Chapter 27
Lucina
Iforce some confidence into my posture as I make my way down the dark servant passage, magic tingling over my skin.
Alesi’s complexion is more ashen, any hint of color washed out completely against the pale beige of the servant’s uniform. Looking down, the curled ends of my dark hair are now stick straight and mousey brown, and assuming all went right, my eyes should be dull yellow.
Perfect, according to Nix.
My footfalls echo, steps faltering when the sound of voices bounces down the hall. It’s two, maybe three people, and they are having a seemingly casual conversation.
Determined to not let my confidence slip, I force myself forward, nearing the voices as they approach. Turning the next corner, I see a dim glow of light, illuminating the dark stone from an open door at the end of the hall. The voices I’d heard from inside the room have ceased.
Squaring my shoulders and strengthening my illusion, I move towards the door, crossing the threshold like it’s familiar to me. This is the servant passage after all…Alesi would have known these rooms.
“Alesi?”
My throat tightens, panic seizing my body for half a second before I force it down and lift my gaze.
The girl in front of me is undeniably Rogue—wide yellow eyes and skin that is nearly translucent. Her long blonde hair is dull and stringy, nearly weightless as she twists it around her fist, pulling it up and pinning it to the top of her head.
I feign uninterestedness. Embodying the girl Phoenix told me about and fucking pray that it works.
“You're back,” she says when I don’t reply, blonde brows pulled together. “Where have you been?”
“Sick,” I reply, continuing through the room as if it’s familiar to me.
Phoenix said Alesi worked mostly in the kitchens.
He would watch her leave the Estate every morning at sunrise to grab herbs from the garden, feed the hens, and bring back their eggs for breakfast. Part of the reason he decided to take her was because of how much time she spent outside the Estate. Alone.
I move towards a few empty baskets on a nearby shelf, taking quick inventory of the rest of the space.
It’s small, handmade wooden shelves lining the walls and a long, narrow table in the center.
Two worn benches line either side, more cloaks and aprons tossed over the seats than hanging from the designated hooks by the door.
To my right is an empty hearth, dirty and barren, like thousands of fires have burned within it, but it hasn’t been used in a long time. A very long time.
“Sick?” The girl prompts, plopping down on one of the benches to tie her shoes. “That’s not what The Umbra said.”
I can tell by the taunt in her tone that she wants me to be bothered by whatever was said about me—or Alesi. It feels an awful lot like gossip, but I’m happy to play that game. I need all the information I can get.
“Really?” I speak up, keeping that resigned boredom in my voice. “What did she say?”
Her eyes find mine, narrowed and smug. “That the Baron’s wife finally caught you screwing her husband so she buried you out in the woods somewhere.”
I blink back at her.
I’m going to kill Phoenix. With my bare hands. As Alesi.
For a long moment, I’m not even sure what to say back to that, so I busy my hands, reaching for a cloak that isn’t mine and draping it across my shoulders.
“Well, she was wrong,” I finally force out.
“It appears so.” The girl snorts, sweeping me with a pitiful gaze before getting to her feet. “I’d hurry if I were you.” She pushes past me with a smirk, snickering under her breath as she goes. “The Umbra might actually kill you if you miss breakfast.”
I watch her exit, taking a set of stairs on the other side of the room. I follow her on instinct, ignoring the twinge of fear that pricks my sternum. I can’t hesitate here—it would come off too suspicious.
Keeping a few stairs behind her, I note all the side halls off to the sides, trying to catalog everything as fast as I can. When she makes it to the top of the passage, she turns back around to face me.
I freeze, not realizing how closely I’d been following her until I’m inches from her face.
“You know,” she starts, her tough demeanor smoothing out as she stares back at me. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
Oh. Maybe Alesi wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I could use this friendship to—
“I fucking hate chicken duty.”
She turns, pushing through the wooden door, and letting it swing back in my face. I jump back just in time, barely missing the hit.
Alright, then. Zero points for Alesi.
Blowing out a breath, I push through the door, stumbling into a room that renders me speechless.
It’s massive—the walls are at least two stories high, beautiful wooden beams dissect the high ceiling, and a massive crystal chandelier dangles from the apex.
None of the candlesticks along the columns are lit, though hardened wax drips down the sides.
There’s a large table in the center, nearly twenty chairs set out around it, and not a single one of them is filled.
All of the curtains are drawn, blocking out the rising sun, but enough slips through the cracks in the curtains to illuminate the space in a dreary grey.
The details of this room are grand, but the grim lighting steals away any true opulence.
It’s beautiful, but it’s also haunted. Full of lavish furniture and breathtaking art, but somehow still… empty.
Chiaros, they’ve sucked all the life out of this place. Drained it of all its color and shine.
Tearing my gaze from the sight, I hurry up to the girl’s side, dodging other servants who pass with dishes, cutlery, bowls of bread, and platters of fruit.
“What were you even sick with?” she asks without even looking in my direction, crossing the room in quick strides.
“Um,” I clear my throat. “Some sort of virus.”
“Well, you better hope it isn’t what’s going around the Captures. The Countess has thrown out a dozen more since you’ve been gone.”
I nearly stop dead in my tracks, the words falling out before I can stop them, “The Captures?”
The girl looks sharply in my direction. “The Sol they insist on keeping alive? Shit, Alesi, did your fever mess with your memory or something?”
All I can see is Iris’s gaunt face. How skinny she’d been when Callan rushed her to the Infirmary. The linens she’d been wrapped in when we buried her.
She’d been sick, and they…threw her out. Like some diseased animal. This girl is saying they’ve thrown more out since then. Gods, how many? Are they still alive? Why are they getting sick?
Swallowing against the onslaught of questions crawling up my throat, I drop my gaze to the floor and force all emotion out of my voice, “Must have.”
The girl continues on as if the comment meant nothing to her, talking my ear off about all the drama I missed while I was gone. None of it is helpful. I follow her through another door, emerging in the middle of a bustling kitchen.
It’s much bigger than the kitchens in Pirn—grander too. Silver appliances, beautifully stained countertops, a near-spotless black-and-white tiled floor arranged in a diamond pattern. There’s Rogues…everywhere. Servants, just like Alesi, frantically rushing to get breakfast together.
“Greer!” An angry voice snaps. “You’re late!”
“Sorry, Umbra.” The girl bows her head, a warning in the glance she throws my way before she slips past the tall, thin woman—who is now glaring at me—and hurries over to an empty workstation across the kitchen.
“Alesi.” There’s a snarl in the way she says my name, the woman’s purple-painted lips twitching at each syllable. She stares down her pointed nose at me, yellow eyes boring into mine. “What are the odds that two rodents show up on the same day?”
I can’t for the life of me figure out what she’s talking about, but I don’t think Alesi would be bold enough to ask, so I don’t.
The woman—the Umbra—snorts, and despite the noisy kitchen, I hear the sharp click of her heels as she closes the distance between us. She bends, coming eye level, and a strand of her silver hair slips out of its clip at the movement.
“Where have you been?” she bites out, slitted eyes narrowing on mine.
“Sick,” I tell her, and she scoffs.
“Yeah, sure.” The Umbra steps closer, the chill of her skin cooling the air between us. “If you were truly sick, Alesi, then what the hell would possess you to come back into my kitchen?”
I press my lips together, pouring most of my focus into holding the illusion. She’s close enough now that any slip in its strength would be too noticeable to pass off.
When I remain silent, her tone becomes deadlier, her voice a venomous hiss. “Have you been seen by a vitalist?”
I swallow. “No.”
The Umbra snaps her arm out, her open palm connecting with my cheek in a hit so hard the sting travels down my body.
I funnel all my focus into my illusion, ignoring the throb of my cheek, fisting my hands at my sides to keep from reaching up to soothe it.
Slowly, I turn my head back to face her.
“Don’t come back until you’ve been cleared!” the Umbra snarls, disgust twisting her features as she straightens, giving me a pitiful once-over before spinning on her heel and moving back through the chaos of the kitchen.
Servants practically dive out of her way, doing their best to avoid eye contact.
Apparently, that’s what I should have done.
Those who witnessed our interaction are staring, white teeth bared in amused smiles. Slitted, feline eyes, hungry as they watch me try to hold myself together. Snickering under their breath when I finally get the courage to leave.
Before I make it to the door, I catch a glimpse of Greer.
She’s staring at me, something curious in her gaze. Gently setting down a stack of plates, her brows furrow, and her head tilts to the side.
I turn and slip out of the kitchens, hurrying through the dining room, and out through the first door I see. It opens up to a much wider corridor, dark and thankfully empty.