5

During a hearty breakfast the following morning, Amber's mother asked if she was okay in Isis's home.

Amber had already understood that life taught lessons, and she believed she had just learned one that she needed to apply. Hence, she had to say something to stop her mother from suspecting she was going through any kind of hell at Isis’s home.

“You worry too much, Mother. I’m fine. Remember, they even changed my wardrobe.”

Miriam seemed convinced, given the smile she gave Amber. Amber was relieved that her mother did not have to worry about how she was being treated at Isis’s house — even though, right there, she remembered an ugly incident that always broke her heart whenever it came to mind. In the short time she had been there, the bad experiences were already piling up.

She could still see the smoke rising from her burning clothes on the ground, around which stood a sad-looking her, a laughing Rhea, and a disdainful Isis. They were all staring down at the flames behind Isis’s house.

“So you miss these rags?” Isis had scoffed.

“I liked the dress with many colors,” Amber had said tearfully. “My mother made it for me. She spent days on it.”

“She spent days on it,” Rhea immediately mimicked her, increasing her hurt.

“You will not wear rags in my home,” Isis roared. “They stink. My God, I fear it will take ages to get the stink of poverty off you.”

Amber had started to cry, and Isis had simply ignored her and stormed back inside the house while Rhea, with a snort, had followed behind her, both of them abandoning her in the blue state they were responsible for putting her in. Amber could still recall the salty taste of her tears of humiliation as she continued to stare at her burning clothes.

Her mind returned briefly to the present, but another memory followed immediately.

Amber moved silently through the polished halls of Isis’s estate, her bare feet muffled by the woven mats beneath her. The mid-morning light filtered in through latticed windows, painting golden patterns on the marble floor. Her task today was to dust the study, a room filled with books Isis’s late husband had used as a judge in his lifetime. But afterward, as always, she moved into the living room.

Her steps slowed as she reached the far corner — the corner where his portrait hung.

The Prince of Upland.

His eyes, even stilled by oil and brush, held a glint of something untouchable — wisdom? Fire? Mystery? Amber wasn’t sure. But every time she looked at him, her breath hitched, just a little. His ceremonial robe, grand. His features were carved like they belonged to a god, not a man. Regal. Calm. Watchful.

She knew she was being silly. It was just a portrait, after all. A decoration, like the ornate vases and tapestries. But something about him always made her pause.

Her fingertips hovered near the edge of the frame as if drawn by some invisible thread. Her reflection, faint in the glass, seemed to merge with his image. A girl who scrubbed floors, dreaming of a man born to rule.

“It is normal for every girl in Upland to admire the prince,” Isis had once said, half-laughing, half-wistful, when she caught Amber lost in thought before it. “But it’ll be my daughter, Rhea, who stands beside him at the altar. She’s destined for it.”

Amber had smiled politely then. But afterward, the words replayed in her mind like a needle stuck in a groove. She’s destined for it.

Was there truly such a thing as destiny? And if so, did it care about girls like her?

Amber’s lips curved into a rueful smile. “You’re being foolish,” she whispered. “Again.”

She turned back to her dusting — but not before stealing one more glance. Not of the prince. Of the dream.

And then the moment passed — only to be replaced by another, more painful one.

She remembered clearly now: another day, the same portrait. She had paused again, staring longer than she should have. That time, it was Rhea who had walked in and seen her.

“Seriously?” Rhea's voice had cut through the silence like a whip. “You too?”

Amber turned quickly, startled. “I was just—cleaning,” she mumbled.

“Cleaning? With your eyes?” Rhea had sneered, folding her arms. “Let me guess. You think staring at a portrait will make you a princess?”

Amber dropped her gaze, embarrassed.

“You’re a maid, Amber. You dust and clean things. You make sure everywhere is tidy. You make meals. You do whatever it is you do but you do not dream about or admire handsome men who wear crowns. He is a Prince. He is also my friend. I am in his circle. He will not even let you clean his shoes because royal helps do that and I'm not even seeing you fitting into such a role. Your position in this house is even a privilege. Know your place.”

Rhea had walked past her then, her perfume trailing behind like arrogance bottled. Amber had stood frozen, ashamed and angry — not just at Rhea, but at herself for letting her guard down.

That memory faded too, and Amber breathed deeply, re-adapting her focus to the present so that sadness would not show up in her countenance and worry her mother.

“Don’t worry, Mother. They are nice,” she said to Miriam.

“Okay, if you say so.”

They returned to their meal.

“Mother, do you know anything about Isis?” Amber asked out of the blue. She didn’t have a particular reason for asking but she just wanted to know something — anything — about the woman.

“Not really,” Miriam replied. “Apart from living off her late husband’s wealth, it is whispered among some villagers that she hates the poor. They say she loves being the wealthiest person in the village after the king. Rumor has it that she kills people’s source of income. I don’t know how true this is because we have not had a personal encounter.”

One thing bothered Amber about the information her mother had given her.

“Well, if she hates the poor, I’m also poor,” she said.

“You are there to work, Amber, not beg,” Miriam pointed out.

Amber was quiet, remembering for a second that Isis seemed to hate her. She now knew why — or at least, she now had an idea. It was because she was poor. But her mother had a point, she reasoned, even though it didn’t console her much.

Amber knew her countenance was leaning toward sad again as she became aware of Miriam studying her closely.

“My star, is Isis treating you badly?” Miriam asked, looking alarmed. “Because if she is…”

Amber firmly shook her head, interrupting her mother.

“Don’t lie to me. You can come back if she is. We will find a way to manage.”

Amber placed a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder again and forced another convincing smile.

“Mother,” she said. “Like I always say, you worry too much. It’s great over there, and like you said, I’m not there to beg but to work.”

“Okay.”

Amber wanted to change the subject and immediately remembered the mermaid incident. She decided to mention it. It was perfect timing, and it was a subject guaranteed to provide a distraction, she believed.

“Mother, I saw a mermaid in the river at Isis’s place,” she said, and Miriam gasped in surprise. Amber mentally patted herself on the back for finding the perfect distraction.

“Really?” Miriam asked, and Amber nodded.

“Folktales tell that Upland’s deity was a mermaid who abandoned the people for the constant wickedness many engaged in.”

“That’s interesting,” Amber remarked.

“True. It’s been a long time since anyone mentioned it, though. No one would believe.”

“I see. No wonder Isis and her daughter didn’t believe me either,” Amber stated, remembering the unpleasant drama that had played out when she had told them. She quickly blocked out a threatening replay of the mocking laughter that had erupted from them that evening.

"She was breathtaking with a golden tail."

Miriam froze for a few seconds, in surprise, in deep thoughts. Her reaction worried Amber.

"Mother..." She began, needing to find out what she was thinking.

“I never believed others too until your father also claimed the same, but I believed him then just like I believe you now.”

Amber was overwhelmed by the revelation. She was also consoled by the knowledge that her father saw a mermaid too and smiled as Miriam ruffled her hair adoringly.

"Do you think it's thesame mermaid that father saw?"

"It's possible, if the tail was golden. We may never know. But I like to think it's Upland's deity. In that case, it might be thesame one. And you're now one of the few persons privileged to see it. But please do me a favour."

"What?"

"Don't tell anyone. Avoid humiliation."

Amber understood. "I won't."

"That's my star." Miriam said and continued to ruffle Amber's hair gently. Amber basked in her mother’s love, wishing that she didn’t have to return to Isis’s place the next day. But she knew she had to go back because the work paid her.

Sometimes, one had to go through pain to achieve success, she reasoned — and knew again that she had just learned another life lesson.

“Life is not a bed of roses,” her mother would say — and she understood that statement better now, because in life, there was both pain and joy.

Amber mentally compared life’s pain to the thorns of roses and life’s joy to the beauty of rose petals. Yes, roses were so beautiful, but they came with thorns. Indeed, life was not a bed of roses — because life was a combination of pain and joy, of roses and thorns.