79 – Kick

The past several days had gone by in a daze.

Saffra had been through this twice before. Jarring sequences of events that came on so suddenly, upturning her life and leaving it for the worse.

For the worse, though? Could she really say that? Considering her current luxury?

Wrapped deeply in plush blankets and pillows, she stared up at the roof of the four-poster bed she’d fallen asleep in. A rapping of knuckles at the door reminded her of what had broken her unpleasant slumber. She groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, but the invader didn’t leave.

Knock knock knock.

“Coming,” Saffra called weakly, sliding out of bed despite her complaining instincts.

She swung open the ornate slab of wood to find not one, but three maids in pristine black and white uniforms, none with so much as a wrinkle or ruffle to be seen on their person. Something about their perfect postures, the way they held themselves, made Saffra tense. Dangerous, the most embedded parts of her instincts warned, even glancing at those women. The understated badges pinned on their lapels confirmed the suspicion, not that it needed confirming. Two wore three bars of bronze, while the leader presented two lines of silver.

White Gloves. Waiting on her.

Not even in her strangest dreams had she imagined a future like this.

All three of the women curtsied upon Saffra’s opening the door.

“Young Mistress. The Headmaster awaits you in the dining hall for the midday meal, should it please you to attend.”

Saffra stared at the women. The three maids even a duchess would be honored to have kept their heads bowed, awaiting her response.

“All right. Thank you. I’ll…be there.”

“Does the young mistress need help preparing?”

“No,” she said firmly. She’d made that clear on the first day. “I can dress myself. Thank you.”

They curtsied again, the synchronization of their movements almost unnerving. Sweeping their skirts aside, they departed, and Saffra escaped into her bedroom, pressing her back against the door.

She placed both hands on her face, breathed in deeply for several seconds, then forced herself to calm down.

She hated this.

Why was she being treated as an honored guest? What had she done to deserve even an ounce of the respect they were showing? If anything, it should be the opposite. She had been nothing but dead weight to Lady Vivi through the time she’d known her. A nuisance, relying on generosity.

A cloud hanging over her, she sulked off to freshen up and get dressed.

When she left her bedroom, there was, of course, a White Glove of the Second Class waiting for her. One she recognized. At least more than the others, who had been rotating their duties to attend to her. The woman wore her blonde hair in pigtails and somehow had even more graceful posture than the rest. ‘Instructor Annabelle’, as she’d heard a student call her. It was slightly more unnerving than reassuring, knowing that this dainty maid could kill her in a hundred different ways without so much as reaching for a weapon.

“Young Mistress,” the Academy Instructor greeted. “May I lead you to the dining hall?”

She knew her way by now. She hardly needed to be led. But she mumbled out, “Yes, please.” As much as the maid shouldn’t be the one in charge, any time she interacted with a White Glove, no matter how subservient they behaved, that was the impression she got. Their tactfully implied requests always felt like orders, though it might just be her. The White Glove’s reputation was rather monumental, and she was…well, a complete nobody.

She followed Instructor Annabelle through the sprawling manor to the dining hall, where a midday meal had been arranged. Atop the elegant table sheet was spread a smattering of dishes and silverware. Only one seat was pulled out. The whole table had been reserved for her, and an entire meal specially prepared. She fought another grimace.

Headmaster Winston stood to the side, as usual. He greeted her warmly upon arrival. Saffra tried to return some cheer herself, but her response came out more as a mumble. They had been through this dance a few times now.

Even ignoring how incredibly out of place she felt, the extravagant lengths they were constantly going to hurt more than helped. Why was she being treated like this? Because she was Lady Vivi’s apprentice, obviously. Lady Vivisari’s. A revelation that she was still struggling to come to terms with. And that was the problem. She had done literally nothing to be worthy of becoming the Sorceress’s apprentice.

All of this was so…utterly absurd.

She suffered through the meal as usual. She could hardly refuse. Trying to force down food was next to impossible, though; she picked her way through it. Considering where she was, and who had prepared the meal, it was probably some of the finest cuisine she would ever lay eyes on, but she just…wasn’t hungry.

Stealing glances out of the corner of her eye, she could see Headmaster Winston’s barely-furrowed brow as he mulled over how to go about his next attempt at soothing her worries.

“I feel the need to reassure you, young mistress, that Lady Vivisari will return,” he began, and the unwavering confidence was almost enough to convince her, more so than the words themselves. But Saffra had long ago made a habit of refusing optimism, so he would have as much success as with his previous attempts. “And with Lady Caldimore as well, if it is at all possible. There is no individual in the world you can place your faith in as unerringly.”

“I know,” Saffra mumbled, but it wasn’t the response that she wanted to give. Because what he was saying was sensible, but only in part. There were obvious counterpoints. First and foremost was that there might not be an Isabella Caldimore for the Sorceress to swoop in and save. She might have died the moment the ritual activated. And even Vivisari Vexaria couldn’t pull souls back from wherever they disappeared to.

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Secondly, even the most reliable person in the world could fail. There had been five Heroes, once. Four were gone. Possibly the last was soon to join them in the history books. Or already had.

But Winston had known those men and women personally, and making that argument would be cruel. Why would she try to convince him that Lady Vivi might not survive? It was a good thing that he had such faith in the woman he served. Saffra might be useless, but she didn’t think she was mean. She would keep those horrible thoughts to herself. That was the very least she could do.

Headmaster Winston seemed disappointed by her lackluster response, which, in an ongoing trend, made her feel even worse. Silence returned to the dining hall.

The man was just opening his mouth to attempt a second reassurance when the doors behind Saffra slammed open, startling her. She turned in her seat.

A whistling ranger strode in, carrying, of all things, a bucket of sloshing water. Saffra looked at the man, confused, then at the Headmaster, who also seemed surprised.

Jasper’s presence wasn’t a total shock. He and his alchemist teammate Mae—who Saffra now knew was one of Vanguard’s craftsmen, in another twist of fate—along with the steward of Vanguard, Rafael, had come to visit and speak with her a number of times.

But why was he carrying a bucket of water?

Knowing the man’s personality, suspicion prickled inside her, but she was in too dull a mood to pursue the line of thought. She stared blankly at him as he walked up.

Without saying a word, he overturned the container right onto her.