Chapter 7

Was it that person again? How many times have I met him in just two days? No, before that, the backyard is understandable, but he just popped into the guest room. How? Is it really teleportation magic? By the way, is he the one who made me fall asleep?

Azriel's mind swirled with a cacophony of thoughts and questions.

Why? What on earth happened? Come to think of it, I need to return the shoes. Oh, what about the wizard from the capital? What did he mean by knowing what I am?

Random musings and queries inundated Azriel's mind. She took a deep breath, rubbed her face, and struggled to organize her thoughts.

"Regardless of everything else," she resolved, "There's one undeniable truth."

That truth was her inability to remain in Colte Castle any longer. She had to escape. Amid the enigmatic questions and thoughts that swirled in her head, that remained the one unassailable fact.

As she recalled the unsettling events in the banquet hall, a shiver ran down her spine. Though slavery had been legally abolished, she was still a slave in practice. She could endure whippings, menial labor, and even hunger, but she was growing, and she had no means to protect herself.

If a similar incident were to occur again, there was no guarantee she would be as fortunate a second time. With her meager savings, she needed to find a way to break free.

I need to get as far away as I can with the money I have. I'll have to think about the future later.

Azriel paused on her way to the door. Something glistened under the moonlight on the opulent carpet. Upon closer inspection, she discovered grains of sand.

Why is there sand here? Sand in a guest room that the servants meticulously cleaned just yesterday? she pondered. There's no sandy area nearby.

She furrowed her brow in puzzlement but quickly dismissed the matter. Whatever had transpired in this room was of no consequence at the moment.

The castle was eerily quiet in the dead of night. Azriel slipped out of the guest room and stealthily descended the stairs. Fortunately, she encountered no one until she reached her room in the basement, adjacent to the liquor storage.

She swiftly packed her belongings. Her preparations had been underway for some time, making her packing quick and efficient:

- Two sets of clothes

- The money she had saved

- A few candles

- Matches

- A map

- The unfinished book she had been translating

She intended to return it to the bookstore before departing. With her possessions gathered, she stood, holding them close.

I won't be able to bid farewell to Maylie before I leave.

Her only regret was not seeing Maylie one last time. Azriel glanced at a piece of paper on the room's side—a remnant of the pie Maylie had brought. Though it would sadden her, Maylie would understand why Azriel had to depart without saying goodbye.

Just as she had steeled herself and was about to leave the room, she halted, sensing that something was amiss. After scanning the dim, narrow room, it dawned on her.

That shoebox is missing.

She had concealed it beneath her straw bed, but now it had vanished without a trace. Azriel searched deeper into the straw, but the box was nowhere to be found. Only Maylie knew about her recent acquisition of the expensive dress shoes and that she had hidden them in her room.

"It can't be," she whispered.

Though doubt nagged at her, she quickly dismissed it. She trusted Maylie completely.

She continued searching for a bit longer, but the shoebox remained elusive. Running out of time, Azriel left her room and made her way to the kitchen. Leftovers from the banquet were plentiful, but she only took a portion of biscuits and a bottle of water, just as she usually had for a meal.

I don't want to resort to theft. I'll only take what's mine.

Passing through the kitchen, she quietly opened the rear yard door. Moonlight bathed the area, and the castle's enclosing wall cast a monstrous shadow. Above the wall, the torches carried by the guards flickered.

During the day, the rear entrance was left open for the servants, but it would surely be closed now. There were no other entrances in the castle wall, like those for dogs. Azriel lacked the agility to scale the wall without detection by the patrolling guards, which was why she had initially planned to escape during daylight.

It's a gamble, but I'll head to the well.

In the rear yard stood a long-dried well that hadn't been removed despite decades of disuse. In a fit of spite, Deborah had once tossed her ring out the window, wishing for Azriel to suffer as she searched for it outside in the cold.

Back then, Azriel had descended to the well's bottom, believing she saw something shimmer amid the decaying leaves and dirt. During her search, she stumbled upon a mysterious passage that seemed to lead beyond the castle walls. Azriel now understood why Count Colte had neglected a well that had long since dried up.

"That must be the escape route found in every castle or noble mansion," she muttered, though she had never actually ventured into such a passage to confirm.

Nevertheless, it was worth a try. Even if the passage were obstructed in the middle, it offered a place to hide for the night, and she could seize an opportunity to flee at dawn.

Stealthily, she crossed the courtyard. Upon reaching the well, she tugged at the weathered rope to test its strength. Satisfied, she lowered her belongings first and then descended cautiously to the well's bottom.

After clearing away the hanging vines obscuring the passage's entrance, she observed that it lay wide open, an abyss of darkness akin to a gaping beast's maw. A chilly breeze emanated from within, where nothing was visible, sending a slight shiver down her spine.

"The passage can't be blocked, or the wind wouldn't be blowing. It'll be fine," she murmured, attempting to reassure herself and suppress her fear.

The passage was low, requiring her to bend her waist to fit through, despite her petite stature. An adult male of average build would need to crawl. Gripping the walls with her hands, she gingerly entered the passage.

As she advanced, there was a gentle incline, and soon the floor leveled out.

Once she had distanced herself somewhat from the entrance, she retrieved a candle and ignited it. The feeble candlelight danced like a firefly, dispersing the surrounding darkness. She noticed a spider scurrying away, hastily retreating from its web in a corner of the ceiling.

As she continued deeper into the passage, it gradually widened, allowing her to walk without stooping. She pressed onward without encountering any diverging paths. The passage remained dim and confined, making it difficult to discern the passage of time. Azriel couldn't even discern whether it was straight or winding.

"I see light ahead!" she exclaimed to herself, the illumination approaching faster than she had anticipated.

However, the light didn't resemble natural daylight; instead, it bore the quality of lamps or candles. "This doesn't appear to be an exit… What could it be?"

As she approached, a sharp cracking sound and murmured voices reached her ears.

"How dare you lie before my eyes?!"

"This is not a lie… Aargh!"

The unmistakable sound of someone being whipped sent shivers down her spine. She recognized it all too well, having endured it herself countless times. Extinguishing her candle, she cautiously moved toward the source of the light.

"This belongs to her? Quit your nonsense. Where did you pilfer it from? Tell the truth!"

"I swear, Lady, I didn't steal it…"

The pained voice sounded eerily familiar, and Azriel's blood ran cold. The source of light was a small aperture, no wider than a finger, high on the passage walls. To get a glimpse inside, she had to place her feet carefully between the protruding bricks while clinging to the wall.

As soon as she peered inside, recognition struck her. It was one of the dungeon cells within Colte Castle, reminiscent of the one where she had been confined during the earring incident. A red-haired girl cowered within while another person relentlessly lashed her.

"May…!"

Azriel bit her lip to stifle a cry, barely managing to prevent herself from uttering the girl's name. Behind the servant administering the whipping stood Deborah Colte, seated in a chair. With a mere gesture, she signaled for the whipping to cease.

"Lady, please…"

Maylie looked up at Deborah, her face contorted with tears, her nose running. Deborah lifted one corner of her mouth—a gesture Azriel knew all too well. It was the expression she wore when she was determined to have her way, whether it was right or wrong.

"You're not going to confess until the end, are you? Very well. I'll ascertain the source of this item myself."

"I didn't steal it…"

"Silence! You're already guilty. If you wish to leave this place with your life, choose your words wisely. Where is the other shoe?"

Deborah held up an object that gleamed in the light—a glass slipper adorned with jewels that sparkled like stars. It was the missing shoe from Azriel's room, now dangling in Deborah's hand. Maylie spoke through tears once more.

"I'll… I'll give you the other one. Please, save Azriel. You can do it, Lady…"

"Give me what? This isn't even yours."

"It belongs to Azriel!"

"Don't be absurd. How could a slave possess such a precious shoe? How dare you attempt to strike a bargain with me over stolen goods?"

"She was taken during the day and hasn't emerged from her room even though night has fallen…"

"What of it?"

"She has been serving you all this time. She's been whipped daily in your place. Please, show her mercy for once in your life, Lady, please…"

"Will you only come to your senses after more lashes? Do you truly wish to meet your demise? I demand to know where the other one is!"

Azriel's face drained of color as she watched Maylie plead and Deborah's shouts reverberated in the cell.

Azriel could piece together how this situation had unfolded. Maylie must have grown frantic upon discovering that Azriel had been taken away by the wizard. With no sign of them emerging from the guest room even after nightfall, she must have contemplated the worst.

For a commoner and a maid like Maylie, there was little she could do to rescue Azriel. If anyone had the power to retrieve Azriel from the clutches of the wizard, it would be a member of the Colte family.

Yet, the Count had initially surrendered Azriel, and Damon, while potentially saving her, might still lay claim to her. The Countess, who had once subjected Azriel to a whipping and locked her in the dungeon instead of exposing her daughter's wrongdoing during the earring incident, was unlikely to help.

Therefore, the only glimmer of hope rested with Deborah.

Maylie knew full well that Deborah was haughty and temperamental. Nevertheless, her faith in Deborah stemmed from knowledge of the bond that often formed between whipping children and their noble counterparts.

Many noble children felt sympathy for the whipping children who bore their punishments and established enduring bonds with them.

It was common for a whipping child to become a noble child's closest confidant, even into adulthood. Consequently, nobility selected their children's whipping child with great care.

There existed no bond between Deborah and Azriel. To Deborah, Azriel was nothing more than an object of torment, a target for her sadistic whims. In fact, Deborah actively sought ways to subject Azriel to even more brutal punishments.

While this cruel reality remained hidden from most of the other servants, Maylie possessed a deeper understanding, as she had witnessed the severe injuries on Azriel's back.

Despite the grim truth she knew, Maylie decided to take a leap of faith, hoping against hope that a sliver of connection might exist between them, even if it seemed highly improbable.

She couldn't imagine that Deborah would extend help to Azriel out of the goodness of her heart, devoid of personal gain. To persuade the covetous young lady, she needed a more compelling incentive.

In her contemplation, Maylie's thoughts fixated on Azriel's glass shoes. She believed that presenting one of these shoes as a potential reward to Deborah might sway her.

However, even after displaying the shoe and offering it in exchange for Azriel's rescue, Deborah remained resolutely cold, refusing to entertain the plea. Maylie had not failed to mention that she would deliver the other shoe to Deborah once Azriel was liberated.

"Good gracious, Maylie," Azriel whispered, her voice filled with resignation. "Deborah will…"

Azriel understood that Deborah was the type who would sooner flog her to death than negotiate for the shoe since she saw individuals outside of the nobility as mere objects. Deborah was not one to strike deals or perform favors for people like Maylie.

Realizing the futility of the situation, Azriel let out a muted groan and instinctively covered her mouth with both hands. If it had been up to her, she would never have approached Deborah. Maylie's chances of success in delivering the shoes to mercenaries might have been better.

"Please, Lady, save Azriel, please!" Maylie implored, her voice quivering with tears. "I won't reveal where the other shoe is until I see her…"

Annoyance and disdain etched across Deborah's fair countenance. She kicked Maylie, who clung to her, and signaled to the servant holding the whip.

Maylie, unlike Azriel, was neither an orphan nor a slave but a commoner maid with a sick mother and younger siblings. In contrast, Deborah Colte was the daughter of a count, capable of disposing of a castle maid and easily attributing her death to accident or illness.

No!

In a heartbeat, as the whip was poised to strike once more, Azriel made her move. She did not even pause to relight her candle; instead, she dashed madly back the way she had come.

Abandoning the pack she had been carrying, she stumbled and grazed her calf on a jagged rock, drawing blood. Yet, she paid no heed to the pain, driven by the urgency of the moment.

Clutching the rope, she scaled the well with frantic determination.

When she finally hoisted herself just high enough to peek over the well's edge, she was greeted by the sight of a half-moon hanging in the night sky. Below it, right next to the well, stood an enigmatic figure cloaked in white, motionless and silent.

Azriel froze in astonishment, her upper body hanging over the well's edge.

"Mr. Rhema…?"