Tears brimmed in Eschell's eyes, “That little rascal, he ran off without telling me? His mother had just written asking me to look after him at school...”
Anne asked with perfect timing, “And did you?”
“Of course not!” Eschell declared emphatically.
“Everyone knows Grandfather and the Raventa elder don't see eye to eye over land disputes. I obviously wouldn't babysit that kid, but who would've thought they were actually in cahoots..." Eschell's voice trailed off.
Anne pondered for a moment, “Miss, could that letter from Curtis's mother have been a subtle hint for you to watch Curtis and prepare your own escape once he left?”
Eschell’s mouth hung open in shock.
Her naïve worldview crumbled. The intricacy of noble machinations was beyond anything she had imagined.
“Really?” Eschell looked at Anne incredulously.
“If I'm not mistaken, that's probably it.” Anne gently nudged Eschell forward with a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Miss, pick up the pace.”
“The adult world is so complicated. Wouldn’t plain speaking be better?” Eschell mumbled, “Just like in 'The Earl’s Second Son'.”
“What were you saying, Miss?” Anne was truly puzzled. As a diligent maid, she had never joined Eschell in her studies, nor did she get much leisure time to read her own material.
“Huh? You haven’t heard of it?” Eschell lifted her blouse's hem and pulled out the book she had insisted on bringing along with her wand.
She thrust the beautifully bound 'The Earl's Second Son' into Anne's face, obscuring her view entirely.
Knowing her mistress's quirks well, Anne indulged her by examining the intricate but ultimately decorative cover.
Big, flowery lettering and magically reinforced binding screamed of a book's lavish value. A multitude of ornate yet meaningless patterns centered the title, with a small caption at the bottom: authored by The Humble Hero.
“Okay, okay, Miss, I see it. Now, please let me walk properly,” a hint of exasperation leaked into Anne’s voice.
Eschell clutched the book to her chest with feigned surprise, “You don’t want to look? I’m beginning to doubt you’re the real Anne.”
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“You're not the real Anne.” It was a code phrase from a game they’d played since Eschell was young, "The Identity Swap." On that cue, the other had to offer proof of being the true Anne or Eschell, not an impostor swapped by demon trickery.
Though Eschell was fourteen, whimsy was her right, escape or not.
But for Anne, this was no time for games. Her mission was to bring Eschell safely to the West, cost be damned. With reluctance, Anne prepared to conclude the charade.
“How shall I prove it then?” Anne asked politely.
“Tell me a secret only the two of us know. That'll confirm who you are,” Eschell, pleased with Anne's teamwork, grinned at her own cleverness.
It was an unorthodox tactic, Anne thought. Previously, Eschell might have demanded physical feats from her maid for validation; now a shared secret sufficed? Perhaps the young miss was indeed maturing.
Eschell had her reasons for the question, having read about facial alteration spells and strange concoctions in another of The Humble Hero's writings.
Confused she might be, but slow to grasp she was not—a top mage student of the noble Heracles Academy, capable of discerning when to take cover from rain or danger. She’d mulled over the text, and the feasibility of transformation magic intrigued her.
The topic had slipped her mind until the mention of 'The Earl’s Second Son' triggered a bout of paranoia about her maid's identity.
Oblivious to her charge’s concerns, Anne smiled and reminisced, “When you were six, you broke the Lady’s favorite vase. Would that count?”
“That doesn’t count. The old wizard who fixed it knows that story, too,” Eschell replied, despite recognizing the familiar tale.
“You were eight when you wandered into the Duke's hunting ground and got into a tiff with a wild deer because you asked for its antlers, and it refused…” Anne continued, recounting yet another private incident, “You hung from its antlers for a quarter hour before I found you.”
“That doesn’t count either,” Eschell protested, “Grandpa found out about that later.”
“Is that so?” Anne pondered as they walked before a chuckle escaped her, “Heh.”
“What's so funny?” Eschell’s nervousness flared for no clear reason.
Anne sidestepped the question, musing aloud, “On the eve of your departure for school at twelve, you paraded around your room with a homemade wand, declaring your determination to study magic so you could partner with a hero one day... if the hero was a chap, then...”
“Stop talking now!” Eschell's face flushed with embarrassment, “You're real! You are truly Anne, please, no more.”
Anne's smile was the epitome of servility, “Understood, Miss.”
Eager to shift from her own blush-inducing memory, Eschell blurted out, “Anne, how about I tell you the story of this book?”
“I'm all ears, Miss,” Anne responded, ready to indulge her.
“It was a school holiday, and as usual, I went to the capital’s commercial district to play…” Eschell hastily began her deflection.
“Didn't you want to tell the story from this book?” Anne found the disconnect baffling.
“I am telling the book's story—I’m getting to how I came across this tome.”
“I meant... aren't you supposed to narrate the plot within the book?” Anne tried to make sense of her mistress’s train of thought.
“Of course not, Anne. A tale this good must be read firsthand, else it's a dreadful waste,” Eschell declared earnestly, barreling on without waiting for Anne’s concurrence, “I stepped into a somewhat gloomy bookshop that day...”