Chapter 11:
Five Masks, One Truth
Clara blinked, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks. Grace’s embrace lingered like warmth after winter, soothing, protective, perfect. When Grace let go, Clara immediately missed the comfort. She had never felt safer in her life than in those few seconds held in Grace’s arms.
The boutique around them was no longer a shop full of glittering perfume bottles and hairpins. It was a battlefield. Clara could still hear the echo of Elen’s body crashing into the brooch table. The clang of the guard's boots. The thud of fists against flesh. The apprentice’s blood had smeared the floor like spilled ink.
Elyne’s voice rang out like a whip.
"Guards. Take that apprentice."
She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. Her tone cut through the heavy silence of the room, and everyone froze as if the air had turned to glass.
"He struck Lady Elen of House Trivelle and attempted to harm Lady Grace of Ashford. That is an offense punishable by death."
Clara gasped. Her eyes darted toward the crumpled boy. He groaned softly, but the look in his eyes was distant. Empty. The guards moved without question. Two seized him by the arms and hoisted him up, his feet dragging.
Lady Callaire stepped forward, clearly distressed. "Please, Your Ladyship… he’s just a boy. I will handle…"
Elyne didn’t even turn. "You will not."
Her words struck like a hammer.
"He attacked a noble child. A daughter of a retainer house. And more, he lifted his hand against the Duchess’s only daughter. You do not get to decide justice, Lady Callaire. The Duchy does."
Lady Callaire faltered. Then bowed. Deeply. "Of course… Forgive my impertinence."
Clara could hardly breathe. Her eyes flicked back to Grace, who stood with her hands gently folded, her posture perfect, her expression calm. Not a hair out of place. Not a hint of fear.
She looked like royalty.
Clara flushed with shame. She had cried. She had trembled. She hadn’t even been the one struck, and yet she had fallen apart.
But Grace… Grace had stood tall.
From the floor, the apprentice lifted his bruised face. His gaze met Grace's.
Clara saw it. Just a flicker. A look of horror in his eyes. And then, Grace tilted her head. Slowly. Like a doll deciding whether to smile or not.
Clara didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to.
Then Elyne was kneeling beside Elen. The taller girl winced as she sat upright, her breath shallow. Elyne examined her shoulder with quick, careful hands.
"You did well," Elyne said, her voice softer now. "You protected your Lady without hesitation."
Elen looked down, as if embarrassed by the praise. "He was going to hit her. I wasn’t going to let him."
"You’re a credit to your house," Elyne said.
Clara watched, her chest tightening with something close to guilt. She hadn’t done anything. She’d frozen. Just like a scared little girl.
Then Grace turned to her.
Clara met her eyes.
Those brilliant blue eyes… soft, but so deep.
"You stand up for me…" Clara whispered, her voice barely audible.
Grace stepped closer again, gently brushing a stray curl from Clara’s cheek.
"I only did what was right," she said, her voice like velvet. "You’re my friend."
Clara nodded. She believed her. Every word.
She didn’t see the faint shimmer of pink in Grace’s irises.
Only the girl who had stood tall. Who had defended her.
The girl who had saved her.
Her Lady Grace.
Clara knew in that moment that she would follow her anywhere.
Even into the fire.
--::--
Pain bloomed across Elen’s shoulder like fire under her skin.
She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out as Elyne’s fingers pressed against the swelling. Each touch was careful, precise, but even that precision couldn’t stop the ache from growing sharper with every breath.
The boutique no longer felt warm. The fragrance of lilacs and polished wood had faded into something colder, sterile, like a healer’s ward. And the silence was different now. No longer polite. Heavy. Waiting.
"You did well," Elyne said, her voice low. Meant only for her.
Elen blinked.
She’d expected scolding. Maybe concern. But not pride.
"You protected your Lady without hesitation."
Elen’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. She looked away.
It hadn’t been noble. It hadn’t been planned. She’d moved because she had to. Because the blow was coming fast and Grace hadn’t moved. She hadn’t even blinked.
"You’re a credit to your house," Elyne added, her tone softening even further. "Your mother will be proud."
Her mother. A Third Circle battle mage. Personal knight to the Duchess herself.
Elen swallowed. She wasn’t a mage. Not yet. She didn’t have a Mana Core. No Circle. Just instinct. Training. Grit.
But still…
Her eyes drifted past Elyne to Grace.
Grace had not thanked her. She hadn’t even looked at her.
She had stood still while the boy’s fist rose. Perfect. Serene.
Unmoving.
And when he was down, when the guards had finished with him, Grace had simply turned away. Back to Clara. Back to the sobbing girl she held now like a porcelain doll.
Clara had trembled.
Elen had bled.
And Grace… Grace smiled.
Something about that smile made Elen’s skin crawl. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t smug.
It was satisfied.
She turned her attention back to Elyne, who was now standing and barking orders to the guards. Lady Callaire was pale, trying to maintain her composure, but she had already lost control of the moment. Of her apprentice. Of everything.
Elyne’s voice was firm. Final.
"Take him to the Ashford estate. Put him in the dungeon. He raised a hand against a noble child. And worse, he tried to strike the Duchess’s daughter. He will face trial."
Punishable by death. Elen felt the words echo down her spine.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She looked again to Grace. Still hugging Clara. Still smiling.
And for the first time in her life, Elen wasn’t sure if the girl she had protected… even needed protection.
She thought Grace was a delicate but fragile girl.
But what if she had just thrown herself between a fool and a monster?
--::--
Elyne Marren stood perfectly still, her expression calm, her breathing steady, even as the guards hauled the bloodied boy away.
Internally, her thoughts were sharp. Measured. Like a sword being drawn in silence.
She watched Leon slump between the armored men, his bruised face already swelling. She didn’t flinch when he whimpered. She didn’t offer sympathy. The moment he had raised his hand against Grace, everything about his fate had changed.
She turned to Lady Callaire, her voice low, cold, final. "Do not touch him. Do not attempt to punish him. He struck a noble child. Worse, he attempted to strike the noble child. The Duchess’s daughter. His life is no longer yours to decide."
Lady Callaire's lips parted, then closed again. Her face was pale. Smart. She bowed, tight and angry, but she bowed. "Understood."
Elyne nodded once, then turned away.
She had seen too many like Callaire. Prideful. Composed. Terrified of scandal. None of that mattered now. She had duties, not to pride, but to Grace.
Grace.
She had been her governess since the child was two. Watched her first steps. Taught her to hold a spoon, to speak her first words in both noble diction and common fluency. She had seen every smile, every tantrum, every scraped knee.
And yet…
There were moments. Strange ones. Quiet silences where Grace said nothing, but the room felt heavier. Moments where she looked through people instead of at them. Where her stillness wasn’t innocence, but something else.
Elyne always brushed those thoughts away. Grace was brilliant. She was special. She had to be. Of course, she acted differently. She’d been through so much already. She deserved to be happy. She had to be loved.
She moved next to Elen, kneeling to examine the girl’s shoulder. It was already bruising. The girl hissed under her breath but didn’t complain.
"You did well," Elyne said quietly. "Your mother will be proud."
Elen nodded, her face unreadable. Tough little thing. She hadn’t hesitated. That mattered.
But then Elyne's eyes drifted to Grace.
The child had not looked away when the blow had risen. She had not cried. Had not flinched. She had waited, like a statue carved from old marble, her presence heavier than it should have been.
And now?
Now she stood beside Clara, comforting the girl as if she'd never tasted fear.
Elyne watched her closely. Something about Grace always unsettled her.
But she pushed that thought down. Grace had always been mature. Always dignified. It just made her special. It meant she needed more love, not less.
She turned to the guards; her voice crisp.
"Take him to the estate. No detours. No visitors. Lock him in the lower dungeon. I will inform Her Grace personally."
The guards saluted.
Elyne exhaled slowly, then glanced at the ruined display of brooches and scattered silk gloves.
Order would return soon. But her real task had never been keeping the shop in line.
It was keeping Grace safe.
She walked toward her, letting her smile soften. A practiced warmth, but this time it came from a deep place. Not duty. Affection.
The child looked up at her with perfect calm. Still cradling Clara.
Elyne laid a hand gently on her golden braid.
"You were very brave, my Lady."
Grace looked up.
"I only did what was right," she said.
And Elyne smiled back.
Because Grace deserved to be happy.
Even if sometimes, the things she said made Elyne shiver.
--::--
Lady Callaire stood frozen.
She hadn’t moved since the moment the boy fell. Since the moment the noble child’s head snapped to the side and the guards descended like vultures.
Since the moment her apprentice – her boy – had done the unthinkable.
What did you do, Leon?
The thought circled and circled and refused to leave her.
He was twelve.
Just a boy.
Old enough to wield, yes. Old enough to learn runes and formulas. But still young. Still breakable. Still ruled by emotions he didn’t yet know how to name.
She barely registered Elyne’s voice, cold and formal, declaring him guilty. Ordering him to the Ashford dungeon. To trial. Punishable by death.
Death.
Her knees didn’t give out, but only because pride held them together.
Leon. Her apprentice.
He had been rough around the edges when he first came to her. Surly. Too sharp with his words. But curious. Determined. Better than most. He worked harder. Stayed longer. He never complained. Not once.
He would never.
And yet…
She’d seen the bruises blooming on the noble girl’s shoulder. She’d seen his fist raised.
She hadn’t seen the moment before. Only the aftermath. Only the horror.
Why?
What made you snap, boy? You were the best apprentice I’ve had in twenty years. You knew better. You were better.
She turned her head slowly, watching the guards haul him away. He was half-conscious, blood staining his lip and jaw, one eye swollen shut. Her throat burned.
She should have said something. Should have stopped Elyne. But what could she say?
She was a minor noble. Barely clinging to title. Without favor, without land. Only her skills and her shop. If it had been any other child, perhaps she could have interceded. Perhaps she could have shielded him. Claimed misunderstanding. Offered recompense.
But this was the daughter of the Duchess.
There was no shield that could withstand that.
And Elyne...
Elyne terrified her.
Not the guards. Not their swords. Not even the jail cell.
It was the way the air changed when Elyne moved.
The way the mana rippled around her when the screaming started.
Callaire had seen it. The shimmer of barely restrained power. The veil of battle magic woven like a second skin. The readiness.
Elyne Marren was a battle mage.
One of the rare few trained to kill armies.
A woman who could call down storms of blades, rupture lungs with a whisper, reduce cities to ash. Who could end Callaire's life in seconds if she pushed too far.
So she bowed. Tight. Angry. Silent.
And she watched Leon bleed.
It wasn’t like him. That wasn’t him.
She’d seen him frustrated. Seen him grumble and pace and scowl. But never violence.
The boutique was a mess. Brooches on the floor. Velvet torn. Noble girls crying. Elyne issuing quiet, lethal commands like she’d been born to command executioners.
And Grace.
Grace stood in the middle of it all. Perfect. Untouched.
Callaire shivered.
She had looked at the child. Really looked. And something inside her recoiled. Just for a moment. There had been nothing unnatural. No magic. No aura. Just a girl.
But something about her presence…
No. That was fear talking. Panic. Grief. She was making excuses. Looking for something to explain what had happened.
Because if she didn't find a reason –
She might have to accept the truth.
That he had snapped.
That her apprentice had become the thing she feared most: unpredictable. Dangerous. The kind of man the nobility made examples of.
The kind of man they burned.
No. Not Leon.
She remembered the way he laughed when the cauldron exploded in his face last year. The way he carried ingredients like they were treasure. The way he’d asked, once, quiet and shy, if she had ever published her old transmutation theory. Like it mattered to him.
She clenched her fists. She couldn’t save him. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Elyne.
But she could find out why.
Even if it broke her.
--::--
Grace sat perfectly still, her arms gently wrapped around Clara, her small hand stroking the girl’s hair in soothing motions. Her heart was calm. Her mind? Thrumming.
This had been entertaining.
So many reactions. So many faces turned pale. The sound of gasps, of crying, of boots on marble. Of fists meeting flesh. She hadn't expected the boy to strike so openly – not that she had minded. She just gave his mind a little nudge.
She hadn’t moved a muscle as the boy snapped and tried to punch her.
Because why would she?
Elen had done exactly what Grace expected of her. No, more, exactly what she hoped for. Stepped between the strike. Took the blow.
Clara had been shaken. Frightened. And now? Now Clara clung to her like she was light in the darkness. And Grace was happy to play that part.
She smiled faintly against Clara’s shoulder.
And then she heard the soft clicks of boots.
Elyne.
She straightened just slightly. Time for the mask.
Elyne knelt beside her, one hand brushing Grace’s hair. “You were very brave, my Lady,” she said warmly.
Grace looked up, let her lip tremble ever so slightly, and whispered, “I was afraid...” Her voice shook, just a touch. “But I couldn’t cry. Not in front of the others.”
Elyne’s eyes softened. She stroked Grace’s braid with more care.
“You were strong,” she said. “Just like your mother.”
Grace leaned into the touch. Then she pulled away, turning to Clara and Elen.
“Are you both alright?” she asked gently, standing now, her voice as calm and warm as the sun through a window.
Clara sniffled and nodded. “Yes... thank you, Grace.”
Grace took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad. Truly. I’m so proud of you for staying so calm. And I’m sorry this happened...”
Clara’s cheeks pinkened. She gripped Grace’s hand like a lifeline.
Elen hesitated.
“I’m fine,” she said eventually. “It wasn’t your fault. That boy... insulted Clara. Then tried to strike you. You didn’t provoke it.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe something felt off. But nothing worth holding onto.”
Grace nodded solemnly.
“Then shall we carry on?” she asked, her voice light again. “We can go home if you want. But we could also... enjoy the rest of the day. Ignore this nuisance, as it deserves.”
Clara lit up, grateful for the option.
“Yes, please,” she said, her voice still shaking a little. “I... I want to stay. I feel better when I’m with you.”
Elen nodded too, slowly.
“Let’s stay,” she said. “Let this day be something more than one idiot’s mistake.”
Elyne smiled, proud of them all. “Then let us make it a day to remember,” she said, brushing her cloak behind her.
But before they could leave, a voice called out.
Lady Callaire. Pale. Stiff. Braver than expected.
“My Lady,” she said, forcing composure. “Forgive me... but the boy... he’s only twelve. He’s been my apprentice for years. If I may... in light of his age, and his injuries... perhaps we could avoid a death sentence?”
Elyne opened her mouth, but Grace moved first.
She stepped forward, face open and sincere, her voice gentle.
“Lady Callaire,” she said, taking the older woman’s hands in her own. “I don’t bear a grudge. I know he was hurt. I saw it.”
She gave her a soft smile. “I will speak to my mother on his behalf.”
Callaire blinked. “Truly?”
Grace nodded. “He was punished. And he is still a child. We should not let one moment of madness define a life.”
And when Grace smiled again, the room softened around her.
Even Elyne was still. Even the air felt... calmer.
Clara squeezed her hand. Elen gave a small, approving nod. Lady Callaire, for the first time in minutes, exhaled. And Grace... Grace just smiled.
But inside, Grace’s mind hummed.
Let him live? Of course, she would. That idiot child had just become more useful than ever.
He was perfect.
Unstable. Isolated. And now feared.
And best of all, she thought, the guards placed him in the Ashford dungeon. My dungeon.
The smile she gave Callaire was all warmth and softness.
But in her mind, she was already planning.
This time, she mused, I won’t need Corax to play my games. I don’t need his mirror…
This time, I want to see the fear in his eyes myself.