Chapter 13
“He’s too young to bear this much responsibility,” the old maid mutters from a wooden chair in the corner of the launderer’s room. Her knobby fingers busy themselves with white linens, which she folds into neat squares on her lap.
Only a day has passed, though she has already taught me much. The ways of a servant are to stay silent, to speak only when spoken to, and to serve with the whole heart. Even if it means scrubbing armor and grimy undergarments with a smile.
“You’ve colored your hair again,” she remarks, patting the fabrics once. “Must you keep it dark? The blonde is rather lovely.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, but I can’t risk any suspicion. And I like it black.”
She goes silent, perhaps in understanding. Then, she mutters, “Sir Ronan’s hair is a splendid silver. But it runs in his family, so it isn’t questioned. A maid with such a color. Could it be passed off as ordinary? No, perhaps not.”
Her mention of the fairy makes me stiffen, but I remember his threats and try to act as though I merely experienced a chill.
My hands fall dead against my own set of fabrics, which I tried to fold as neatly as hers.
Since my scuffle with Ronan, I’ve managed to heal the fractures in my fingers, but the calluses on my fingertips aren’t friendly to such delicate laundry.
Rough skin catches on the fine material, applying tiny scratches to the fabric.
I’m not made for tedious tasks such as this. I belong in the forest, with my people.
Either the maid doesn’t seem to notice, or she’s trying to busy me in case there are any curious glances in our direction. I’m appreciative regardless. I’d much rather be ignored than chastised for an uneven corner.
The launderer’s room is small, but feels roomier with the three arched doorways that lead into different corridors—one to the servants’ mess hall and kitchen, one to the main castle hallway, and one to the stables.
There is one window behind me with a pitiful view of a tall stone wall with little vines climbing up and around the gaps in the rocks.
A small wooden table occupies most of the room, and strings hang from each end of the ceiling, dipping from the weight of clothes clipped to it. Two hefty oak wash basins sit against the window, steaming with fresh hot water.
If I weren’t in such an odd position, I might call the simplicity of the scene beautiful. As an elf-turned-master-turned-servant, I cannot afford to admire the design.
I keep Pluto’s leafprint in my pocket, a reminder of the goal I’ve set for myself: to teach the prince how to fight for his big event, then get the seven hells out of Arioch and back to my village.
My fingers tighten on the cloth. Its small fibers cling to my skin.
Bernadette’s somber brown eyes bore into mine. The room falls silent. Has she been speaking? If she has, I haven’t registered a single word.
I nod as though I’ve been following along with whatever she’s been talking about.
After a pause, she sighs, then plops the stack of clothes on the ground next to her.
“Ether, I need you to understand that I am no ally to those who wish you harm. In fact, I’ve had a great deal of contact and companionship with your people.
And if I know anything, it’s that Ramiel wants nothing more than to understand you for who you are, not for what people tell him you are.
” She stands from her stool and moves to the window.
Her hands fold neatly at her back, and for a moment, the bright young woman she once was shines through.
Her features are quite pretty, for a maid.
Though I know nearly nothing of court politics and family heirs, her beauty makes me wonder how she wasn’t at least adopted into a well-to-do family.
Even in my hometown, there exists a hierarchy of beauty.
She lifts her chin toward me without meeting my eyes. She seems to be focusing on something behind me, outside.
“I raised him. His mother passed away when he was six years old. I’ve never dared to assume his mother’s role, though I do feel strongly about my judgment, and he is a good man.
I really, really hope his choosing you wasn’t a mistake.
” At her last words, she stares at me. A challenge flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears, as though extinguished by a higher standard she holds herself to. She hunches with a wet cough.
My arm twitches, wanting to comfort her as I would my own kind.
I’ve never once thought to be so kind to a human.
When she regards me again, her expression is solemn.
“You don’t seem convinced. With that curse of honesty you have, it must be terribly difficult to keep secrets.
So let me tell you one of mine. To prove I’m someone you can trust. Because as long as Ramiel has selected you to help him, I am to support you as I would him. ”
She strides toward me, her eyes glancing at each of the entrances. Seeing no one, she leans forward. Her voice is raspy when she confesses, “ Minart nagam keng d’trium. ”
My lips part at the familiar phrase, but it is one only elves would know the meaning of. Surely the maid doesn’t know?—
“My heart sings the king’s praises,” she whispers, breaking her gaze. Something unreadable crosses her face, like a blend of rage and agony. Her eyes close, and two tears stream down her cheeks. My heart pinches at the sight.
“How do you know that?” I finally ask. The old woman flinches as though my words have whipped her. She shakes her head and smiles sadly.
“My years as a maid have allowed me to meet many people. A dear friend of mine often said this in her moments of despair. She revered the king so, and repeated the phrases to ground herself. I knew it was elven tongue from the second I heard it, and begged her to tell me the meaning. But saying such words aloud is worthy of treason. Any language other than our spoken tongue is strictly forbidden.” She shakily reaches to grasp my hands, and I drop the cloth.
It feathers to the ground silently. Her mouth flattens.
“Please understand the weight of this secret I’ve carried with me.
Ramiel trusts you, and therefore so do I. ”
I’m speechless.
She has made herself vulnerable in a way no other human would dare.
She knows I can’t babble to those of higher status about her secret without risking my own being exposed, but she must realize there are other ways I can betray her.
Still, she has decided to share a part of herself with me.
No one would know the elvish language without having come into close contact with us, and that hasn’t happened for centuries.
Whoever the maid’s friend was, she was no ordinary elf.
I can’t in good conscience give her all my trust, but for now I’ll believe her.
“I understand,” I say.
We share a smile as we study one another. The haunted memory in her eyes tells me I remind her of her friend. Even if that is the only reason she is being so kind, I’ll take it.
When she drops my hands, footsteps sound from the castle hallway, and we both turn to stand at attention—something she taught me even before putting me to work with the laundry. Thank Aldorin.
It’s all I can do to keep myself from biting my tongue off when I realize it’s the lying fairy approaching us.
Another soldier walks behind him. Ronan wears a gray tunic, and the other soldier wears chainmail beneath gleaming silver armor.
His metallic sabatons brush the floor, echoing the thuds of the fairy’s boots.
“Miss Bernadette,” Ronan says flatly.
The maid offers a small, professional bow to the soldiers. I reluctantly follow her example. I swear I catch a sneer from Ronan as I lower my head.
“What is it you request, my lord?”
Ronan gestures casually to the soldier who is now standing next to him. Under the layers of metal that conceal his body’s shape and form, ash-colored hair forms a stippled layer around his mouth, and soot coats the shinier areas of the skin on his face. His reddish-brown eyes focus forward.
“This is Marchus Haddock of Hurgden, one of the castle guards who often joined Xavelor’s battalion on the eastern war front.
He is to watch over your newest addition.
” His words sound flippant, but there’s a spark in his eye I cannot ignore.
A missive from Ramiel, no doubt. Though I’ve never heard of such a kingdom.
“My maids require no such glamorous measures,” Bernadette replies gruffly.
Ronan’s silver eyebrow slices into his forehead. “Prince Ramiel himself wishes for your newest addition to be adequately protected, as she knows nothing of the castle’s operations.”
Bernadette stews over this clear threat briefly before nodding once. “Understood, my lord.”
Before she can even finish, the bastard turns and storms down the hall, leaving the three of us in uncomfortable silence.
An angry heat rises along the sides of my neck. My hands instinctively itch for a weapon. If only I could sink one blow into that weasel, I?—
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ether,” the soldier says.
His eyes wrinkle around the edges as he smiles, though the helmet he wears conceals his mouth.
“I apologize for my appearance. I’ve just returned from the training grounds.
Sir Ronan had told me the matter was urgent.
” His body goes rigidly into a salute, fisting a hand over his heart.
“I am in no way discounting this as an urgent matter, but if it is alright with you, eh, miss , I’d like to present myself in a cleaner fashion. May I excuse myself?”
Though it’s clear he’s asking me, Bernadette is quick to offer her approval and shoo him away. Once he’s gone, she once again turns to me.
“He sent for a guard to protect you, Ether. Ramiel must be intent on keeping you safe.” Her words are soft and pleasant to the ear, but I find them oddly discomfiting. Especially when she whispers, “Or putting a target on your back.”
I shudder, trying my best to ignore the darkness settling over her expression.
“Why would I need extra protection if I’m to be with him to train and protect him?”
Bernadette’s hands go to my shoulders, gently rubbing the tension from them.
I relax a little, alarmed at how much the subtle action comforts me.
“In a little bit, I’ll be retrieving Ramiel’s foot bath from his bedchamber.
Why don’t you go in my stead? It’ll give you a chance to get an honest explanation from him. ”
I blink at her, unable to hide my surprise. She laughs.
“Give him what you gave me,” she says, patting me lightly. “Give him your trust.”