3 Maerryl #2
I shoved the guilt down and crept along the hallway until I reached the exit.
Slowly pushing the door out, I quickly found that any hope of being sneaky was pointless.
It opened into the center of a high-ceiled kitchen, bustling with a few servants.
I gave up any attempt at guile and swung the door open wide.
Most turned and looked at me, assessing swiftly, before returning to their tasks of chopping vegetables or scouring dirty pots.
A solid-looking gnome with red-brown skin like clay and a shock of ginger hair called out to me from where she was steadily kneading dough, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “Hello, then! And who might you be?”
She didn’t seem the type of person you could avoid responding to. I brushed my hair back from my face and said, “I’m, uh, Maerryl. Maerryl Kirim. The new bodyguard. I’m just… surveying the house’s security.”
“Ah, I see. So they finally hired someone,” the woman mused, clucking her tongue as she looked me over. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet ’cha. I’m Choia, head cook. Hungry? Got some fresh-baked tasties in that basket over there.” The woman nodded toward a large wicker tray of treats on the counter.
“That’s very kind, thank you.” I gave her a quick smile and plucked one cinnamon-encrusted pastry from the pile.
“Of course! You just make sure you take good care of our Dove, a’right? She’s a special one.”
I nodded, not knowing what to say. It seemed the brat had her servants fooled. Disappointing. In my experience, the servants of a household were usually the most wise to the failings of their bosses. They saw everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. And gossiped relentlessly about it all.
Well, even if the head cook was loyal, that didn’t mean everyone in the household would be.
I looked around, catching the glance of a well-dressed servant with wheat-blond hair and rosy cheeks who was piling a small mountain of pastries onto a tray that held a silver teapot and a single, delicate cup.
I couldn’t help trying to determine how much the teapot would go for on the black market; two gold maybe?
It was a fine piece, perhaps imported from the Southern Isles.
The other woman beamed at me, pausing in her task. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other,” she said, with a coy look. “I’m Lady Dove’s maid.”
I sidled closer, murmuring, “And does Lady Dove’s maid have a name?”
She almost giggled, returning my gaze with an eager smile. “Petra. Nice to meet you, Miss Kirim.”
“Please, call me Maerryl,” I said, winking. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too. Here, let me carry that for you. It looks heavy.” Without waiting for a reply, I hefted the full tea tray from Petra’s hands, lifting it easily.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” she said.
“Nonsense. I’m happy to help. You need a little break, don’t you?” I nudged her gently, a bit embarrassed to see how quickly I made her blush. “I could use a guide anyway… I confess I’ve already gotten a bit lost in this place.”
“It’s huge, isn’t it?” Petra said in a hushed voice as she began leading us toward a different exit. We moved out of the kitchens and up a narrow set of stairs that brought us to a wide hallway paneled with sky-blue wallpaper.
“My first few weeks here, I got turned about at least three times a day! But you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.
” She flashed me another friendly smile, and I felt a slight twinge of guilt.
She continued, “This is the main hallway, which you can only get to from the kitchens, the front parlor, or the servants’ quarters in the back of the manor.
It’s strictly private to the family and household staff.
Lady and Lord Wistrallo prefer any guests to be kept to the ballroom, dining room, downstairs parlors, and, occasionally, for close friends, the main study and the library. I can show you those later!”
My mind was still whirling over the fact that there was both a library and what seemed to be multiple studies. How big was this manor?! And for only three people! Ridiculous.
I tried to catch up with what Petra was saying.
“… up here we have each of the family quarters. The Lady’s…
the Lord’s,” she said, pointing out doors as we passed.
“Eight guest bedrooms—though, truth be told, the family hasn’t hosted a guest in years—and, of course, Dove’s rooms. Blast, sorry, I meant Lady Dove. ” She blushed again.
Before I could press on what she’d meant about the lack of guests in the manor, Petra stopped before a large white door with silver flowers carved along its length. She knocked twice, hard, and then did two more quick raps.
“Come in, Petra! It’s unlocked,” called a familiar musical voice from within.
Following the maid, I found myself in a decadently decorated bedroom suite, the likes of which I’d be astonished by if I hadn’t just witnessed the rest of this gaudy house.
Petra tugged the heavy tray from my grasp and moved toward a low table gleaming with polish.
Glancing about, I relaxed slightly. The room was empty.
Grand, arched windows on the far side filled the space with soft, late-afternoon light.
Silk armchairs sat primly around the room, along with a plush velvet couch by the fireplace that was positively covered in embroidered pillows.
The fireplace itself was massive—Petra, I, and half a dozen chickens could fit comfortably inside it.
Who built a white marble fireplace? That must be a nightmare to clean.
Spread across the whole of the sitting room—or was it technically yet another parlor?
—was a pale green carpet that looked so thick, I had a sudden mad desire to kick off my boots and sink my feet into its lush softness.
Resisting the urge, I let my gaze be drawn in by the colorful walls.
They weren’t painted, as I’d first assumed, but held large canvas artworks spaced far apart around the simple ivory walls.
I didn’t know much about art, but for all that I’d been exposed to so far in this odd house, these were the first that I found to be…
remarkable. Riots of color in pinks, yellows, greens, purples—every shade of the rainbow, and more shades I’d never seen before.
Each one was striking. Unframed, surprisingly, these huge paintings hung unpretentiously yet were arresting with their whirling colors.
As Petra bustled around the room, fluffing pillows and stoking up the fire, I drew closer to one painting on the right-hand wall.
It was a swirl of light blues and pale gray tangled together, somehow rising from and yet enmeshed in the dark, azure background.
Achingly beautiful. Captivating. For the briefest of moments, I let myself get lost in movement of the wild colors, forgetting that I was deep in the lion’s den.
And then the lion arrived.
“What are you doing in my rooms?”