Chapter 9
As if the Domus had blessed me, Frannie brought breakfast alone in the morning. The guard kept the door cracked open as she entered, ruining any privacy, but I could work around it. I’d just have to be careful with my words.
Mustering the most disarming smile I could, I said, “Good morning, Frannie.”
Still, my greeting caught her off guard, because she nearly dropped the tray. “Good morning, Lady.” With her wispy blond hair, delicate features, twiggy limbs, and small voice, she reminded me of a small, skittish animal.
“I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you yet. That was rude of me. I’ve just been a bit…overwhelmed.”
She flashed a quick smile, setting the tray on the table and pouring me a cup of water. “No need to apologize, Lady.”
“Etarla,” I offered gently. “I’m not a Lady. Not even close.”
Frannie nodded once, then straightened, turning to the door as if she couldn’t wait to leave.
“Wait,” I blurted. If I was to get anything useful from her, I needed more time.
She froze, meeting my gaze with pale blue eyes before dropping them to the floor. It was almost like she was afraid of me.
Because of your eyes.
Only a few people here knew of my oddly colored eyes, but I didn’t know if anyone aside from Harthon knew about the magvis situation. Not that it really mattered. The violet and gold coloring was jarring and unnatural, regardless of context. I’d probably be wary of me, too.
“I, uh, would love some help with my hair if you can,” I said.
“Of course, Etarla.” She moved to the dresser, retrieving a comb before coming behind the chair where I sat. There was an uncomfortable pause. “It’s, um, already braided,” she told me softly.
Right.
“I don’t think I did a very good job. I was hoping it could braid down from the top.” The request was awkward even to my own ears. I’d never cared about hairstyles, and it was hard to even pretend that I did, but Frannie blessedly didn’t question it.
Frigid hands brushed my neck as she undid the braid and drew the comb through the strands. Having never interacted with many people besides Merelda and my neighbors, I wasn’t necessarily good at anything beyond easy, quick conversation.
With my motives, this was certainly not an easy, quick conversation.
I cleared my throat. “Do you only stay in this hallway, or do you go to other parts of the Citadel?”
“I service rooms in other areas.”
My scalp tingled as the comb passed again. The sensation reminded me of when Merelda braided my hair. Though it was a rare occurrence now, she’d ask to do it every so often, as if it reminded her of my younger years. An ache blossomed beneath my sternum.
You’ll be back with her soon.
“Do you like it? Here in the Citadel?”
“I do,” she answered.
“I’d never been to a Citadel, or even a city, before coming here. I’m from a small village. Were you born here?”
“No. I came from a small village, too.”
With any luck, the commonality would make me feel more relatable. “The big walls and rooms and gardens are new to me. I’m sure you probably felt the same way when you first came.” I paused as she set the comb down and began sectioning my hair. “What’s your favorite part about this place?”
“Princeps Harthon is good to us. I like working for him.”
That brought my information-seeking mission to a screeching halt. Skittish, nervous Frannie liked working under Harthon?
“Were you already working here when he took over?”
“Mhm.” She began to plait the hair, beginning at the top of my head.
She’d witnessed his takeover—an assumably violent one—and yet she liked him. Not really believing that was possible, I pushed. “So even after he forced his way in here and killed the previous Princeps, you enjoy working for him?”
“I do. Tamen was,” she exhaled a shuddered breath, “mean. Harthon cares about us.”
Surprise temporarily silenced me. It was already an anomaly for a Princeps to give a damn about anyone below them, but for that Princeps to be Harthon? With all his brooding seriousness and his penchant for killing?
Unusual or not, he’s still terrible.
Caring for house staff didn’t make him a noble man.
Refocusing, I asked, “So aside from Harthon, what’s your favorite part about this place?”
“It’s a good place to work.”
“When you aren’t working, though. Where do you like to be? I feel like if I were you, I would spend as much time in that garden as I could.” As I spoke, I watched the door from the corner of my eye, wondering if the guard would peel himself off the wall and intervene. He didn’t.
“I can’t go into the garden. It’s only for the people who work in the kitchen.”
“That’s disappointing. There’s no way you could sneak in if you wanted to?”
Frannie’s sigh suggested that she was getting at least somewhat comfortable with the conversation. “I would never sneak. They put you on laundry duty for the soldiers’ clothes, and it’s the worst thing in the world.”
“You seem way too nice to have to do that.”
She might have smiled. “They don’t care if you’re nice.”
“Is it really that easy to be caught?”
“Yes. The kitchen is the only access, and it’s busy all day. At night, there’s the guard in the garden so no one causes trouble with the crops.”
In other words, at night, the kitchen was empty. Most likely, anyway.
“That’s definitely not worth the risk. Cleaning the soldiers’ smelly, dirty laundry sounds miserable. I hope you never have to do it.” I really meant it, too. Frannie was sweet. Innocent.
She secured the hair tie around the end of the braid. “I did do it once. Never again,” she said, almost gravely. “All done.”
I turned and smiled at her, running my hand over the smooth plait. “Thanks, Frannie. I hope I didn’t hold you up.”
One glance at my eyes, and she shriveled. The reaction left a sour taste in my mouth, even though it shouldn’t have. I didn’t need her to like me.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
She pivoted and fluttered from the room in a rush.
I made quick work of breakfast as I thought about what I’d learned. I’d just finished when Callen strode through the door. I jumped to my feet, taking in his brown fighting leathers and neatly combed hair. Those green eyes were flat as he stopped, silent.
Clearly, he was still angry with me about what I’d done during Koerlyn’s ambush.
It bothered me far more than it should. We weren’t friends.
Not even close. I was planning to leave and escape them all soon.
But his congenial nature had been a welcome—albeit annoying—presence amidst all these strangers.
His teasing had almost made him feel somewhat like a temporary ally, and to see him turn so suddenly cold and apathetic toward me was, well, bothersome. I wanted to change it back.
I spoke before he did. “Are you still mad at me?”
His expression didn’t shift. “Why would I be mad, Etarla?”
Etarla, not Fish Eyes. Oh, boy, was I in trouble. “I think we both know why.”
“I think I need you to explain.”
He wanted to be stubborn, then. I sighed.
“You told me to listen to you, and I did. Then Joris was about to be killed, and I have no clue why I did it, but I intervened. Koerlyn’s men saw me, and instead of leading them back to you—which would have made you fight four people at once—I ran in the other direction. ”
“I could very well handle four people. You should have come back.”
Disbelief rolled through me. “How was I supposed to know that you could fight four men at once?”
He smirked, that easy light returning to his bright eyes. Relief rolled in, quickly followed by wariness. It was a look of mischief. “You were worried about me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“You were worried I would die if you led those men back to me,” he pointed out, that smirk pulling into a victorious smile.
“No—”
“You like me, Fish Eyes.”
“That’s not my name.” I suddenly couldn’t remember why I wanted this version of Callen back. He was obnoxious.
He shrugged a shoulder, unperturbed. “I know the truth. No need to be embarrassed.”
“Callen—”
“Come with me,” he said, cutting me off again. “We have to meet Harthon and the others. We have things to show you and plans to make.” He spun on his heel, marching from the room.
Rolling my eyes again, I trudged behind him. “You’re annoying.”
“You mean, likable,” he quipped, the guard outside my room bowing as he passed.
“I should’ve encouraged those men to kill you.”
“But then you’d miss my lovely presence,” he said over his shoulder, leading me down the hallway. Five doors marked the long, windowless hallway, the end bringing us to a spiraling stone staircase.
“Aren’t you worried about people seeing my eyes?” I asked.
“This part of the Citadel is private. Only the people who should see your eyes are around.”
My legs burned as I followed him up the steep steps, briefly slowing at a tall, narrow window. It faced the garden, and I squinted hard, trying to make out the kitchen door. As if on cue, someone bustled out of the wall in the far corner, something like baskets dangling from their hands.
I scrambled up the next few steps before Callen noticed my pause. Finally, the stairs gave way to another hallway, this one empty of any guards. He led me to a pair of double doors, swinging them open to reveal a massive library.
The unfamiliar scent of what could only be paper and leather wafted through the entryway.
Tall shelves lined with colored books filled every wall from the floor to the tall ceiling, the only break an oversized window on the far side of the room.
Dominating the center of the space was a long, dark wooden table.
Nerves fluttered in my belly at the sight of North, Harthon, and a woman I didn’t recognize seated around it.
No one sat at the head. I imagined that seat was normally reserved for Harthon, but he sat beside the woman.