A Background Character’s Path to Power Chapter 442: Damsel Yet Again [2]

"How is it? Tasty?"

A sweet smile played on her pale lips as she inquired, yet her crimson eyes fixed upon me with a piercing stare that sent shivers down my spine.

I forced down the chilly, soggy pulp, plastering a cheerful grin across my features.

"It’s the best food I’ve ever eaten in this world!"

My response came with unwavering sincerity.

And that was no falsehood.

In comparison to the nightmarish dishes she had inflicted on me earlier, this qualified as a feast fit for kings.

Those inky soups teeming with squirming void ooze. The greens made from shrieking lichen. The cuts of meat sliced from creatures that healed right on the dish.

Each prior serving had nearly propelled me toward the great beyond.

Without my unflinching instructor Zephyr compelling me to develop resistance to deadly toxins during academy days, I’d have perished in froth on day one within this spire.

My compliments drew a radiant glow to the Mistress’s face. The oppressive weight in the chamber eased a touch, giving way to a glowing, if still daunting, affection.

"Thank you, dear."

My smile held steady.

"Let’s sit."

With a wave, I indicated the luxurious velvet seat by the window.

She floated across the floor, her steps noiseless and elegant, claiming the chair as if ascending to her royal seat. Shadows in the space appeared to cluster at her base, behaving like devoted hounds.

Perching on the bed’s brink opposite her, I inclined toward her a bit, assuming the stance of a keen pupil.

"Can you teach me again today?"

My question pointed toward the hefty, leather-covered volume on the petite table separating us.

The Mistress halted. Her crimson gaze shifted from my countenance to the volume, a hint of hesitation flashing over her ashen visage. Her digits tapped softly against the chair’s arm.

"Again?" she whispered, her tone resembling a gentle gust through a tomb. "We have studied so much recently. Perhaps we should just rest..."

"Please?" I urged softly, expanding my eyes slightly. "I want to hear your voice. I want to understand the words you speak."

She wavered a bit more, her stare probing mine for traces of trickery. Detecting nothing, courtesy of my perfected performance abilities, she at last exhaled and agreed.

"Very well, dear."

Extending her arm, her slender, pallid fingers parted the weighty cover.

"Thank you!"

Grinning widely, I scooted nearer to peer at the swirling, disordered lettering across the sheets.

Her reading commenced, her voice crafting a mesmerizing, ghostly tune while she unpacked the intricate rules of the Nemure language. Nemure served as the true title of their realm.

I paid close heed, bobbing my head appropriately and posing queries to demonstrate my interest.

Yet, under my blameless exterior, my thoughts whirled furiously, piecing together each detail she revealed.

Truth be told, the preceding two and a half months in this opulent prison hadn’t been wasted in leisure.

While enacting the role of the delicate, obedient partner, I had labored relentlessly on the vital phase of my getaway scheme: Communication.

Upon my initial entry, the tongue divide was total.

Back then, her utterances hadn’t registered as words to me. They formed a frigid, otherworldly hum that skipped my hearing and thrummed inside my head, icy and baffling.

I’d even believed she menaced and damned me, easing only once her actions proved harmless.

Still, I realized that not knowing spelled doom here.

Thus, I improvised and adjusted.

During the opening fortnight, I endured through gestures and basic signals alone. I demonstrated the sign language from my knowledge, but it eluded her. Apparently, it varied in this realm, or didn’t exist.

Bit by bit, we forged a foundation.

She grasped some human terms, while I started unraveling the odd, tuneful sounds of her speech.

With simple exchanges possible, I seized the chance.

Drawing on all my reasoning, I argued with her, pointing out that for true closeness, signs and scant phrases fell short.

Subsequently, I added that quietude would foster tedium over time, and genuine comprehension demanded I grasp her world more deeply.

Initially, she resisted. Maybe she favored a companion kept in happy oblivion.

But in the end, her craving for a "deeper connection" prevailed.

Lessons from her began.

Each day, I soaked up the Nightmare Realm’s dialect: hearing, perusing, inscribing, and uttering.

And presently, following months of arduous sessions, near mastery was mine.

Volumes on the racks became readable.

Murmurs from shadows beyond the entrance grew intelligible.

And crucially, unveiling the spire’s mysteries could start at last.

"Swip."

At length, she shut the thick leather tome with a muted thump.

"That should be enough for today."

Reclining in her seat, her crimson eyes sparkled with blended approval and examination.

"Now, tell me. How would you ask for ’water’ in the formal nemure dialect, and what is the correct honorific to use when addressing a chaotic spirit?"

This posed a quiz.

Without delay, I aligned my posture and replied smoothly, my inflection echoing her spectral timbre as well as human cords permitted.

"You would say ’Vahl-koreth’, and the honorific is ’Xul’."

She regarded me briefly, then a broad, authentic grin spread over her countenance.

"Perfect," she commended, extending to stroke my hair. "You really learned well, dear. Your adaptation speed is frighteningly impressive."

"It is only because I had the best teacher," I responded effortlessly, tilting into her caress (don’t misunderstand, this was her way of rewarding me, and I had my reasons!).

And this time, the words rang true.

For all her horrifying essence, she proved an outstanding instructor unexpectedly.

Temper never flared from her, harsh language stayed absent, and she methodically fixed each error until perfection dawned. Absent her role as a disastrous being confining me, she’d excel as a lecturer.

"You flatter me, dear," she laughed lightly. "Now, we should rest. Studying consumes a lot of mental energy."

Rising seemed her intent, perhaps to lead me to slumber or depart for my "nap."

I denied with a swift head shake.

"Did you forget it?"

She froze, cocking her head, her snowy locks tumbling over her shoulder akin to a cascade of moonlight.

"Forget what?"

"You promised me," I stated, locking eyes with hers in a look of sheer, unwavering eagerness. "You said you would take me out. You promised to show me the castle today."

"...Did I?"

Blinking, she appeared truly puzzled.

"Yes," I affirmed with a solid nod. "You did."

"This..."

Conflict etched her features.

Her sight flicked to the sturdy oak portal, then returned to my enthusiastic expression. Mental cogs spun visibly, balancing the perils of freeing her delicate "husband" to roam against the wish to gratify him.

My eyes gleamed with hope.

At last, her frame relaxed. A gust like canyon winds escaped her lips in a sigh.

"Alright."

"Thank you!"

Leaping from the bed, I concealed my ease behind thrill.

She rose, her umbra extending to cloak me across the space.

"But you must stay close to me," she cautioned, her pitch lowering. "Do not wander off. The Spire... is not always kind to guests."

"I promise."

Its terrors were known to me somewhat. Or the surface.

Her palm outstretched.

I clasped it. Her flesh felt icy, akin to sculpted stone, yet my grip stayed strong.

Side by side, we approached the door.

A ponderous click released the latch, and the panel parted.

We emerged.

Inhaling deeply, I savored the musty, electric atmosphere of the passage.

This marked the third occasion I’d escaped this oppressive chamber in two and a half months.

Yet the earlier pair had ended in defeat. She permitted mere steps along the shadowy hall before herding me inward, claiming weariness overtook me or the atmosphere proved "too heavy". But protection lurked in her intent. Merely recalling those weighty, ominous stares and my own lethargic, unnatural strides sent ice along my back.

Today, though, carried a distinct flavor. Far more so.

Passing the spot of our prior retreat under her guidance, my pulse thundered in my chest.

At last, the remainder of this prison would reveal itself.