This second person, rather than his wife as I initially assumed, appeared to be Daphne's older sister. She bore a striking physical resemblance to my hostess, though she projected a maturity and sophistication absent in my young benefactor. Her long blonde hair rested elegantly on her shoulders, and her keen blue eyes constantly assessed her surroundings. She wore a short-sleeved pink dress that, by its craftsmanship and fabric quality, I estimated would be worth the annual sustenance of a large family, complemented by high-heeled red shoes that perfectly harmonized with her outfit's chromatic details.
—I sincerely appreciate your hospitality —I performed a bow upon meeting their gaze, carefully modulating my voice to convey respect without slipping into servility that might arouse suspicion.
—It's fine, it's fine. Consider yourself at home —the patriarch responded with a dismissive gesture that I interpreted as an indication he habitually tolerated his youngest daughter's philanthropic initiatives.
Daphne smiled carefree, extending her arms in an expansive gesture to emphasize her stance. The older sister responded with a restrained laugh at the familiar scene.
—If we help those in need, happiness will eventually return to us multiplied, won't it? —she commented with an ambiguous tone oscillating between philosophical sincerity and veiled irony.
—Sister! I don't do it for that! —Daphne protested, her cheeks visibly flushing.
—Just teasing, little one —her sister gave her a dazzling smile that, however, didn't fully warm the coldness in her eyes.
—Come with me, please —Daphne bid her family an informal farewell as she led me to another section of the mansion—. You must be hungry, and while we eat, you can tell me more about yourself.
I followed her steps while observing the complex family dynamic I had just witnessed. They undoubtedly belonged to the privileged elite, but the subtle tensions revealed a more intricate family structure than it appeared. The father, clearly preoccupied with external matters absorbing his attention; the older sister, subtly cynical about Daphne's charitable impulses; and my young hostess, possibly well-intentioned but dangerously naive given the current sociopolitical environment.
Her personal study turned out to be a surprising circular room strategically located in one of the mansion's side towers. Bookshelves filled with tomes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a bronze telescope pointed at the night sky through a panoramic window as we headed toward a sitting area furnished with scarlet velvet sofas. In the center, a round table was already set with steaming dishes, fresh fruit, and a pitcher of what appeared to be red berry juice.
—Please, sit —Daphne elegantly took a chair and gestured courteously to the seat across from her—. I hope you enjoy the lamb stew. It's our cook's specialty.
I sat on one of the sofas, feeling my muscles relax after hours spent on the hard cobblestone streets. However, I maintained my mental alertness. This comfort represented a valuable opportunity to gather information about the disappearances I had come to investigate.
—Do you live alone in this huge mansion? —I asked, trying to make my curiosity seem casual and innocent.
—Not exactly —Daphne replied—. My father frequently travels for business, and my mother passed away when I was little.
—It must be lonely sometimes —I commented, noting how her blue eyes darkened slightly.
—Sometimes, yes —she admitted with a melancholic smile.
—It's very kind of you to offer shelter to a stranger —I remarked, simultaneously assessing the most effective way to gradually steer the conversation toward useful information about the mysterious disappearances—. Is it something you do often?
—My mother used to do it frequently —Daphne smiled with evident nostalgia as she served me a generous portion of the aromatic stew—. She said our fortune morally obligated us to share it. Since she passed, I try to honor her memory by continuing that tradition. That's why I like helping people like you. It makes me feel I can do something useful with my privilege.
—My deepest condolences —I responded with genuine empathy, recognizing the authentic pain that momentarily veiled her gaze. Though my investigative mission was my top priority, I couldn't help but feel sincere compassion for her suffering—. It must be hard.
—It is, undeniably —she nodded, and for a fleeting moment, I perceived vulnerability in her usually composed expression—. But every person I manage to help gives me the comforting feeling that she's watching, pleased, from somewhere. My father tolerates it, though he's more concerned with… other matters.
This casual revelation was the opportunity I had been waiting for. With exquisite care not to show disproportionate interest that might arouse suspicion, I formulated my next approach while savoring the exquisite stew, whose complex blend of aromatic herbs and exotic spices painfully reminded me I hadn't eaten proper, nutritious food in days.
—What kind of matters? —I asked casually.
—Times are complicated in Sherazade —her expression visibly darkened, and I noticed her fingers tense imperceptibly around the ornate silver spoon—. There are growing social tensions. Inexplicable disappearances. My father barely gets proper rest in his obsessive attempt to resolve these troubling issues.
—I've heard rumors about those disappearances —I commented, adopting an appropriately concerned but not overly alarmed tone—. Is it as bad as they say?
—Worse, I'm afraid —Daphne sighed deeply, setting her cutlery on the tablecloth and directing her gaze toward the window offering a panoramic view of the city illuminated by countless lamps—. Nearly thirty people have vanished inexplicably in the last month. There's no identifiable pattern: young, old, wealthy, destitute… They simply disappear without a trace. The Parliament fears it's the work of Danafor insurgents, but my father isn't convinced.
Thirty people. The figure was significantly higher than the information Mica had shared with me before assigning this risky infiltration mission. The situation had clearly deteriorated at an alarming rate, and I wondered how many crucial details were being deliberately withheld from public knowledge.
—What does he think? —I tried not to betray the intense interest I truly felt.
—That there's a group of assassins targeting their victims at night, terrorizing Sherazade —she replied in a hushed voice, as if fearing eavesdroppers might catch her words—. Their preferred targets seem to be high-ranking officials and prominent members of the nobility.
A coordinated group of assassins. This information aligned with surprising precision with the preliminary suspicions Mica had shared during my briefing before sending me on this dangerous covert mission. It was imperative to delve deeper into this revelation, to obtain specific names, identify operational patterns, and possible motives, but my survival instinct urged extreme caution to avoid arousing potentially lethal suspicions. I determined that, for now, I had gathered enough preliminary information, and the wisest strategy was to pause this line of questioning, build my hostess's trust, and seek additional data in the coming days.
—I appreciate your hospitality and trust —I expressed upon concluding that extraordinary dinner, conveying genuine gratitude despite my hidden intentions.
—We must all support each other in these difficult times —Daphne replied with a radiant smile that momentarily lit up the room—. Maybe one day you, too, can do something good for someone in need!
Her unwavering idealism was authentic and, paradoxically, reminded me of the true motivations driving my dangerous mission: to protect innocent people like her—and my orphaned siblings, who now crucially depended on my skills—from threats they couldn't comprehend in their terrifying magnitude.
—Absolutely —I nodded thoughtfully, considering the profound irony that my particular way of "doing something good" involved infiltrating Sherazade's most dangerous circles to uncover the sinister truth behind the troubling disappearances.
I politely bid Daphne farewell and followed the butler, Edgar, whose precise movements confirmed my earlier suspicion of his specialized training, to the room assigned for my rest.
The so-called "guest room" was the size of an entire communal hall. A majestic canopied bed carved with mythological scenes, finely crafted wooden furniture, and a window offering a perfect view of the expansive rear gardens and, beyond, the city of Sherazade stretching to the horizon, shrouded in nocturnal mist.
As I lay on the luxurious mattress, more comfortable than any surface I had ever rested on, I reflected on the final, solemn instructions Mica had given me before starting this mission: Do not place your full trust in anyone, even those who project genuine kindness. Often, the warmest smile hides the darkest and most dangerous secrets.