11. CHAPTER 11
Miya
The Territories
Archai, Caspador
Word of Lance Krowe spread the morning after Miya met the captain.
Guests from across the province gathered in Governor Krowe’s banquet hall, whispering about the sudden addition to the house.
Krowe drank up the attention at the front of the room, nearing the ten-minute mark in his speech.
He leaned against a grand piano and tapped his fingers on the shining black top.
His nephew, Lance Krowe, sat at the front table. Hadn’t said a word all night.
Miya rolled her shoulders. The weight of a pitcher of water in one hand and tea in the other tired her arms. Silk-covered tables fanned in curved rows from the edge of the dancing area and stage to the end of the room.
The tips of pale Manzanita trees glowed with creamy candles hanging from the end of every row.
“That smell,” a guest complained, pinching her sharp nose.
The red and white rose centerpieces glistened as if freshly watered. They looked real enough, but the absence of their aroma couldn’t be missed. In its place, rose perfume clogged the air. That felt way too symbolic of Caspador in general. Their kingdom created such poor disguises.
A gentleman near her scratched the white scruff on his cheeks and finished off his tea. “I haven’t spoken with a single fellow who’s heard of this Lance Krowe.”
Miya sidled to her left and worked her way toward the table. That sounded interesting.
“Krowe did say the boy serves in Caspador’s Royal Guard.”
Could Lance be an undercover agent? Made sense. Only King Moress would be stupid enough to try fooling Ciondo with such a trick.
The man grabbed his drink. “Bah! They don’t train for their entire lives like the Ciondians. The boy would have been around here at some point. I'll bet he's a bastard.”
“Stop it.” A woman with flowing white hair touched his elbow. “People will hear you mocking the poor man.”
“Governor Krowe tried to please King Moress and the Phaedra at the same time and ran Caspador into the ground. I don’t care who's listening.”
If they needed to hide anything about Lance, why throw this party for him?
Then again, the governor lived his life on the stage, facing suspicion with a charming smile.
The captain wouldn’t ask her to get close to Lance without good reason.
She eased her way toward the man of the hour, trying to get a better look at him.
Conversation around the room hushed when Krowe thrust out his arm, puffed up his chest, and welcomed his nephew with a voice that seemed better fit for an announcer. Lance rose and all the visitors gawked, desperate for a piece of gossip.
He stood a full head taller than his uncle. Broad-shouldered, possibly mid-twenties, just a few years younger than her. Slouching, Lance glanced at the crowd with his deep brown eyes before diverting his stare to his shoes.
Miya scratched the back of her neck. Not sure what she’d expected, but this wasn’t it.
Maybe the captain wanted to throw her off. Or maybe he wanted to mess with her head. Then again, Lance may be putting on an act, pretending to be shy and unassuming. She shouldn’t let her guard down.
Krowe regaled the crowd with tales about Lance that she doubted were true, and eventually the two returned to their seats.
The guests continued dining and gossiping through dessert until everyone seemed bored with the mystery of Lance.
He planted himself at the far corner of the room in the darkness where the glow of the trees fell short of him.
That was the last place she’d choose for gathering intel, so then he may not be here to do that.
Odd. Nothing about Lance made sense unless he really was just Krowe’s nephew.
But the captain acted as if they weren’t actually related.
Miya worked the tables near Lance, careful to never look at him directly.
If he hadn’t noticed her by now, then he must be blind.
She’d made sure she looked perfect tonight, her long hair twisted into an updo, with ringlets kissing her cheeks and the nape of her neck.
Though she wore the same fitted black dress and capped sleeves as the other maids, Miya chose a dark red lipstick that never failed to draw eyes.
After another five minutes, Miya served the table closest to him, catching a better look at him. He leaned against the wall with a haze of smoke drifting up over his face that did not smell like cigarettes. Come on, Mr. Lance Supposedly Krowe. Come out and play.
“Can I get anything for you?” she asked, walking away from the guests toward him.
“I’m fine.” He took a drag before returning his attention to the other side of the room. Miya followed his line of sight to… nothing. He stared at an empty table littered with leftover food. If he wasn't interested in women, then she needed to pivot with her strategy right now.
Best to find out for sure. “You know this is your party, don’t you?”
He blew the smoke away from her, his eyes on her now. “Guess I missed that.”
It wasn’t proper for her to talk to him like this, but he entertained her at least. “We picked all the flowers by hand, you know. People traveled for days to come.” Miya bit her lip, daring a step closer.
“There’s a sign somewhere that says, ‘Welcome Lance Krowe.’ Subtle clues, but there's plenty if you know where to look.”
“Huh.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket. “You picked flowers in the snow, eh?”
“We wanted to make a good impression.”
He finally faced her. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble talking to me like this?”
Yes. Good. Focus on her. “That depends. Am I in trouble?”
A grin crawled onto his face. It made him look boyish and his eyes kind. He lifted the joint he didn't try to hide.
“I can’t smoke here,” she said. Not too hard to catch Lance’s eye, after all.
“You didn’t seem too worried about the rules a second ago.”
She pursed her dark lips, eyes lowered to give him the chance to sneak a look at her if he wanted, and took his gift, her fingers brushing his.
Slipping between him and the wall, she backed into the corner, leaving enough room that Lance needed to shift closer should he want to, but near enough to give him the chance.
Miya held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds. She'd hear about this for sure when the headmistress smelled her. The boss hated it when she smoked, and Governor Krowe outright forbade staff from any of it—cigarettes, weed, whatever.
Befriending this Lance guy might have its benefits if she washed her clothes immediately after.
It had been a boring few weeks here. “I see why you’re hiding over here now.
” He was cuter than she first gave him credit for, especially with that disheveled look to his wavy hair.
The style matched him well enough that she wondered if he’d tried to make his hair look that way but suspected he hadn’t.
The short beard he wore looked well-groomed.
A plus once she got him to kiss her because she hated dirty beards rubbing against her face.
“What’s your name?” Lance towered over her. If he were an undercover agent, he wouldn’t appreciate her partnership with the captain. What then? She had more than the captain to worry about, even if he was the greatest danger.
She passed the blunt back to him. “Miya.”
He studied her. “Where will you go in a few weeks when this place sells?”
Clasping her hands behind her back, she rested against the wall. “Onto the next placement, wherever that may be. You?”
“Home.”
Had Lance moved closer? Felt like it. Miya held her ground, waiting for him, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. In the low light, his dark facial hair looked like a shadow.
Now was the perfect time for Lance to make a move. Instead, he opened the space between them. Which meant she should leave now and keep his interest. “I should probably refill more glasses.”
“I should probably stay in this corner.”
She watched to see if he appeared disappointed. Couldn’t tell.
Her body brushed his as she squeezed past him. He turned with her, holding her gaze. Black rimmed his brown eyes.
“Enjoy your party, Mr. Krowe. And be careful. I hear smoking is bad for the lungs.”
He smirked.
Ten steps. She counted them out before giving him a look over her shoulder. He watched her from his corner with smoke rising toward the ceiling.
She had Lance’s attention.
Hopefully, that would keep the captain happy.
Miya carried a tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and placed them on the counter. Steam drifted from the sink. Whoever intended to wash them moved on somewhere else. So much work to do. No one had stopped since the party the night before except to catch a few hours of sleep.
She removed her lacey gloves and placed the dishes in the soapy water, where she scrubbed at the hardened bits of food.
Footsteps approached from behind. The headmistress caught her by the wrist. “Keep that covered. Someone else will wash the dishes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Miya dried her hands on her apron and slid her gloves on to hide her mark.
It bothered her how people treated women as if it was their fault they were marked when she didn't know anyone who asked for one.
Sure, Miya passed up her opportunity to leave this life a long time ago and opted for using the mark to her advantage, but so few women were in her position.
She straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her as she entered the dining room.
Staff waited at the back of the room by narrow serving tables set with silver platters of steak, greens, roasted carrots, and creamy mashed potatoes.
A rainbow of fresh fruit and fluffy clouds of assorted dips adorned small plates. It smelled even better than it looked.