There was no avoiding it.

After seeing her mother’s reaction, Lucimia knew the door was shut like stone—no room for negotiation. To spare her mother’s heart, she put on a porcelain-calm mask and played along. As for her own problem… she’d sneak to a bookstore for answers, like a cat slipping into shade.

In the Town of Tranquility, where the Lancelot Family lived under the Kingdom of Sipan’s banner, there were bookstores that kept lamps of forbidden lore—knowledge about the Dark Deity—on quiet shelves like sleeping pines.

She returned to her room and shed silk like a snake leaving old skin, trading it for plain clothes. She pulled on practical boots, a short skirt and a uniform top, with no glittering stones. She draped a deep-purple cloak over her shoulders, nightfall gathered at her collar.

Two bookstores sat in town: one near the estate, one in the east, like streams parting at a rock. To keep Lucimia away from the Dark Deity, her mother had bought off the nearby owner. He refused to sell her anything on the subject. So Lucimia had to try the eastern shop, a hope like a pale lantern.

She just didn’t know if that one had been bought off too, a cloud casting doubt.

Dressed, Lucimia gazed at the mirror’s pond-still surface and thought, breath quick, I’m gorgeous. She could pull off anything, like wind wearing any color.

Satisfied, she nodded. She slipped past the dining room, past the servants, footsteps soft as a cat along the eaves, and aimed to scale the back wall of the estate. The housekeeper and servants were all her mother’s eyes and ears—better to move like a shadow under bamboo.

The rear yard held a pavilion for afternoon tea, a broad pond beside it with sunlight like coins on the water, green belts spreading around, and beyond that the wall studded with uneven river pebbles, a cliff with rough stars.

Lucimia did the math—her height, a running start, arm strength, the footholds in the stones—this wall would yield like a hill with rain-carved steps. She scanned the area—no one. Then, like an arrow loosed from a bow, she sprinted for the wall.

The wall rushed up. As her right foot found a pebble niche, a voice behind her rang like a small bell in fog. “Miss, if I may ask, what are you doing?”

Lucimia jolted, pulled back her foot. She didn’t need to turn; the name tugged like a thread. Who else called her “Miss” with that soft lilt but Kaeli, the maid?

Lucimia turned. Kaeli stood in her classic maid dress, a bedsheet draped over her arm, white cloth like a passing cloud.

“Sister Kaeli, why are you here?” Lucimia asked.

Surprise pricked like a thorn. I’d just checked—no one in the yard. How did the maid rise like mist from nowhere? Was the maid actually hiding decent combat skill? Or had my parents assigned her to guard me like a hawk?

Then it clicked—Mother wouldn’t let me near the Dark Deity for my safety. Of course she’d post someone to watch over me. The more she thought, the more likely it felt, clouds knitting into shape. And she only now noticed!

“I’m sunning the sheets,” Kaeli said, lifting the cloth, sun warm as honey.

Lucimia glanced at the sheet. She didn’t buy it; people didn’t just pop out of nowhere, doubt rippling like a wrinkle in water.

“More importantly, Miss, what are you planning? Hm? Planning to climb the wall?” Kaeli kept her sunny smile, peaches in spring.

She’s obviously Mother’s eyes. How do I shake her off, like dew from leaves?

Lucimia rolled her eyes, mind turning like a prayer wheel. “Who says I’m climbing a wall? I’m just exercising.”

“Exercise… oh, I get it.” Kaeli’s tone drew a laugh like silver bells. “You’re going to ‘exercise’ with your little lover? You’ve only just become an adult. Isn’t that a bit rushed? And the head of the house might have thoughts…”

???

Lucimia was stunned, a chick blinking in daylight. What kind of brain-wiring is this maid running?

“I. Do not. Have. A little lover!” she shot back, each word set like a nail.

“Alright, alright.” Kaeli covered her mouth and laughed, a fan hiding spring.

“Also, I don’t need to report what I’m doing to a maid, do I, Sister?” Lucimia let the word “maid” fall like cold rain to mark their stations.

It was a move of last resort, a knife of ice pulled from a sleeve. It made her sound like a domineering young lady, lacquer mask and hard edges, and it might make Kaeli dislike her. But Kaeli seemed unfazed, water still under willow.

“You’re right, Miss. Then Kaeli will go on sunning the sheets.” She bowed and carried the bedding away, steps light as petals.

That only made Lucimia more puzzled, questions curling like smoke rings. Was she not sent by Mother? Was she not going to stop me? Or would she simply report back, two paths for one traveler?

Lucimia couldn’t make sense of it, mind tangled like reeds. Whatever the case, she was going over. Once she cleared the wall, even if Mother got word, it would take time to reel her back, like a fish slipping downstream. By then, she’d have read the books.

If she stayed and waited, Mother would slap on another confinement, and going out would become a moth’s dream against glass.

Enough talk—she planted a foot on the stone, grabbed the wall’s edge, and pushed with both. With a grunt, body coiled like a spring, she went over. She dropped in a clean arc and landed perfect, feet feather-light.

Good.

She rose and dusted her palms, ash fine as snow. Next, into the town—the streets a net of silver veins.

—

Lucimia walked the familiar street, eyes sweeping around, morning breeze like silk on her cheeks. On both sides, shops bloomed—pastries, flowers, pretty jewelry—stalls like blossoms under sun.

Not far stood a tavern. Its wooden sign carved, “Don’t Leave Until Drunk.” Laughter and lilting music spilled from the door, wine and notes mingling like twin streams.

People drank in the morning too? Surprise flickered like a spark. She was a little puzzled but let it go, thoughts drifting like leaves.

Lucimia kept walking, footsteps a string of beads. A beauty on the street drew eyes, of course. Some watched with appreciation; others leered, their gaze glued to Lucimia’s legs, eyes like hooks.

What kind of weird fetish is that?

A mother led a boy by the hand. As they brushed past Lucimia, the boy froze, a rabbit caught in moonlight. Lucimia noticed and glanced back at him, eyes cool as moonlight on water.

The boy wore a black top. Their gazes met. His cheeks flushed rose like ripe peaches; he yanked free of his mother and charged at Lucimia, small storm with quick feet.

Uh—what? What are you doing?

Lucimia jolted and bolted, a deer startled from brush. The mother hugged her fresh groceries and chased after her boy, bags swaying like gourds on a vine.

The street suddenly staged a three-person chase, dust flicking up like birds. Lucimia led, shouting back, “Stop chasing me! Stop!”

The boy pointed ahead and hollered, words like arrows, “Mom! I want her to be my wife!”

His mother went scarlet to the ears, anger rolling like thunder. Lifting her long skirt, she ran and barked, “You little rascal! Aren’t you ashamed? Aren’t you ashamed? Just wait till we get home!”

The sudden spectacle drew a crowd. People watched with relish, eyes like lanterns, gossip pattering like warm rain.

Running, Lucimia spotted a grand shop ahead, its sign carved, “Delicious Dishes,” doors open like a smiling mouth. She didn’t think—she darted straight inside, a swallow flashing into a hall.