The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 287: The Weight of Devotion

Mira drifted in the space between waking and sleep, her body beginning the slow work of healing while her mind remained mercifully distant from the memories that would haunt her waking hours.

Ryse kept his vigil, one hand still resting gently on hers, his expression carved from stone and old grief.

The door opened quietly.

He looked up, expecting another healer, and found instead Lady Eris, her face still flushed from whatever had happened in the courtyard, her eyes bright with something between fury and fear.

Emperor Soren followed close behind, his expression unreadable.

Eris crossed the room in three strides and dropped to her knees beside Mira’s bed, her hands hovering over the girl’s sleeping form as though afraid to touch, afraid to cause more harm.

Ryse stood, bowing briefly. "My lady."

"How is she?" Eris’s voice came rough, stripped of its usual composure.

"Stable. The healers did excellent work. Physically, she’ll recover." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She woke once. Asked for you specifically."

Something cracked across Eris’s face, guilt, raw and visceral.

She reached out slowly, carefully, and began stroking Mira’s hair with the kind of gentleness that seemed at odds with the woman who’d just tortured someone in a public square.

Soren moved to stand behind her, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Silent support.

Ryse watched them for a moment longer, then quietly excused himself, leaving them to their vigil.

ERIS

I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Mira lay so still beneath the clean white sheets, her face pale against the pillow, bruises painting her skin in shades of purple and yellow. The healers had done their work well, I could see no open wounds, no obvious injuries, but I knew better than to trust appearances.

Some wounds went deeper than flesh.

My fingers moved through her hair in slow, rhythmic strokes. I’d done this before, hadn’t I? In another life, another time, when she’d been sick or frightened or simply in need of comfort she was too shy to ask for directly.

She always came to me. Always looked at me with such complete, unwavering devotion that it sometimes frightened me.

Why?

The question had plagued me for years, both lives, actually. I’d never understood it. Never quite grasped why this girl, who should have hated me as much as everyone else in Solmire did, instead followed me with the loyalty of a soldier following her general into certain death.

I couldn’t even remember how we’d met. Not properly. The memory was there somewhere, buried beneath years of other cruelties, other faces, other nights that all blurred together into one long parade of violence and political maneuvering.

She’d been assigned to me as a maid, I knew that much. Some arrangement made by the palace steward. I’d expected resentment, fear, the barely concealed contempt I got from every other servant.

Instead, I’d gotten Mira.

Looking at me like I’d hung the stars. Like I was something worth serving, worth protecting, worth dying for.

Even in my first life, gods, especially in my first life, she’d been different. While other servants flinched when I entered a room, Mira would smile. While they whispered about the Fire Witch behind closed doors, Mira stood at my side without hesitation.

I’d wondered about it sometimes, in the quiet moments. Tried to remember what I’d done to earn such devotion. Had I saved her from something? Protected her when others wouldn’t?

The memory refused to surface. Just another lost fragment in a life full of them.

And now, looking at her broken body, at the evidence of what had been done to her in the name of hurting me, I felt guilt crash over me like a tidal wave.

This girl had chosen to follow me from Solmire to Nevareth. Had left behind everything familiar, what little she had, to serve in a foreign court among people who despised fire mages and everything they represented.

And this was her reward.

Torture. Starvation. Violation.

All because she’d been loyal to the wrong person.

"It’s not your fault." Soren’s voice came quiet from behind me, his hand still resting on my shoulder.

"Isn’t it?" I didn’t look up, couldn’t tear my eyes away from Mira’s face. "She wouldn’t be here if not for me. Wouldn’t have been a target if she hadn’t, " My voice cracked. "If she hadn’t been mine."

Soren knelt beside me, his presence solid and grounding. "The Ravencrests did this. Not you. They made the choice to hurt her. To use her against you. Their guilt, not yours."

Logically, I knew he was right. But logic had never been particularly effective against guilt.

I continued stroking Mira’s hair, the motion mechanical now, something to do with my hands while my mind churned.

The healer approached, an older woman with kind eyes and gentle hands. I’d demanded the best for Mira, and Soren had ensured I got exactly that.

"My lady." She bowed slightly. "If I may?"

"How long?" I asked without preamble. "How long until she recovers?"

The healer’s expression softened with something that looked like pity. Never a good sign.

"The physical injuries will heal within a fortnight, perhaps three weeks. We’ve treated the burns, set the broken fingers, addressed the malnutrition and dehydration." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Her body will recover, my lady. Given time and proper care."

"As long as she will be fine."

"She’ll live, my lady. Her body is young and resilient. With proper care, adequate nutrition, and time to rest, she should make a full physical recovery." The healer hesitated.

I nodded slowly, processing this. Physical recovery in two to three weeks.

The Ravencrests had already paid a price for what they’d done. Isolde lay in her own cell now, her body a testament to my fury.

But it wasn’t enough.

Would never be enough.

"Thank you." I forced the words past the tightness in my throat. "Ensure she has everything she needs. The best food, the softest linens, whatever might bring her comfort. Cost is no concern."

"Of course, my lady." The healer bowed and withdrew, leaving Soren and me alone with Mira’s sleeping form.

I resumed stroking her hair, the motion soothing even if I wasn’t sure who it was meant to comfort, her or me.

"She’ll recover," Soren said quietly. "She’s stronger than she looks."

"I know." And I did. Mira had always been stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Had to be, to serve me as long as she had without breaking.

But this... this might be too much even for her.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead gently against Mira’s hand where it lay on top of the blankets.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, too quiet for Soren to hear. "I’m so sorry."

For what, exactly, I wasn’t sure. For bringing her here? For being the kind of person whose enemies would use an innocent girl as a weapon? For whatever I’d done or failed to do in that forgotten moment when we’d first met, the moment that had bound her to me so completely?

All of it, perhaps.

Mira slept on, unaware of my apologies, my guilt, my rage on her behalf.

And I stayed at her side, keeping vigil over the girl whose devotion I’d never understood but had come to rely on more than I’d ever admitted.

Even to myself.