At eleven years old, Celestia understood that time was running out. The autumn morning cast long shadows through her study windows, where frost had begun to edge the glass despite the unseasonable warmth. Her grape vines, now a thick curtain of green and purple, rustled with an anxiety that matched the tension in the air.
"Young miss," Clara hurried into the laboratory, her water magic agitated enough to make the crystal vials hum. Right now, her role as spymaster had made her sensitive to the duchy's political currents. "Imperial representatives are here. Again."
Celestia carefully sealed the vial she'd been working on—her latest attempt to combine holy power with traditional medicine. The crystal lamps above cast precise light over her workstation, highlighting the golden swirls of power contained within the glass. "The third visit this month," she noted, watching how her holy power made the liquid shimmer like captured starlight. "What's their excuse this time?"
"Officially? Discussing trade routes." Clara's network of informants had grown sophisticated over the years, her water magic creating complex patterns that mapped information flows through the duchy. "Unofficially? They're evaluating both you and Lady Rosalind."
James entered silently, his presence steady as always. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had grown up protecting secrets. "The count of Eastmark's party arrived with them. His son can't take his eyes off Lady Rosalind."
Celestia absorbed this information, her mind working like Elizabeth Crawford's had during hostile takeover attempts. The crystal lamps dimmed slightly, matching her thoughtful mood. "And our parents?"
"The duchess has been showing off Lady Rosalind's accomplishments," Clara reported, her water magic forming intricate patterns that mimicked the social dances taking place in the main house. "But when the imperial representatives asked about you..."
"Let me guess," Celestia smiled slightly, though it didn't reach her eyes. The morning light caught her carefully contained power, creating brief halos around the crystal vials. "They suddenly remembered their other daughter exists?"
Through the window, she could see the elaborate garden party being held for the visitors. Rosalind, now ten and increasingly beautiful, performed on the harp while noble guests watched admiringly. The autumn air itself seemed to shimmer around her sister, enhancing her performance with natural magic. The count's son, a youth of fourteen, stood particularly close, his attention never wavering from the young musician.
Theodore caught her eye from across the garden, their golden thread humming with shared understanding. The crystal lamps pulsed gently, responding to their silent communication.
"They're planning marriages," Celestia said quietly, watching how the duchess positioned herself to best display Rosalind's charms. The grape vines rustled uneasily, as if sharing her concern. "The emperor wants to restructure noble alliances, and House Blackwood needs to secure its position."
"But surely they wouldn't—" Clara began, her water magic swirling protectively around Celestia.
"Use their cursed daughter as a convenient solution if their plans for Rosalind fall through?" Celestia turned back to her work, remembering Elizabeth Crawford's lessons about being used as a backup plan. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been used as a backup plan."
The laboratory had expanded over the years, now hidden behind what appeared to be ordinary storage rooms. Here, she combined her unique abilities with knowledge from her past life. Medicines that shouldn't exist, innovations that shouldn't be possible—all distributed secretly through a network of trusted merchants and healers. The crystal lamps cast precise shadows over her work, their light responding to each successful combination of holy power and natural elements.
"The east wing's influence has grown too strong to ignore," James observed, helping her package the latest batch of healing tonics. The crystal light caught the subtle magical enhancements she'd worked into each remedy. "People are asking questions about House Blackwood's unusual prosperity."
"Let them ask." Celestia checked her ledgers—another innovation she'd introduced quietly. "The duke takes credit for it anyway."
A burst of laughter from the garden drew their attention. The imperial representatives were leaving, but not before the count's son made a show of kissing Rosalind's hand. The duchess watched with calculating eyes, her power creating an almost visible aura of satisfaction.
Later that evening, Celestia made her way through the secret passages she'd mapped years ago. These days, they extended beyond the east wing, creating a hidden network throughout the estate. Elizabeth Crawford had taught her the value of escape routes.
She paused near the duke's study, where voices drifted through the walls. The crystal lamps in the passage dimmed automatically, helping her remain undetected.
"The emperor expects an answer soon," the duke was saying, his voice carrying the weight of political pressure. Through the gap beneath the door, Celestia could see shadows moving across the study's rich carpets. "We can't risk offending him, but Rosalind is too young..."
"Then we use the other one," the duchess replied, her tone sharp as winter frost. The crystal lamps in the study flickered with her agitation. "She's caused enough trouble in that wing of hers. Let her finally serve some purpose."
"The count's son won't be pleased. He's clearly set his sights on Rosalind."
"He'll accept what he's given, if the emperor commands it."
Celestia continued on, mind already adapting plans. In her laboratory, she reviewed her most important creations—medicines, documents, contracts, all carefully hidden and protected. The evening light caught the golden swirls of power in her healing potions, making them glow like captured stars.
"Clara," she called softly, her voice barely disturbing the evening air. "How quickly can we convert our assets if needed?"
Clara understood immediately, her water magic forming complex patterns that mapped their resources. "Everything's arranged according to your instructions, young miss. We can move within days if necessary."
"Good." Celestia touched the grape vines that now covered entire sections of the east wing's walls. They thrummed with combined holy and magical power—proof that impossible things were possible. "Because I think we'll need to move sooner rather than later."
That night, she met Theodore in their secret garden spot, where moonlight painted silver patterns through the leaves of her unusual plants. "They're going to try something soon," he warned, his voice carrying the same quiet strength she'd worked so hard to help him build. "The duchess... she looks at you the way she used to, before..."
Before they'd tried to contain her as a baby. Before they'd failed.
"I know," Celestia squeezed his hand, feeling their golden thread pulse with shared concern. The crystal lamps around the garden dimmed in response to their mood. "But this time, I'm ready."
In her rooms, she reviewed her contingency plans one last time. Elizabeth Crawford had lost everything by being unprepared. Celestia Blackwood wouldn't make the same mistake.
And in the darkness, as imperial carriages disappeared down the duchy's roads, the roses in her garden bloomed blood-red—a warning only she could read. The crystal lamps cast long shadows across her study, where plans and preparations lay ready for whatever storm approached.
The time was coming. But this time, she would be the one controlling the tide.