Scofield directed us to a room with a comfortable-looking dark violet couch. As I sat there, I tried my best to keep a straight face, I really did. You might be wondering why I was so unnerved. No, it wasn’t because I was afraid of meeting my own uncle, rather, the problem lies on the other side of my coin.
Feyt was dying. Almost, at least.
I had run two laps around the estate’s garden, and I believed someone switched my legs with jello halfway through. Two laps might not sound like much, but with a garden the size of a small town? I was lucky my legs didn’t up and leave me for abusing them.
It took all my strength to not collapse right then and there, and the heat wasn’t helping either. Sweat dripped down my forehead and my shirt was soaked through.
And all the while? Anton lounged under a tree, flipping through a book. He didn’t even pretend to look like he was competent.
“Pick up the pace, slowpoke!” Anton shouted without tearing his attention from his book.
I was pretty sure I was the same speed: around a year of my lifespan per hour. Well, whatever. I pushed forward, forcing the jello in the place of my feet to move harder and faster. I somehow managed another lap before dropping to my knees.
“Now, two more laps. Chop-chop!”
Thankfully, on the other side, Carine and the others are still waiting on that comfy couch. I grew a small sense of envy at my other self for having a nice place to sit.
Five laps later, I crumpled into the grass like discarded laundry. Sweat dripped down my face as I gasped for air. My muscles screamed louder than Anton’s occasional yawn.
“Break’s over,” he called casually, tossing a bucket of water my way. “You’ve got pull-ups next. Hydrate first—don’t want you passing out. That’d be my paperwork nightmare.”
My arms were already trembling at the idea of pull-ups, but I guzzled the water and dragged myself to the set of iron bars located near the center of the training grounds.
I gripped the bar, my palms slick despite drying them on my shirt. On the first pull, my shoulders burned. By the second, my arms started threatening mutiny. Anton watched with mild amusement, still with an open book in his hand.
“Three’s your limit?” he asked after my fourth pull-up. “Huh. You’re worse than I thought.”
And whose fault is that?!
In what world can someone do a proper pull-up after being drained of all stamina with a marathon?
I didn’t know who to blame here really. Anton or Father. Anton was harsh, and quite incompetent at instructing too. He never gave any advice and he only gave the bare minimum of effort to make sure I didn’t die.
Father, on the other hand, was the one who scheduled this whole schedule. The note had mentioned that it would start small at first, hence why I only did five laps instead of the scheduled ten. But that list was what Father hoped I could do daily one day.
I would go freaking bald if that came true.
I could only manage nine pull-ups before truly running out of breath. My vision blurred for a moment before I heard the frantic clicking of boots against the stone path.
Eliza appeared in my narrow vision, looking more distressed than I was, which was saying something. She knelt down immediately, her hands resting on my shoulder.
“Are you alright? You’re burning up!” Her voice was sort of panicky, and I appreciated that. At least someone had heart around here.
“Anton, you went too far!”
Anton, who had been leaning casually against the nearest tree trunk, finally closed his book. He strolled over, looking relaxed. “I was just following orders. Duchess’s instructions were to push him to his limits. Seems like I did okay!” He sounded way too happy with himself there.
Eliza stood up and glared daggers at him, her hands on her hips now. “This isn’t pushing him to his limits, it’s pushing him over the cliff! Look at him! He’s barely conscious!”
As if on cue, I felt my head getting lighter. I had no choice but to close my eyes just to hold back some of the headache.
Anton waited for a moment longer before sighing and crouching down. “Alright, alright, maybe I went a little too far,” he said with a tone so dismissive I was sure he did an eye roll. “Fine. Tomorrow, we’ll take it easier. Happy now?”
Eliza replied with a sigh of her own. “You think tomorrow’s going to happen after this? Sir Feyt needs to have a day’s rest at the least.”
Eliza turned back to me and crouched again. “Can you stand, Sir Feyt?”
“Y-Yeah, I think so,” I croaked.
“Good. I’ll take you to your room. You need rest.”
She slung my arm over her shoulder and began helping me toward the estate. Every step felt like a mountain climb, but her presence alone made all the pain melt away.
Behind us, Anton lingered, scratching the back of his head. “Sheesh,” he muttered under his breath, but my ears just so happened to pick his voice up, “I didn’t want to go that far either, you know? Orders are orders.”
That finally confirmed it. The ultimate culprit behind my current misery wasn’t Anton or Father.
It was Mother. I wasn’t sure if she did it out of concern like she had for Carine’s studies, or that she just wanted to torture me. The possibility of both being true wasn’t small either.
I should’ve really guessed it by now, though, knowing how she was. But oh well, I had better things to do, like fainting.
Eliza brought me to my bed, and I could finally sit on something that wasn’t hard rock this time. I sank into it, more than ready to lose consciousness.
“T-Thank you, Miss Eliza,” I managed to pull the words out of my dying throat.
“My pleasure, Sir Feyt,” she replied smoothly. “However, before you rest, I suggest you change into fresh clothes and drink some water.”
True, wouldn’t want to sleep with this sticky second skin of mine. With a monumental effort, I pushed my aching body off the bed to grab a change of clothes while Eliza slipped out to refill the water jug.
With Feyt fully settled and blissfully resting, I, Carine, could finally take a breather. At least I wouldn’t have to greet my family half-dead.