3 Maerryl
MAERRYL
I never thought I possessed the capability for murder. That was before I met Dove Wistrallo.
Oh, excuse me—Lady Dove Wistrallo.
The memory of her snotty, lilting voice correcting me in the parlor had me clenching my fists again.
I glared at the rotting exterior cellar door that I was meant to be inspecting for security weaknesses.
Imagining Dove’s haughty face on it, I slammed the door shut as hard as I could.
Take that, princess. The frame rattled, rusty hinges squealing, before the whole thing gave up and fell to the ground.
Goddess, that felt good. Now imagine how amazing it would feel to slam a real door in that pampered idiot’s face.
I stood there for a few moments, allowing myself to happily daydream about just that. Door after solid wooden door right in her perfect nose, with the same shocked and angry look on her face that she wore right after Lady Wistrallo had hired me on.
And what did she have to be so angry about?
? Sure, I guess it would be a little annoying to have someone hovering near you most of the time.
But it wasn’t an uncommon practice in the Midlands to have personal bodyguards, particularly for rich heirs.
In fact, I was kind of surprised she didn’t already have one, after seeing the wealth that was displayed just in the entrance hall, parlor, and grounds of their massive manor.
Dove’s parents cared so much about her that they were spending heaps of money just to make sure that she remained safe and healthy.
My new salary was a small fortune to most commoners in the queendom, including myself.
And that spoiled princess had the gall to complain to her mother.
And then threaten me! Or try to, anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I had to get my emotions back in check.
Zephyra’s heist hinged on me becoming an unassuming, trusted member of the Wistrallo household.
Blending into the background, becoming close with the family and staff, acting the part of the humble bodyguard—this was what I needed to focus on.
Not the desire to throttle Dove’s dainty neck.
Or the way she’d stepped unnervingly close to me when we were alone in the parlor, her furious brown eyes boring into mine.
At least I’d managed to get the position in the first place.
That performance with Lady Wistrallo was one of the most nerve-racking things I’ve done in my three decades.
But I think I pulled it off. She certainly seemed impressed by the fake reference letters Zephyra supplied and the security plans I pulled out of my ass on the spot.
And I’d somehow successfully exuded the quiet, knowledgeable confidence that an experienced bodyguard to the rich and famous should possess, all while Dove shot daggers at me with her eyes and her mother grilled me on my qualifications.
Siding firmly with Lady Wistrallo against her daughter had certainly worked, at least to get me the job.
And it felt undeniably satisfying to see the younger snooty woman get taken down a few pegs.
A delayed wave of relief hit me as I realized that the worst was over.
I’d gotten inside. I wasn’t going to be kicked out of the Takers Guild.
And within a few weeks, hopefully, we’d clear out everything from these rich assholes’ ridiculously oversize mansion.
I’d have all the coin I needed. This would work.
My stomach clenched tightly. It had to.
Adding the cellar door replacement to my mental list of tasks that I’d convey to Lady Wistrallo, I gave the rotting wood a parting kick and kept moving along the side of the house.
Two hours later, I trudged back to the front door of the manor, tired but pleased.
I’d circled the entire perimeter of the house and felt confident that I knew every door, window, and weak point.
The manor itself had the standard defensive security charms, prohibiting any non-household staff from entering or inviting others to enter without permission.
Lady Wistrallo had given me that access before I went on my rounds, so I’d be able to come and go as I pleased and let others into the manor.
She intended it for me to bring in and supervise the workpeople we’d need to hire for repairs…
but it would also make the heist that much easier when it came time.
I traversed as much of the grounds as I could, inspecting the nearby storehouse, stables, and any trees that could be used to climb onto the upper levels.
But the expansive property also included a small lake with a boathouse down a path, a stretch of woodland, a vineyard or orchard in the distance that I’d have to check out more closely later.
It reminded me, in a way, of the land of my youth.
My dwarven clan was small, occupying countryside much like this but set cozily in the rolling hills of the east. Instead of a large country manor, there were small cottages scattered in the valley and some dwellings set right into the side of one hill.
Back then, there had been nothing more comforting than spending a warm afternoon playing with my childhood friends and taking a cool dip in the nearby little lake before tucking into the shared evening meal of fried fish and barley mash with my family and neighbors out on the village green.
That was before everything changed. Before the sickness ran through our village, friends and family dropping faster than they could be saved. Only my little brother, Balfie, left.
Tracing the raised lines of my tattoo, I recalled the way he’d looked when I’d checked on him last, tucked neatly in the clean cloth of the priory’s infirmary.
So still. So completely different from how he always was as a lad, racing around, dancing, getting under everyone’s feet.
Mischievous, sweet little menace. Biting the inside of my cheek hard, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the memory of Balfie as he was before fresh in my mind, instead of that still form in the infirmary.
Grinning up at me as we gathered herbs for supper.
Dancing chaotically with our mother in front of the hearth, laughing as we spun him around.
His tight, quick hugs around my waist before he’d run off to play with his friends.
“ByeMaeseeyoulater!!” The way he’d grumble to himself when I annoyed him, but always needed us to say good night before bedtime, even if we were at odds.
Unbidden, another memory arises—the look on his face before I left on my trip, before everything went wrong; as if he wanted to be encouraging but couldn’t quite hide his sadness. He’d waved goodbye frantically to make up for it, straining to see me until I crested the hill and disappeared.
This plan had to work. I couldn’t bear this any longer. My brother needed me.
Stomach clenching again, I forced my mind away from shadowy memories and refocused on the task at hand. Best to concentrate on what I could control here, now, rather than pointless wallowing.
My mental list of repairs had grown to about a dozen—including a couple I intentionally planned to leave as is, as potential entrances for the heist and emergency exits for me—and I cursed my lack of a slate tablet and chalk.
I scraped the dirt off my old boots using a shoe brush set into the ground and set off in search of something with which to write my list before I forgot it.
As I moved through the entrance hall and into a new room, I couldn’t help the slight sense of awe at the sight of so many works of art.
Yes, it was gaudy and ostentatious, the way the Wistrallos crammed so many expensive pieces into the space in what felt like a ridiculous display of their wealth.
But some of the art truly was beautiful.
It was like walking through a museum, someplace I’d only been once before, on a rare free afternoon in Talon.
This appeared to be a ballroom. With a grand ceiling and cavernous space, there wasn’t much more than a long banquet table and chairs inside.
A handful of statues and candelabras lined the edges.
Its walls were filled with, unsurprisingly, more art.
Just a couple pieces, though; I got the sense the Wistrallos had stuffed most of the collection into the entrance hall to really shove their wealth in a visitor’s face right away.
Bam! Take this dizzying cacophony of extravagance! Bow to our riches!
Chuckling to myself, I moved down the long ballroom, stepping quietly in my charmed boots to the next wide archway. It led into what looked like yet another boring parlor filled with overly stiff decorative furniture. Not a soul to be seen still.
Where was everyone? Shouldn’t a grand residence like this be filled with servants, cleaning staff, maybe a mooching long-term guest or two? Instead, it was as silent as a graveyard in this place. Even on the grounds, I’d only seen one gardener out trimming the hedges. Very odd.
I spotted a smaller side door set in one corner of the ballroom, half-concealed by a tall, swooping curtain.
No doorknob, which should mean… yes—I pushed gently on the door, and it swung silently forward.
The servants’ passage, used to discreetly bring food and drinks out to guests from the kitchens.
I slipped into the hallway, lit by small, yellow-orange, flameless mage orbs, and closed the swinging door carefully behind me.
At some point, I’d moved from searching for writing materials to general snooping.
I supposed the longer I could go undetected, the more I could find out about this increasingly strange household.
Or maybe these sneaking instincts had already become so engrained in me over the past months that I just couldn’t help myself.
No—I was here to scope the place out. The more I could learn, the better.