though sleep was elusive, he forced his eyes shut and cleared his mind. Danger could strike at any moment; maintaining his strength was paramount.
Just as he was about to leave, Lilith appeared. “Young Master,” she said softly, “Miss Lorelei requests your presence in her room.”
“Miss” referred, of course, to his half-sister, the eldest inheritor here—second only to Harlotte in status, and likely the most powerful of his “family.” He did not know why she summoned him, but he dared not refuse.
Since the original heir was on good terms with her, Harlotte had to maintain the pretense—and he wanted to gauge her attitude himself.
With that thought, he straightened his clothes and made his way to his sister’s tower, cautious as always. Before this mysterious sister, any misstep could betray him.
The top-floor stairs were carved of white marble. The corridor to her room was laid in red carpet, silent underfoot. On the walls hung unsigned paintings of starfields—each marked by a faint, red outline no more than a stain.
He had barely noticed before, but after morning’s theology class, the memory of the blood-red star made him uneasy. If his sister was tied to the Cthonic gods, one false move could shatter his mind.
He reached her door. It swung open before he could knock—an automatic portal, as if it had known he would come. No one stood there; he had opened it himself.
He thought: Good grief, what era is this with self-opening doors?
“Harlotte,” Lorelei’s voice drifted from the settee. She reclined there, holding a blank book. Seeing him, she patted the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”
He drew a steadying breath and perched on the edge. His pupils contracted at the sight of the blank volume, but he asked nothing—now was not the time.
“You tremble,” Lorelei chided, pulling him into her arms. Her voice was soothing, maternal; he almost wished to stay held forever. But he knew better. To yield would be to court death.
Sensing his stiffness, she released him and sighed in mock reproach. “You’ve grown distant, little brother. What did our guest scholar teach you this morning? Tell me.”
His heart raced. She was testing him. He forced calm in both body and voice—years of training by nonhumans had honed his control.
“I… did not understand everything. But those are just legends, right? Tell me, sister, do you think the old gods still live?”
He probed, betting that Lorelei was the strongest of his nonhuman “family.” He had to know if she could be trusted—his mother’s letter had placed her on the list.
Lorelei regarded him for a few seconds before speaking, her voice a breeze. “Gods never truly die; they merely change form. Like the moon—sometimes hidden behind clouds. Whether you see it or not, it remains.”
Her metaphor was tender yet felt pointed. Harlotte met her gaze and realized his test had been transparent—like a child hiding while an adult plays along.
His blood ran cold. Yet she had not killed him, meaning he had not crossed her killer’s line—or perhaps her goal was not his death.
In the fable, none of the modes of death matched his sister.
“Sister,” he ventured, voice earnest, “may I ask you some questions?”
Lorelei smiled and stroked his hair. The moth-cool touch made his scalp tingle, yet he dared not pull away.
“Of course. You can always trust me.”
Her words were a feather’s whisper: “All you seek to know will come in time. I love you—always have, always will, no matter who you are.”
He stiffened again, unable to hide it. Seated there, he felt he balanced atop a gentle yet deadly volcano. Lorelei was the least dangerous—or the hand that might drag him into the abyss.
Oblivious to his tension, she let her fingers trail through his hair as if petting a favored creature, not a brother.
“Harlotte, do you wish to know whether God won?”
“The Church says that after shattering the star, He left relics to guard humanity. But in truth…” She trailed off and drew a faint groove in the blank page.
“He was exhausted. He could not reclaim His scattered power. Those so-called relics are but fragments He lacked time to gather.”
“So you mean God lost?” he asked.
“He did not lose,” Lorelei’s lips curved. Her tone was steady. “Nor did He win.”
“After that war, the gods withered and Heaven closed. No one knows—no god even—what Heaven is like now.”
“Still, win or lose, God must suffer. Otherwise, with His pride and pettiness, He would never allow doubts of His existence.”
“However mighty the Church’s propaganda, one fact remains: since that war, Heaven has never reappeared.”
“You learned from Margaret that ‘God is dead.’ Indeed the rumor arose then. But gods of His caliber—death or survival is a distinction without difference. They do not exist in only one realm.”
Harlotte chewed a biscuit she had not realized Lorelei offered. Her words conflicted with Margaret’s lesson, yet her certainty felt familiar—too familiar. If he guessed correctly, his sister had witnessed that war herself—or the Power behind her had.
Her riddling style made him think: Sister, are you perhaps from Terra next door? She jousted his mind like a cat with a teasing stick.
“If you wish to hear more, you may return,” Lorelei whispered in his ear as they reached the door. “Whatever happens, here with me you are safe.”
Her meaning hung between them. Harlotte only nodded.
Descending the stairs, he found the corridor’s wall lamps newly lit—another marvel. Rounding the corner to the west wing, he spotted Lilith carrying a stack of neatly folded linens. The hem of her black velvet gown swept silently.
She seemed to await him. At his approach she paused, bowed, and spoke with flawless deference: “Young Master, these are Miss Eve’s linens for afternoon tea. I was delivering them.”
“Mm,” Harlotte replied curtly.
True to form, Lilith spoke no more. She stepped aside, pressing herself to the wall, her eyes never straying to him.
No doubt it was protocol rather than fear—his sister and stepsister outranked even the senior maid in intimacy. Among inheritors, rights mattered, regardless of gender. This world did not lack queens.
He continued on toward his next appointment, mind aflame with the truths his “family” concealed.