A woman glides through the garden arch, translucent skin shimmering in the sunlight. An ivory, lace dress spilled over her decanter-shaped waist, a fragrant bit of baby’s breath woven through her golden braid. Her hand flutters to her mouth. “Oh dear.”
Cydra eyes grow large, and she quickly bends her head. “I did not see you there, Lady Celeste.” Her cheeks turn pink. “Ryrick wasn’t paying attention.”
“Forgive me, Lady Celeste,” Ryrick answers. “Can we help you?”
“I’m lost,” Lady Celeste replies, her voice soft as a cat’s purr. “I took a wrong turn, and somehow ended up at the main entrance. How do I get to the gazebo from here?”
I remember glimpsing a gazebo on our way through the gardens. “Around the corner past the dragon statue and to the right of that bush shaped like a bear,” I say without thinking.
Celeste’s eyes brighten to a sea blue. “A new hire, Cydra? She’s quite sharp.”
“I was just sending her away.”
“I’m looking for a job,” I explain to Lady Celeste.
She pulls her braid in front of her shoulder and plays with the end. “Can you cook?”
“Yes. And I can clean, and brew beer, and feed livestock, too.”
Her face splits into a smile. “Well, aren’t you talented?”
“I can read as well, milady.”
She pauses and looks me over with curious eyes. “Cydra, why are you sending her away? Didn’t you recently mention you needed a between maid to share with Longley and Ryrick?”
“She isn’t suited,” Cydra says. “She doesn’t have papers.”
Celeste reaches for a parchment in Cydra’s hands. “Can you read this, girl?”
I take the parchment and look at the small black scrawl. Three pieces of toffee. Twelve small cucumber sandwiches. One bottle of wine. I read the words aloud.
“Quite right, my lady. Quite right,” Cydra manages, fidgeting with a blue rag she holds in her hand. I can’t help but stare as she proceeds to unravel the cloth in silent rage.
“Hire her,” Celeste urges. She waves her hand in a sweet farewell gesture. Then she glides away in a flurry of white silk, drifting like an apparition back into the garden.
“Well,” Cydra says after a long moment of silence passes. “Her Highness has interceded for you. You’d best come along.” She casts me a sidelong look and frowns.
Cydra takes me into the castle using a servants’ door along the side of the stone wall. We meander through several long corridors until reaching an open area. As we walk, I can’t help but notice peculiar similarities between the castle structure and the mountain on Onyx. Many of the hallways lack windows, and torches hang on the walls to provide light. The winding staircases and narrow back halls remind me of home.
“These are the servants’ quarters,” Cydra says once we reach our destination gesturing to the rooms on each side of the wall. She takes me inside one of the empty rooms, the first down the hallway to my left. A neat bed hugs the wall with a pine desk close by. “This will be your room.” She shows me how to use the space underneath the bed for clothes. “Don’t even think you’re welcome to any of the castle’s goods. We’ve had a rash of stolen items recently, and the thieves will find their hands cut off. We check rooms every week to ensure all is tidy and in order. If you can’t maintain our standard of cleanliness, you’ll be fired.”
The housekeeper’s word of warning about thievery sends goosebumps up and down my arm. I secretly vow to never touch an item I’m not asked to clean or move. As to the room, I can manage the upkeep. Fortunately, I never owned many possessions, and so never deemed myself disorderly. My eyes fasten to the desk. Dull scratches mar the surface. My heart quickens when I imagine the letters I can trace onto parchment on that desk. And the bed! At long last, I have my very own, feather-stuffed bed. One that I don’t have to “share” with Adom. Anticipation of long, blissful nights on that cozy albeit yellow-stained mattress warms me.
Cydra orders me to follow her once again. She leaves the servants’ quarters and trails along the back rooms until she reaches the kitchen. “You may be given assignments here. Because of your… unusual circumstances, we’re not sure what your area of expertise is.”
I shrink under the scrutiny of her towering presence. “I can clean,” I offer. “Scrub floors, feed animals, wash laundry. I’m good at those duties.”
“We’ll see about that,” comes her ominous reply.
~ * ~
Cydra puts me to work in the laundry room that very evening. The uniform she hands me is two sizes too large. The laundress is kind enough to lend me some thread and cutters to modify it so it fits better. Every morning after the first evening, I’m awakened by a rough rap at the door and I’m expected to dress within a half hour and line up outside with the other servants for morning orders. My duties are spread, as I’m shared by three territorial servants; Cydra, the head housekeeper, Ryrick the butler, and Longley the cook.
For several weeks, I take careful pains to avoid the main halls and keep my head down. I glimpse Adom a time or two in the feast hall or parlor, always talking with other nobles and aristocrats. One time he surprises me around the corner ,and I have to duck behind a row of curtains. Peering at him between the folds of cloth, I watch him pause, mid-step, and tilt his nose to the air. My heart almost explodes. But then another nobleman, a Lord Darton, comes around the corner and greets Adom, and the two of them walk off together.
Maybe his nose isn’t as sharp when there are so many scents in the castle to mask mine. Or maybe I am changing, and he doesn’t recognize my smell anymore. I do bathe every day and add rose oil to the water. Perhaps it is working in my favor.
One morning, Cydra sends me to clean the windows in the library. I’m normally with one of the other girls, Donja or Belin, but today no one is sent along to help me. It isn’t a problem. I’m accustomed to working alone. Besides, the library is quiet and often abandoned, so if I finish the windows early I can sneak a peek at one of the tomes of modern literature and learn more about the fashions and interests of Tranar people. I have basic information thanks to Muuth and the textbooks Adom provided me with on Onyx, but I’m thirsty to learn more about my new home.
A man sits by the fire in a gray wingback chair when I enter the library carrying full buckets of soapy water and freshly wet rags. A casual glance at the stranger’s profile assures me he isn’t Adom, so I am not overly concerned as I move near the windows. I set the bucket of water in front of the wall and begin to draw back the navy and gold curtains.
“Lady Elanor?” asks a familiar voice.
My hand flies to my throat. “I didn’t expect to find you in here, Lord Berrel.”
“Nor I you.” Lord Berrel rises from the wingback armchair. His curly blond hair has grown a bit longer since the last time I saw him. It’s battling the ends of his ears now, trying to swallow them whole. His beard, too, has some length to it. “I arrived yesterday.”
How did he recognize me? I was in a swan costume, Raina had decorated my face around the eyes, and my hair was done up so nicely. Did I really make that much of an impression? I survey him again, debating whether or not to run.
Run, I decide. I pivot and quickly take a step away from him. “I didn’t realize you were a visitor at court. If you’ll excuse me, I didn’t mean to disturb your reading—”
“I’m a frequent visitor.” He shows his teeth. “My sister lives at court.”
“You have another sister?” I forget my maid’s outfit, the millions of questions Berrel must have, and the fact that I don’t completely trust the man.
“I do. She’s really all I have.” He grins, his eyes scanning my outfit like he finds our position amusing. “I’m estranged from the rest of my family.” The words don’t match the twinkle in his sapphire eyes. “My father cut me out of his inheritance and denounced my title. My young
er sister is the only one who will see me.”
“Estranged?” I repeat the foreign word, realizing the weight of its full meaning.
“Don’t look so troubled, my dear.” Berrel takes my hand in a paternal, friendly sort of way. He pats it with a light touch. “I have plenty of money, thanks to the lucrative mining business. You remember that from our dance together, don’t you?”
“How could a father cut off his own son?” I ask, disbelieving.
Berrel’s eyes sadden. “You recall what I told you about Tranar superstitions?”
I nod curtly.
“This insistence they have about believing in things that no longer exist?” He makes a face. “My father was—is—convinced that his...seed was tainted by such a curse.”
“How can a seed be tainted by dragons?”
Berrel squeezes my hand. “You are untrained in the verbal subtleties of Tranar court life.” He peers at me. “It must be your refreshingly sheltered upbringing.”
“Must be,” I grumble.
He breaks eye contact and stares at a point behind my shoulder, suddenly lost in his own thoughts. After a while, he shrugs. “I’m telling you all my secrets, but you haven’t offered me an explanation for your little charade. Why are you dressed like a castle maid?”
Ah, so here is the price for Berrel’s moment of honesty. He expects the same of me.
“Do I owe you an explanation?”
He blinks. “Of course not. But if we’re going to be friends…”
“Whoever said we were friends?”
He drops my hand and takes a step back. “I apologize. I misunderstood the nature of our relationship.” Then he picks up the book he had set down on the end table. “I’ll excuse myself from your presence so you can finish cleaning the windows as you clearly intended to do.” Berrel pauses a moment, his foot ticking against the floor as though he can’t quite make up his mind whether to stay or to go. “I need to warn you, though. I’m especially picky about smudges on the glass. I’m afraid it’s the curse of my class to be particular about such things.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint,” I mutter, without much enthusiasm.
“Since we are not friends, I’m sure you won’t mind if I inspect your work later and offer my critique to your superior? Who should I speak to first about it? The housekeeper?” His eyes grow wicked. “Or Count Malandre?”
It sinks in. My jaw drops. “Are you threatening me?”
A dimple appears to the left of his mouth. He taps the book against his palm. “I believe in a job well done. I’ll be sure to pass on compliments if they are earned.”
My options are limited. I could feed him a line, give him just enough to satiate his curiosity and keep him quiet. Or I could refuse and risk him exposing me to Adom. I’m not ready for the latter as yet. Adom might return me to Onyx and Ona will kill me for sure this time. I’m here to watch, to learn, and to keep Adom from hurting anybody else. Berrel could ruin all of that, unless I go along with him. For now.
“Malandre sent me away after we left the village. I’m supposed to be safely ensconced in the miserable place I call home. But I don’t want to be there.”
Berrel tilts his head. “You were quite sheltered on your island, weren’t you?”
I watch the flames flickering in the fireplace. “I was alone.”
“So you disguised yourself as a maid to experience castle life? Does Malandre know you’re here?” When I shake my head, he asks, “You think he won’t discover you?”
“Not if I’m careful.”
His mouth quirks up. “I can see you’re being careful.”
A sour taste tingles on my tongue. My lips pucker. “Is that sarcasm?”
“You’re catching on to our modern way of talking. Congratulations.”
I scowl. “I don’t especially like you, Lord Berrel.”
He beams. “You don’t have to like me. But I can help you...for a price.”
“Do you intend to tell Malandre if I don’t pay you?” I mentally calculate the number of scales I have in my stock. I haven’t used any yet. Would Berrel take them as payment?
“What’s bad for Malandre is good for me. I’ll work with you. You may need a nobleman to cover for your absences or ensure you aren’t scolded for poor work. I’m sure you’re used to living a slightly different lifestyle. I’ll help cover for you if you need anything.”
“I have dragon scales I can give you for payment.”
He grins. “Let’s not discuss payment just now.”
“To be perfectly clear, I don’t trust you at all.”
“You don’t have to trust me, either. Just call me Rhydian.”
~ * ~
Even though I’m still an outsider, I do hear the servants gossip, which is a benefit. Lady Celeste, the woman who interceded for me on the first day, is betrothed to the King. Lord Faigen has a reputation as a rogue, and will seduce anything with legs if given the opportunity. That’s the primary reason the reason the guards don’t like him—he’s blatantly cuckolded more than a few of them. Because of his reputation, Ryrick always waters down Faigen’s ale and wine whenever he attends any of the lavish castle parties, to avoid scandal.
I’m not worried about Theodore catching me dressed as a maid. Since I don’t serve at the parties, and that is the time Faigen emerges, I only ever catch glimpses of him from a window in the servants’ quarters. Adom, however, is becoming more difficult to elude. There’s a rumor that he’s left the Volcourt Inn and is now staying in one of the guest rooms in the castle. Something about him traveling less due to a complication with one of his island ventures. A shudder runs down my spine when I hear this. While I don’t want Adom to catch me here, I also don’t want him to pay the consequences for my deceit with the dragons.
The emergence of Lord Berrel means I now have to spend three times the effort avoiding the noble folk. Berrel, Faigen, and Malandre all frequent the dining hall, the courtroom, the ballroom, and the gardens. Berrel thinks his offer to help is worth something to me. But I just don’t trust him. If he catches sight of me, he’ll try to help. It will only attract Adom’s attention. No matter how I look at it, I can’t see how Berrel’s alliance will benefit me unless I need a quick escape. I do what I do best—stay out of his way at all costs.
Fortunately, Cydra’s suspicion keeps me out of sight on most occasions. I’m good at lurking, ducking, and making myself invisible in a mountain. What fails to come naturally to me is staying out of places Cydra forbids me to go.
“I need to restock our supply of witch hazel cream for the staff,” Ryrick says one day.
“I can do it. How much do you need and where are the physician’s quarters?”
“I thought Cydra said you weren’t to go to the east tower,” he replies. “Too many noblemen drop by that place with ailments and Cydra is concerned about your reputation. She doesn’t want you conversing with any of the noblemen after the rumors she heard about you arriving here on Lord Faigen’s horse.” At my look, he flushes. “Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t say anything to her about how you arrived that first day.”
“Since I now know it’s in the east tower, I should think it’s your tongue Cydra should be concerned about,” I say to him, smiling.
He wrinkles his nose. “You’re a cheeky one.”
“Let me do this, Ryrick.”
Finally, he sighs. “I need six jars of the cream.” Ryrick’s head ducks. “Please give her this note from me. And thank her for the headache remedy.”
I raise an eyebrow and then pocket the letter.
The east tower is beyond the stables, before the walkway to the king’s forest. I veer a slight right, under the archway, and climb the stairs. How in the world do they get the sick and the lame up these stairs, I wonder. Then I remember how many times I’ve heard the words “send for the physician” since I star
ted here and I realize that the truly sick and lame probably don’t come here much, anyway. By the time I reach the top, I am breathing incrementally faster. Mountain climbing, I can do. Running long distances in the forest, I can do. Manmade stairs? Apparently not. And here I thought I was in peak physical condition.
The door to the physician’s chamber looms before me. I gulp air and knock.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice speaks softly, a delicate, wavy sound.
I open the door and peek my head in. “Are you the physician?”
The young woman smiles. Her auburn hair is tied in a pink sash. “I am.”
She’s a younger, rosier version of Ryrick. She has his same shade of deeply olive skin, hazel irises, and almond-shaped eyes. “I see.”
“What do you see?”
“You must be Ryrick’s daughter.”
“That’s right.” She timidly holds out a hand. “I’m Patience Siron.”
“My name is Elanor.” I pass her the note. “Ryrick wanted me to thank you for the headache remedy. He asked me to pick up six jars of witch hazel cream.”
She quickly tucks away the note. “It’ll be a moment. I need to mix the cream.”
“It isn’t a problem. Do you want me to come back?”
Patience smiles. “If you don’t mind, I welcome the company.”
Conversation doesn’t come naturally to me, but Patience is an unusually focused and quiet individual. I find her personality calming, much like her father’s. We don’t say much to each other, but I watch as she melts beeswax and oil in a small pot suspended over a candle. She adds water and lets the mixture simmer over the low flame, stirring constantly.
“My father’s mentioned you, Elanor. He says Cydra gives you a hard time?”
I bare my teeth. “She’s a nasty old dragon.”
Patience unties a cloth sack, revealing witch hazel bark as well as the leaves of the plant, both dried. She pours the entire sack into a mortar and pestle. Then she begins grinding. “Don’t mind her. She lost a son a while back and never recovered. She’s always been a hard woman, but the loss turned off her empathy. Now all she has is work. It’s really very sad.”
Slither Page 13
