Chapter 14
I wake to a knock at the door. I stumble out of bed, still dizzy from sleep, and pull it open, all lessons about making myself presentable apparently long forgotten.
A thin, stern-looking man with dark braids tied back stands there with a tray in one hand and a folded pile of clothes in the other.
I scramble to open the door all the way as he sweeps into the room. His eyes take in my scattered travel bags and my disheveled appearance. Without a word, he sets the tray on the table and the clothing on a chair beside it.
He straightens his vest with a practiced flick and nudges a pair of fine-rimmed golden glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“I’m Karns. Steward of this house,” he says, each syllable clipped.
“Your breakfast. Eat it while it’s hot. Lunch and dinner can be taken from the kitchen.
Dashol will escort you there after he instructs you on the care of the hawks.
Your uniform is here. More will be arranged.
When you’re dressed, meet Dashol outside. Down the hall, down the stairs.”
He turns, already halfway to gone, before I think to respond.
“Thank you. And can I ask…”
He pauses. “Yes?”
“What about rooms?” I look down and clear my throat. “Is there space in the servants’ quarters?”
“No. You’ll be lodging here for the foreseeable future.”
The door clicking shut is his only farewell.
Karns is not a man whose time I should waste. Noted.
The porridge is coated with cinnamon, and the scent beckons me. It’s a heavier breakfast than the thin slices of melon and meat I’m used to in the capital, and it’s exactly what I need. I inhale it, shoveling hot spoonfuls into my mouth until I’m scraping the last bits from the stoneware.
I want to bathe, but I don’t want to be late.
After one week on the river, it’s amazing how quickly I’ve shed things that used to be necessities.
I tie up my hair, and dress in the clothes Karns left on the chair for me.
The garments are warmer than what I wore in Delvos.
The uniform is a simple, long-sleeve dress cut above the ankles for movement, and a heavy brown leather apron.
I work on the ties, cinching them around my waist, noting the thick gloves tucked into a pocket on the front.
Judging by the clothing, this work is not delicate.
But I feel invigorated as I hurry down the stairs and step out into the crisp air.
It’s only the second month of autumn, and it’s already far colder than it gets in the dead of winter in the capital.
But after another night of rest, the cold feels good in my lungs.
The castle I just exited is rough gray stone, with pointed turrets, carved arches, and dark doors bound in iron.
Compared to the Citadel’s manicured gardens and symmetrical plazas, this place is a fortress, expansive and barren.
In the distance, there is an outer defense wall, and beyond that, the tops of trees.
As I wait, I press the cut on my finger, testing how well the skin is closing. I could apply my lobellum, but not using it feels like its own type of experiment. Healing quickly and hiding pain were important as a princess, but a thief would wear her scars.
Of course, there’s nothing here for me to steal. Alaris is still on his trip from Delvos, voidstone in hand. Until he gets back, my only mission is to keep my job as a hawk keeper.
After a few moments, I spy a figure jogging toward me. He lifts a hand as he closes the distance. He’s a wall of a man, the intimidation of his solid physique undercut by his open smile and the sandy freckles on his nose. He looks about my age.
He slows to a stop. “Lyra, right? I’m Dashol. You can call me Dash, if you want.”
“Hello,” I say bashfully, glad he’s reminded me of the name I gave Alaris.
“The aviary is just this way.” He leads me across the grounds, our boots crunching on the packed dirt and gravel.
A building that looks like a tower lopped off the main castle stands in the distance. A few dark shapes circle in the clouds overhead.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I love birds. I love birds because they ensure I can eat and sleep somewhere safe.
“You’ve come from farther flameward, right?”
“Flameward, yes.” I don’t want to specify more.
“Settling in well enough? The cold takes some getting used to.”
“Everything is lovely. Where are we, by the way?” I realize too late the question is strange for someone who was supposedly summoned by letter and arrived by normal means of travel.
“You mean why isn’t the lord in Erbos?” Dashol takes it in stride. “It’s an unusual seat for a sovereign, this far away from his capital. But Alaris likes his privacy.” He throws an arm wide. “Nothing but trees around this castle.”
So we’re not in Erbos, and there isn’t a city beyond these walls. I’m sure Alaris doesn’t mind being in the wilderness when he can tear a seam in the air and emerge anywhere he likes. What’s a castle at the edge of nowhere to a man like that?
We reach the aviary door. Dashol pulls it open, revealing the stone building Alaris transported me to. The hawks are perched high above, obsidian eyes glinting.
I take a closer look around. I didn’t pay attention to the straw yesterday, but the aviary floor is covered in droppings and feathers and small animal bones. Rust stains mar the edges of the tools hanging from the walls, and a few beams sag ominously overhead.
Dashol follows my eyes. “I’m more of a soldier than a hawk keeper,” he admits. “It’s been some time since the hawks have received the care they deserve.”
“You’re a soldier?”
“Commander of them, actually,” he says, grinning. “But it’s at the expense of the birds. I don’t spend much time here.”
“Right.” Who am I to question the work of someone who does one job, much less two? “It’s hard to believe a commander was ever charged with this task at all.”
Dashol waggles his head, like he’s trying to find the right words. “Alaris doesn’t trust just anyone with his hawks.”
I remember Alaris’s little test.
“I was a governess before this.” I inject my words with more prim confidence than I feel. “I know how to care for a lord’s dependents. I just need a few pointers on the bird bits.”
“That’s the spirit.” Dashol grins. “They don’t require much care themselves.
They deliver messages directly to the lord and they hunt their own food.
It’s really the aviary that needs human hands.
The most important thing is to make sure the door is always latched.
We don’t want any predators sneaking in.
And sometimes the shutters blow closed and you’ll need to open them.
We close them on purpose during a storm… ”
He leads me beneath the overhang to show me the tools, and the smell of bird droppings hits me harder. My stomach churns. I nod through the nausea as he explains what some of the hooks and poles and brushes are for.
“What else?” I ask, not breathing through my nose.
“Water. The basin is for bathing, and I put in fresh water weekly. There are troughs a little higher for drinking, if you can carry a bucket up the ladder. If not, I can come back and help. What’s really been neglected is the cleaning.
” He examines the straw, his eyebrows pulled together. “I can ask someone to come by…”
“No,” I say, holding my breath as much as I can, trying to keep down the porridge. If more people are needed to take care of the hawks, I won’t have a job here at all. “Of course I’ll do it.”
“I’ll show you the rest of the grounds then.”
Dashol shows me the well, and the kitchens, and introduces me to a few footmen and maids, who I curtsy to shyly.
The contrast between these casual introductions and my treatment at Norville’s house is striking.
Everyone meets my eyes, and there are at least as many women, both young and old, as men.
“Don’t let anyone get too nosy with you,” Dashol says as he leads me away from a curly-haired maid with bright eyes whose name I’ve already forgotten.
“We don’t have many new members of staff joining in the middle of the night, but believe it or not, you wouldn’t be the very first. If Alaris hired you, you are the right person for the job. ”
Comforting words, even if they’re absolutely false.
Dashol leaves me outside the aviary, with promises of help anytime. I take a steadying breath of fresh air. First and foremost, I need to keep my job here. And if I’m going to be spending my days in the aviary, I need it clean.
Which means, despite my inexperience, I’ll have to be the one to clean it.
After one last breath of fresh air, I charge back in. For the first time, I’m alone with the hawks. They click their beaks and fluff their feathers, eyeing me from their roosts.
“You stay up there, and I’ll stay down here, and we won’t have any problems,” I mutter.
I keep one eye on the birds as I grab the wooden broom, hefting it awkwardly. I start sweeping the floor, trying to push the dirty straw into a pile. But the mess is too wet, and it sticks, caking the bristles.
I’m no expert, but I think the broom is ruined.
Undeterred, I fill a bucket from the basin and splash the water onto the floor, hoping it will flush the grime outside. Instead, it spreads the mess, turning the dirt into a slick, muddy layer.
Thankfully, I only have the hawks as an audience, clicking and chirping overhead.
I consider the tools on the wall more carefully. I almost reach for a rag or a bristle brush, but land on a shovel.
I glance up at the rafters. The hawks are indeed watching, black eyes shining. But none fly down. Whatever swarming behavior they displayed yesterday, today they seem content to roost.
“Only like to embarrass me in front of your lord, eh?” I ask. “Happy to sit up there, out of reach, now that I’ve got a weapon in my hands?”