"I was looking for you... I expected to find you here," I said, closing the door behind me, as if shutting out the outside world.
His gaze remained fixed on the dense forest beyond the glass. "And why were you looking for me?" he asked softly.
"To understand why you're ignoring me... or perhaps to see the change in you," I said, taking a step closer. "It's been a month since I left the hospital, and I haven't heard from you since."
I meant to be gentler, but my words came out sharp. He finally turned to me, a look of surprise on his face. "I thought you were the one who was angry with me."
"Angry? Why would I be?"
He scratched his forehead, an awkwardness that seemed out of character for his usually stern features. "Didn't my behavior bother you back then?"
I realized immediately that he was talking about that kiss. "You mean the kiss?" His face flushed red, but he quickly regained his composure. "Listen, I'm sorry... that's all. You can leave now. I want to be alone."
"I'm not leaving," I said defiantly. "There's so much we need to talk about."
He exploded, his anger barely contained. "I apologized! I don't want to feel any more guilty, so stay away from me."
"Guilt?" I asked, bewildered. "Why would you feel guilty? I wasn't lying when I said you've changed."
He gave me a look filled with pain and regret. "And how do you expect me to feel? Our last encounter before Joseph shattered you was a sin... I kissed you and felt guilty because you're my sister, then I spent the night searching for you to apologize, only to find you lying in a pool of blood..."
His words pierced my heart. I remembered how vulnerable I had been that night, how I'd been trampled like a fly by fate. "It's not your fault," I whispered. "It's my fault," he replied despairingly. "You're destined to live in this hell because of me. Getting close to you leads me to sin, and sin leads me to a flood of guilt... so..."
"Enough with the apologies!" I interrupted him impatiently. "You make me feel like a rebellious whore and you're just a bunch of timid boys... It's truly embarrassing."
He closed the window and looked at me in surprise. "Enough? Who are you talking about? Did someone else kiss you?"
I shrugged sarcastically. "Two brothers of equal insignificance... I've had two shocks in one day."
"Caster?" he exclaimed in shock. "Caster kissed you?"
I immediately regretted my slip of the tongue. "Don't get so worked up. He made a mistake and apologized, just like you did, so forget about it."
"He's only fifteen, Diana! Is he crazy?"
I smiled bitterly. "And you? Didn't you kiss your sister too?" He paused for a moment, then said, "There's a difference... I'll teach him a lesson."
"Please, don't make my problems worse," I said, sitting on the edge of the desk and playing with my hair wearily. "Day by day, my desire to escape this palace grows stronger... I see unbelievable things here."
He sat on the bed opposite me, his expression serious. "Unbelievable things? More than meeting Joseph?"
"That was suicide... but before that, I saw Caster drink a green potion... I saw his body transform..."
He interrupted me. "That potion helps him..." I cut him off. "I know... Joseph told me about it. The strange thing is, there's more. If it had been any other girl, she would have lost her mind."
He froze. "What did you say?"
"I said she'd become insane..."
"No... what came before that? Did you say Joseph told you?"
I nodded simply. "Yes, Joseph."
He repeated his question in astonishment: "Joseph spoke to you? Explained the potion to you?"
"It wasn't an explanation, just a superficial remark to demonstrate his power... Even if it was an explanation, it was brutal."
"Do you realize what you're saying?" he asked, moving closer. "I thought he shattered you without warning... Did he let you speak to him?"
I laughed sarcastically. "So what? Do you think he's some holy god? Just a pathetic monster like him..." He stopped talking, looking at me with a sad, enigmatic gaze. "When I was searching for you and found you in that state... I felt..."
He paused, struggling for his words. I smiled gently, watching his pained expression, and waited for him to continue.
I whispered encouragingly, "You felt that you... were going to lose me?"
A look of surprise crossed his face when he saw me smile at him with that sudden, childlike innocence, as if my laughter could erase the weight of the room.
"Please don't make fun of me," he said in a low voice. "I'm serious..." I replied with equal sincerity, "I'm not making fun of you... I'm serious too. Do you remember when we were at the bar, and you said you were afraid of losing me?"
He lowered his head, as if carefully weighing his words. "I meant a different kind of loss... for you to leave, to disappear from my sight. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying I love you in that way, but I don't want you to be gone. However, what I saw that day was a loss I hadn't anticipated; I felt I had lost your very life, for your death was the last thing I could bear to think about."
He spoke with a disappointment tinged with a subtle sadness. Despite the short time I spent with him, I felt the warmth of his words envelop me, in a way I hadn't experienced since my father's passing.
Trying to soften his remorse, I said, "You gave me hope... Do you remember? You told me he wouldn't kill me, that he just wanted me. You were wrong, and Joseph himself told me so; he said I wasn't even on his radar."
His expression shifted to one of astonishment. "So I misunderstood and put your life in danger? If it weren't for that false hope, you wouldn't have risked going into the library."
I sighed wearily. "For God's sake... it's none of your business. I went into the library to save myself."
"I still don't understand..." he asked, puzzled. "Why did you go in when you knew perfectly well it was a restricted area?"
I told him the truth I'd been hiding: "Detective Adam... asked me to get the book 'The Green Potion.'"
He clutched his head in his hands, exasperated. "Are you joking? And you listened to him like a fool?" I shrugged. "He told me it would help me... that getting it was my ticket out of here."
"And you believed him?" he snapped. "What does a recipe book have to do with your escape? The palace is currently the safest place for you as part of the family. The real danger begins the moment you step outside."
"There's no danger greater than what I saw with my own eyes that day," I retorted bitterly. The image of Joseph and his severed hand flashed before my eyes.
"Remember the dog he killed because it attacked me?" I continued sarcastically. "He told me he killed it because it failed to kill me... and you're saying he wants me! It seems his desire to get rid of me has intensified because his sedative isn't working on me."
"What?" he asked, his tone utterly serious.
"He was angry because his sedative didn't work on me that night like it did on everyone else," I concluded.
Stacker remained silent for a long time, staring at me as if reading an unfamiliar book. Then he said, "Diana... the sedative only works on those who have magic in their veins."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean his spells work on normal people. Anyone who isn't affected by them... is a sorcerer like him. Are you a sorcerer, Diana?"
I burst into hysterical laughter, a laugh that came from the depths of my heart. The idea itself was stranger than fiction. A sorcerer? Me, whom that monster had crushed like an insect?
"Are you joking? Please, this isn't the time for jokes."
He said coldly, "I'm serious."
I stopped laughing and asked him defiantly, "Then why doesn't it work on you too? Are you a sorcerer?"
He shook his head. "It works on me, but sometimes he chooses not to sedate me and Grandma Suntra... As for you, he said he's angry because his magic 'didn't work.' There's a difference."
I conjured up the image of the new "Regina" and asked, "What about that woman... Regina?"
He hesitated, as if hiding a heavy secret, then finally said, "Regina won't be swayed by magic. Do you remember the Red Seven, the cult Joseph led? She was the only female member."
I bit my lip to suppress my anger; my intuition hadn't failed me. She was a new problem with captivating features. "I thought the cult members were all dead?"
He said, his gaze drifting to the ground, "No... some of them ran away. And she was never his enemy; she was his childhood friend, she grew up with him here in the palace... she loved him, and she still does."
"Is there a relationship between them?"
"I don't know... she was like a devoted servant to him, but a serious relationship? I don't think so. At the height of his power, he was preoccupied with his strength, and she tried to attract his attention and failed... I think she's come back now for his sake."
I loved his candor, the way he thought aloud in front of me. Finally, I asked, "Do I pose a threat?"
He replied with bitter pragmatism, "Whether I pose a threat or not, it doesn't change the fact that Joseph is the main force here... and she's just a byproduct."
He was right; her presence only heightened my anxiety. I no longer knew where to look—at the leader lurking in the shadows, or at his "concubine" who had returned to seek his resurrection.
I didn't want this gloomy atmosphere to engulf us any further; every conversation with Stacker began with the scars of the past and ended with a tender, warm touch. I remembered when he comforted me by talking about my father and making me that rustic coffee whose aroma still lingers in my memory.
"You know what? I'm going to test myself now to see if I remember your rustic coffee recipe," I said, trying to banish the ghosts from the room.
I got up and went to the small cupboard, took out the clean equipment, and began preparing it slowly. Every time I glanced back at him, I found him watching me with a calm smile, a look of pure admiration untouched by the clamor of the palace. "At least I've helped you with one thing that doesn't put your life in danger," he said with a gentle joke.
"You still haven't told me... what's the name of this servant whose room you're occupying?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the coffee bubbling.
"That's right... his name is Urasagi, but we call him 'Sage.' His mother is Japanese and his father is Russian; he has sharp, stern Russian features, yet carries a gentle Japanese name."
"Urasagi... Saage," I spelled out the name slowly as the coffee simmered gently. "A Japanese-Russian mix? I was curious to see how these genes came together in one face."
He gave a short laugh and got out of bed, heading towards the desk. "I think I have an old photo album of us together when I was little... you can look at it."
He opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through old books and magazines until he pulled out a gray album. He blew on it to clear the dust of years, then took out a small photograph, smoothed it with his hand, and held it up to me. "This is Urasagi," he said.
I turned off the heat in the kettle and turned around with a smile, but my blood ran cold and my face turned ashen. My heart sank, and I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to force my lungs to breathe.
It wasn't a mystery; it was a terrifying reality. The man in the picture was the same man who had been watching me in the streets of Edinburgh, the same one who had appeared in my nightmare dressed as a Roman Catholic priest, the same one with the white beard, the round face, and the stern gaze that haunted my mind.
I had sensed the danger in my dream, and my father had been right; nightmares are a warning of reality.
"Diana! Are you alright?" Stacker cried anxiously, grabbing my arm to steady me.
I realized my reaction had been too obvious, but the danger was faster than me. Stacker pulled me to the bed and sat me up, then quickly fetched a glass of water. "Why are you so pale? Do you know him? Tell me what's going on!"
Suspicion was etched on his face, but I refused to implicate him. He loves this man, and if he finds out the truth, he'll search for him. My intuition tells me that Sagi isn't just a servant; he's a serious threat.
I swallowed hard and conjured up a desperate lie: "Nothing... I just... saw his picture and remembered my father. He looks just like my father."
I closed my eyes, praying that Stacker would never see my father's picture. My dark-skinned, tattooed, scarred Mexican father with sleepy eyes bears no resemblance to this white, angry-faced Russian man.