Three days.

The time passed in a fog, drifting slowly, as cool and silver-silent. Working in what had become my laboratory for hours on end, my task often brewing poisons. I didn't dare to wonder who they would be used on. I worked because it kept my hands busy, and my mind occupied. I worked, because; what else could I do? I was a prisoner. Stone walls, the smell of melting wax candles, silence save the conversations between the family and the moments Antoinetta would poke her head through my curtain to see what I was doing.

"Shit!" I jerked, glaring at my hand where steam had scalded me through my worn, ripped gloves. I muttered, standing back from the boiling cauldron and slipping off my gloves.

"Unbecoming language, darling." Mum smirked as she moved past the curtain, raising a brow at what I held. "Surely you have a better pair?"

"Not with me. Lucien didn't give me time to pack." I glared at her, then softened at her wince and resigned myself to grumbling. "Seen beggar's socks with less holes than these." I gazed at her for a moment, the realization of days passed settling in. "…We're leaving tonight, aren't we." Not a question - there was no point in questioning it.

"Well…" Maman approached, presenting a small, brown package wrapped in twine. "We'll discuss it. But first, open this. I was just in time, it seems."

"Just in time for what?" I frowned, ripping open the paper, sighing. "Oh, mum, you didn't need to…"

Gloves. Beautiful leather gloves, with etchings of spirals and alchemic symbols, thick, but flexible, and strong.

Mum smiled. "Don't fuss, just put them on."

Carefully I put one on, and slipped my hand into the other. I frowned as something jingled, the palm of my hand finding something cold and hard inside the glove. "There's something inside it." With a furrowed brow I pulled it out, blinking at a small key. "What is this?"

Mum grinned. "It's a key. Used for locks."

I rolled my eyes, but giggled. "I mean what is it for."

"A lovely little house here in Cheydinhal. Not far from the chapel." She smirked at my look of surprise. "It's about time you had a place of your own, isn't it?"

"But… mum." I stared at the key, squeezing it in my ungloved hand, imprinting the metal on my flesh. "What about Kvatch? Why…?"

"I can't force you to come with me, cherie." She came close, putting a cool hand on my cheek. "I want you to be happy. To be free. There's only so much I can do, with all you know about the Brotherhood, but at least you won't have to live down here. You could stay here, run a shop, start a family. You'll be - under supervision, to some degree, but you'll have your freedom."

I could only blink, gaping.

"I can't let you leave Cheydinhal, not yet, but this is better then nothing, isn't it?" She smiled sweetly, then laughed. "Speak - you look like a gasping fish."

I stared at her, opening and closing my mouth, with no sound coming out. I couldn't think. I couldn't have my old life back, but this, maybe this was something - yet the words 'under supervision' echoed in my mind, sending slow shivers down my spine. Finally I jerked into motion, moving to capture her in a tight hug, mumbling against her. "Thank you."

"…You've got nothing to thank me for. Consider it my way of paying my debts as a mother."

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her she owed me nothing, but I couldn't lie about what had been stolen. So I only gazed at her quietly, lost in thought. Mum parted her lips, but never spoke.

"You will excuse me for interrupting this heartfelt family moment, I hope." M'raaj Dar scowled at me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He turned his gaze on mum and gave a gracious bow. "This one is to tell you that our Honored Listener wishes to speak with you, Speaker. Then, your daughter."

I froze.

Mum nodded calmly at M'raaj Dar. "I will go immediately. Thank you, brother." She turned to me, raising a brow, a quiet smile on her lips, and whispered, "Mind the lace. Someone will come for you when the Listener is ready." She pecked me on the cheek before leaving. I gazed at her, confused, and echoed her words.

"Mind the lace…"

I gave something between a laugh and a croak. Mind the lace. She had said that in the mansion, so she could tell me to mind my manners and behave without embarrassing us. 'You shouldn't have to be told, but I suppose this is better than nothing'. So when a particularly important guest came along, or when I was toeing the line, she could say…

I began to clean up my laboratory, smiling as a billow of steam that crept out from my cauldron only turned to beads of water on my gloves.

Mind the lace.