The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 170

In the grand estate of Amelia Valerius, the morning sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the meticulously manicured lawns. Inside, the hushed, almost reverent activity of the staff filled the air. Maids, their movements precise, polished already gleaming surfaces until they reflected the opulent gloom, while butlers straightened drapes with meticulous care. One young maid, her brow furrowed in a delicate frown, murmured to her companion, “Truly, why must we polish so diligently? This place is already immaculate.”

Her words, though whispered, did not escape the ears of another maid, whose eyes widened with a spark of intrigue. “I heard whispers amongst the senior servants,” she confided, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “It is said a person of great import is expected to visit Lady Amelia soon. They know not when precisely, nor who it might be, but the anticipation is quite palpable.” A third maid, her imagination taking flight, chimed in, her eyes sparkling, “Could it be a person of consequence from abroad, perhaps? Or even a reclusive noble of great stature?” The maids exchanged a brief, nervous chuckle, the fancy a momentary escape from the estate's oppressive perfection.

Suddenly, the sharp, stinging sound of a slap echoed through the marble hallway, silencing their lighthearted banter instantly. Sarah, Lady Amelia’s personal maid, stood before them, her expression stern. “Silence!” she reprimanded, her voice sharp. “Lady Amelia will not tolerate such frivolous gossip. Your duty is to maintain this estate to her exacting standards, not to indulge in idle speculation that demeans its dignity.” The maids, acutely aware of Sarah’s unwavering loyalty and favored station within the household, immediately straightened, their gazes darting to the polished floor.

“We ask your pardon, Sarah,” one of them mumbled, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Without another word, they dispersed like startled sparrows, resuming their tasks with renewed industry. The earlier levity was utterly extinguished, replaced by the familiar, palpable weight that often permeated the grand estate, a silent, expectant silence for the powerful, unseen guest who would soon grace its halls.

Sarah proceeded down the long, polished hallway, her tread firm and authoritative, her thoughts solely occupied with her mistress’s needs. These simple-minded girls, she thought with cool disdain, they haven’t the faintest notion of the true power they serve. A vampire of ancient, formidable lineage, and they chatter about nobles and fleeting courtships. 

Only a select, trusted few within the sprawling estate knew the true nature of Amelia Valerius, a secret guarded with unwavering, centuries-old vigilance. Reaching a heavy, intricately carved door at the end of the hall, Sarah paused, composing her features, and knocked gently, three distinct taps. A faintest, almost inaudible sigh could be heard from within before a cool, composed voice replied, “Enter.”

Amelia sat in the room shrouded in a perpetual twilight, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the morning sun, creating an atmosphere of opulent gloom. A thick, leather-bound book lay open in her lap, and her clear blue eyes, sharp as arctic ice, were keenly focused on the script before her. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly, a soft, dry murmur escaping them as she read, "Why these two mortals would forge a pact with a demon, risking their very souls, merely to save one woman. Such sentimentality... I confess, I do not understand it."

As Sarah entered, Amelia’s senses immediately registered the subtle shift in the maid’s demeanor. A faint trace of vexation radiated from her, an irritation that hadn't been present moments before. Closing her book with a soft, decisive thud, Amelia looked up. “Sarah,” she said, her voice calm but with an underlying note of keen inquiry, “you seem… agitated. What troubles you?” Centuries of observing mortals—and preying upon them—had honed Amelia’s ability to read their indications: the subtle shifts in posture, the barely perceptible changes in scent, the very tremor of their fleeting passions. 

“Lady Amelia,” Sarah began, her voice tight with ill-concealed vexation, “I overheard some of the other maids gossiping in the West Hall. They were speculating about the important visitor who is expected, indulging in foolish fancies of grand matches and such. Their sheer ignorance… it is infuriating. They have no comprehension of who they serve, the power, and the… the peculiar constitution of this household.” Sarah’s loyalty to Lady Amelia was absolute, a devotion bordering on worship, and the casual obliviousness of the other servants to her mistress’s true eminence felt like a personal affront.

A ghost of a smile, cold as winter frost, touched Amelia’s lips, her clear blue eyes glinting with a predatory amusement. “Let them have their fleeting fancies, Sarah,” she said, her voice laced with a chilling nonchalance. “Those mortals, yourself included, are, after all, merely… sustenance. I often find a certain dark amusement in their naivety, their utter lack of awareness before the inevitable."

"Their fleeting passions, their petty concerns… it is a constant source of diversion. It pleases me to catch them unawares, to witness the surprise and fear bloom in their eyes. It is… a little game I play to pass the tedious centuries.” She trailed off, her gaze distant for a moment, a hint of her ancient, predatory nature surfacing like a shark gliding beneath calm waters.

Amelia’s gaze sharpened then, the amusement fading, replaced by a focused intensity. “And speaking of those who understand my ‘peculiar constitution’,” she said, her tone shifting, an almost imperceptible tightening around her perfect mouth, “has there been any word from Freya? I was expecting a letter, a confirmation of her imminent arrival.” A flicker of impatience, barely contained, danced in her clear blue eyes. The thought of Freya, her Freya, the one who had dared to leave her side, returning to her grasp was a prospect that stirred a complex brew of possessive longing and profound agitation within her.

“No, Lady Amelia,” Sarah replied, her voice the very pattern of respectful deference. “No word from Freya yet.”

Amelia’s delicate fingers tightened slightly as she closed the heavy book and placed it on the nearby antique table with a soft, deliberate thud. She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and imbued with a predatory stillness even in motion. 

“If Freya is still residing in that dusty, wretched little antique shop,” she mused aloud, her voice a low, silken murmur that held a dangerous edge of frustrated affection, “it suggests she no longer harbors the immediate desire to flee. But then… why the delay? Why is she not here

, where she belongs, by my side?” A dangerous annoyance, fueled by a thwarted sense of ownership and what she considered love, colored her tone. Her patience, a virtue she possessed in small measure when it came to Freya, was beginning to fray.“Perhaps… perhaps there is someone else, Lady Amelia,” Sarah ventured cautiously, her gaze lowered respectfully. “A… a new object of her affections… that is causing this hesitation.” She paused, then added with a carefully measured urgency, “Would you wish for me to inquire again, Lady Amelia? To see if Freya is still at the antique shop and to discover the nature of this?” Sarah knew her mistress’s profound, possessive love for Freya, a love that could turn terrifyingly destructive when denied, and the lengths she would undertake to reclaim what she considered irrevocably hers. The idea of another person holding Freya’s attention was a dangerous, intolerable prospect.

“Yes, Sarah,” Amelia said, her voice losing its earlier languor, a sharp edge creeping in, like the unsheathing of a blade. Her clear blue eyes glinted with a cold, unyielding determination. “Go. Go to that little antique shop and confirm Freya’s presence. And if there is… someone else… observe them. Note their appearance, their mannerisms, their precise relationship with Freya. I must know what, or who, is keeping my Freya from returning to where she belongs.” Her tone brooked no argument, the command of an ancient predator unmistakable. 

“And Sarah,” she added, a cruel, anticipatory smile playing on her lips, a flicker of twisted amusement in her eyes, “report your findings to me in meticulous detail. Do not interfere. Not yet. I wish to see what kind of… plaything Freya has amused herself with in my absence, what triviality she could possibly prefer to what I offer. I want to understand the precise nature of this… entanglement Freya has found for herself.” A dangerous, almost eager curiosity, tinged with a jealous possessiveness, sparked in her clear blue eyes.

Amelia's voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr that sent a shiver even down her loyal maid’s spine. Her clear blue eyes gleamed with absolute anticipation as she said, “Once I have a clear understanding of the situation, I will decide how best to proceed. Rest assured, Freya will be reminded, quite persuasively, of where her loyalties – and her heart – truly lie… with me. And this new distraction of hers… will be disposed of accordingly, and with finality.” A chilling certainty filled the room, a silent promise of future action born of a love that would not be denied, a love that left no room for doubt, or mercy.

“Yes, Lady Amelia,” Sarah replied,  her demeanor expressing both respectful diligence and understanding of the depth of her mistress's feelings. “I will go immediately and report back to you with my findings.” With a quick, almost imperceptible nod, she turned to leave. 

As she passed the table where Amelia had been sitting, her eyes flickered down to the book her mistress had been reading. It was a volume Sarah hadn’t seen before, its dark, unadorned leather cover embossed with a subtle, unfamiliar crest. Upon closer glance, Sarah could just make out the title etched beneath the crest: The Taste of Resilience. A flicker of surprise, then a degree of curiosity, crossed her mind. As Lady Amelia’s personal maid and the sole caretaker of her private study, Sarah usually handled all new acquisitions for Lady Amelia's library. She wondered how this particular book had escaped her notice, and what knowledge it might contain.

If you are curious about what Amelia is reading, it is 'The Taste of Resilience.' It remains a mystery how Amelia acquired this heavy, leather-bound book, which seems to possess the same magical quality as the book Freya obtained in special chapter 156. I hope you find it enjoyable!