Chapter 16 #2
When Ellaryn arrived, the servants were so absorbed in their work that none of them noticed her at first. Bowls were being mixed in frantic rhythm, hands dusted with flour and sugar as cakes and desserts took shape.
A pig’s carcass lay sprawled across a silver platter large enough to dominate the central counter, its skin glistening, an apple wedged grotesquely between its jaws and vegetables arranged neatly around it, as though presentation could disguise the violence of its end.
A multi-tiered cake stood nearby, towering and immaculate, coated in thick black icing that absorbed the torchlight rather than reflecting it. Ovens rumbled and hissed along the walls, and the heavy scent of roasting meat and baking sugar clung to the air.
Ellaryn’s stomach twisted painfully. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until now.
She cleared her throat.
The sound cut through the room like a blade.
Every servant froze at once. Mixing stopped mid-stir, knives hovered above chopping boards, and a hush fell so suddenly it rang in her ears. Dozens of faces lifted toward her, pale and stricken, panic blooming in their eyes as they realised who stood among them.
“Ruin,” Andreya said softly, politely inclining her head, grey, wispy hair tied into a neat bun atop her head. “How can we help you?” she asked, patting her hands on her apron.
“It’s fine—continue,” Ellaryn replied, gesturing to the room before stepping closer to her. “The King only wished to ensure everything was in order.”
Andreya nodded quickly, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the ovens and the pace of her work.
She had been the King’s cook since Ellaryn’s earliest days in the castle.
Once, Ellaryn had mistaken Andreya’s gentleness for safety.
Now, as an adult, she knew better. Whatever warmth had once existed had long since curdled into fear.
For she knew that the King would take away anyone who grew close to her.
“Everything is progressing smoothly,” Andreya said. “I can assure you there is no need for concern; I have everything under control.”
Ellaryn inclined her head and turned to leave, but a hand closed gently around her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Andreya asked in a whisper. “You look pale.”
Ellaryn startled at the concern. At the kindness in her eyes. Kind eyes were not a friend of Cinders. They were a rarity, and for a moment, they stole her words.
“Are you hungry?” Andreya added, with a gentle smile.
She was, but hunger was a weakness, and weakness was dangerous.
“I’m fine,” Ellaryn said at once, her tone firm.
She scanned the kitchen, making sure no one was watching. When she saw the servants had returned to their tasks, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles—gone almost as soon as it appeared—before pulling away.
“Well, Dotty was just about to bring your lunch,” Andreya said. “Dotty?” She called toward the back.
A middle-aged woman in rags emerged, cheeks streaked with cinders, wiping her slick brow with a tea towel. Her eyes widened at the sight of Ellaryn. The sight of Ruin.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said with a nod. “I did not expect you in here.”
Ellaryn returned the nod.
“Her lunch, Dotty,” Andreya prompted.
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Dotty wiped her hands down her front and lifted a plate of food from the side. It was covered by a towel.
Ellaryn took it with a small, careful smile. “Thank you,” she said before leaving the room without looking back. Even so, she could feel Andreya’s gaze lingering long after she had crossed the threshold.
She examined the food and tucked most of it into her pockets, leaving only a few grapes to eat on the way and handed the plate to a nearby servant.
Her boots echoed on the stone steps as she descended the narrow staircase toward the cells.
“Ellaryn,” a small voice called from behind the bars.
“Yes, Sailen. It’s me.” She rested her hands against the cold iron. It was always damp down here, always bitter, and Sailen almost always carried a cough or cold.
She winced as she handed him the food she’d pocketed, and his fingers brushed hers. They were so cold they might as well have belonged to a corpse.
“Are you going to the party tonight?” he asked, eyes wide, barely pausing to chew the meat. “I heard there’s a party.”
“Where did you hear that?” Ellaryn said, brows pinched together.
“The Knights… You’d be surprised how fast news travels down here.” He said, nibbling the bread. “So… are you going?” He asked again.
“Yes. The King invited me, though I don’t want to go.” She unclasped her cloak and fed it through the bars. “Here.”
He took it eagerly, sighing as the warmth settled around his thin frame. Ellaryn wasn’t worried about the King seeing him in it. The prison was the one place he never entered. Once someone was sealed inside, he truly threw away the key—and the thought of them with it.
“But parties are meant to be fun,” Sailen said, soot coating his skin as he curled up on his bare bed, food clutched in one hand.
“Not for people like us,” Ellaryn replied, shaking her head. Her thoughts already recoiled at the mingling, the listening, the careful lies she would have to tell.
“I wish I could go to a party.” His voice was small. Fragile. He probably wished for anything beyond the walls of his cell.
“One day,” Ellaryn said softly. The words surprised her. She had never allowed herself to say something like that before. Never wanted to give him false hope.
She doubled down.
“When we get out of here… I’ll throw us the biggest party you’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes burned at the thought.
“You promise?” Sailen asked, joy lighting his voice in a way that felt cruelly out of place in this room.
Ellaryn hesitated. It was a dangerous thing to promise.
But now—now she felt like she could.
“I promise,” she said quietly. “I’m going to get you out.”