The following days were an exercise in adaptation. With no kitchen maids, Maerys and Ophelia shared the burden of cooking and cleaning, while Colin took to organising the tower's security. His enthusiasm was admirable, though Ophelia suspected he knew little more than she did about defending a household.
To compensate, Ophelia began reading books on basic fortifications and defence, sharing what she learned with Colin in their bi-nightly meetings. Creating a detailed floor plan and identifying potential vulnerabilities. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
Meanwhile, Maerys surprised Ophelia with her willingness to learn. Though clumsy at first, the girl quickly picked up on how to manage the daily tasks, from preparing simple meals to maintaining the cleanliness of the small household. She was cheerful, too—a trait Ophelia hadn’t realized she needed.
It wasn’t an easy arrangement, but it was theirs.
Weeks later, during their midday meal of barley soup and bread, Maerys broached the topic that had been lingering in the back of everyone’s minds.
“Do you think you’ll have magic, my lady?” she asked, her voice hesitant but curious.
Ophelia paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth. The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Magic was everything in Qeorene's society. A noble child with strong magic could command respect and influence; without it, they were often treated as little more than an inconvenience.
“I don’t know,” Ophelia admitted. “But we won’t find out for another year, so there’s no use worrying about it now.”
Maerys nodded, though her expression suggested she didn’t entirely agree. “Still, you’ve got the look of someone who might,” she said. “My old mistress used to say you could tell by the eyes. You’ve got sharp ones.”
Ophelia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Let’s hope she was right, then.”
Colin, who had been quietly eating, finally spoke up. “If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, even without magic, you’ve got something… different about you. The way you think things through. It’s like you see more than what’s right in front of you.”
Ophelia glanced at him, surprised. It was the first time he’d spoken so openly about his impressions of her. “Thank you, Colin,” she said simply. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The conversation moved on to lighter topics, but Ophelia couldn’t shake the weight of their words. Both Maerys and Colin had placed their faith in her, despite her precarious position. Lady Margery might have expected her to falter, but Ophelia was determined to thrive.
She still had a year before the church’s ritual would reveal whether she had magic. Until then, she would use every moment to prepare herself. If she did have magic, she would wield it with purpose. And if she didn’t, she would find another way to survive. For now, her focus was clear: strengthen her household and gain knowledge.
The morning sun leaked golden light over the castle grounds as Ophelia stepped into her modest personal carriage. It was small, just large enough for herself and Maerys, who sat opposite her, fidgeting with excitement. The driver, an older servant named Thomlin, gave a polite nod before snapping the reins to set the horses in motion.
Ophelia glanced out the window as the castle receded into the distance, replaced by the winding dirt roads that led to the town. This was the first time she was venturing into town with her small allowance, and the prospect of making her own purchases thrilled her. It was a rare moment of independence; one she intended to savour.
The town of Highmarch bustled with activity as the carriage rolled to a stop near the central marketplace. The air was thick with the smells of freshly baked bread, roasting meat, and the sharp tang of tannery work. Merchants called out to passersby, hawking everything from fine silks to sturdy leather goods.
As Thomlin opened the carriage door, Ophelia stepped down carefully, her soft leather shoes crunching against the cobblestones. Maerys followed, her eyes wide with wonder at the lively scene.
“Stay close, Maerys,” Ophelia said, straightening her modest yet elegant gown. “Let’s start with the fabrics.”
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They made their way to a large stall draped in vibrant textiles. Rolls of fabric in every imaginable colour and texture were displayed, from simple wools to shimmering satins. Ophelia carefully examined the offerings, running her fingers over the materials. She selected a deep green velvet, a rich burgundy wool, and a soft cream linen—enough to commission several new dresses suitable for her growing stature.
The merchant, a jovial man with a keen eye for wealth, wrapped her purchases neatly. “A fine selection, my lady,” he said, bowing as she handed over the coins.
With the fabrics secured, Ophelia turned her attention to something more ambitious. She had noticed a small stable on the outskirts of the market and led Maerys there, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
The stable master, a grizzled man with a weathered face, greeted her with a polite nod. “Looking for a horse, my lady?”
“I am,” Ophelia replied. “Something gentle but spirited. I’m new to riding, but I want a steed that can grow with me.”
He nodded thoughtfully, leading her to a paddock where a handful of horses grazed. Among them was a sleek mare with a coat the colour of honey and a white blaze down her nose. She stood out immediately, her eyes bright and curious.
“This one’s a fine choice,” the stable master said. “She’s young, but well-trained. Name’s Ember.”
Ophelia approached the mare slowly, her hand outstretched. Ember sniffed her palm before nuzzling it gently. A smile spread across Ophelia’s face.
“I’ll take her,” she said, the decision feeling instinctive.
The stable master quickly fetched a simple saddle and bridle, including them in the price. Though it cost a significant portion of her allowance, Ophelia felt the purchase was worth it. Thomlin arranged for Ember to be led back to the castle while Ophelia and Maerys returned to their carriage.
As the carriage rumbled back toward the castle, Maerys couldn’t contain her excitement. “That horse is beautiful, my lady! I can’t wait to see you ride her.”
Ophelia smiled, her thoughts already drifting to the future.
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The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall, narrow windows of Ophelia’s modest sitting room, casting a golden glow on the stone walls. Seated on a low wooden stool with her long black hair falling like a waterfall around her shoulders, Ophelia handed Maerys a boar-bristle brush.
“You must start from the end,” Ophelia instructed, her voice gentle but firm. “If you try to pull the brush through from the top, it’ll snag and break the strands.”
Maerys, seated on a cushion behind her, nodded earnestly. She took the brush and carefully followed Ophelia’s guidance, working through the tangles in small sections. “Your hair is so beautiful, my lady,” she said, awe evident in her voice. “Like the silks in the market.”
Ophelia chuckled softly. “Thank you, Maerys. It does take work to keep it this way, though. That’s why I’m teaching you.”
Once her hair was smooth and shining, Ophelia reached for a small pile of ribbons and pins she had gathered. “Now, I’m going to show you some braids. These are styles I remember from… well, I’ve seen them before.”
She began with a simple three-strand braid, weaving her hair with practised ease while Maerys watched intently. “This is the foundation for most styles,” Ophelia explained. “Once you’ve mastered it, you can make it more intricate.”
Next, she demonstrated a rope braid, twisting two sections of hair together, and then moved on to a fishtail braid, which made Maerys gasp with delight. “It’s so delicate! Like lace,” Maerys marvelled.
Ophelia smiled, pleased with her maid’s enthusiasm. “Now it’s your turn. Practice on me.”
Though Maerys’s fingers were clumsy at first, she quickly grew more confident under Ophelia’s patient instruction. By the time the lesson ended, she had managed a neat three-strand braid and a passable rope braid. Ophelia praised her progress, promising to teach her more in the coming days.
Later that week, Ophelia brought out a small sewing kit she’d retrieved from her wardrobe. It was modest, containing only a few needles, some thread, and scraps of fabric, but it would serve their purpose.
“Today, we’re going to work on sewing and embroidery,” Ophelia said, seating herself at the table. “Nothing too fancy, but enough to make you stand out.”
Maerys leaned forward, eager to learn. “I’ve mended torn hems before, my lady, but nothing like embroidery.”
“That’s a good start,” Ophelia said. “Mending is an important skill. Embroidery is more about decoration, but it can make simple garments look elegant. Watch.”
Taking a square of fabric, Ophelia demonstrated a simple running stitch, then showed Maerys how to make a neat hem into vines. Once Maerys had tried her hand at those, Ophelia moved on to basic embroidery, teaching her how to stitch small flowers and leaves. The designs were simple but charming, enough to impress anyone unfamiliar with the noble standard of embroidery.
“You’re a quick learner,” Ophelia said as Maerys completed her first flower.
Maerys beamed. “It’s thanks to you, my lady. No one’s ever taken the time to teach me like this before.”
As the days turned into weeks, their lessons became a cherished routine. Ophelia found joy in sharing the knowledge she remembered from her past life, and Maerys grew more confident with each new skill she acquired. Her ability to style hair and sew became a source of pride. She even had the girl make a few new dresses for later in the year.
Ophelia, meanwhile, felt a growing sense of satisfaction. Lady Margery might have intended Maerys to be a liability, but Ophelia had turned her into an asset. One loyal completely to her.
And in the quiet moments, as Maerys braided her hair or stitched a new pattern, Ophelia allowed herself a small, private smile. She might be isolated in her little tower, but she was building something strong—something no one could take away from her.