Chapter 18
Our midday meal is inedible. Minced meat and squash have been baked together and dumped on rice, but the flavors are too jumbled to tell what’s what.
I use a pronged silver utensil with rust around the edges. At first, I’m sure it’s dirty, but when I attempt to scratch the metal, nothing comes off. I stare at the brown spots, trying to will them away.
“You seem entranced by your fork, little mouse,” Marchus chuckles softly.
I grimace at the sudden term of endearment and shove the end of the rusted fork into the pile of mush—hoping I’ve skewered a chunk of meat—then shovel it into my mouth.
It tastes as rancid as it smells. No, worse.
I’d rather eat the rotten corpse of a klopse.
My face must have turned green because Marchus can’t hold in his laughter. The maids and other soldiers glare at us over their identical meals and offer scornful looks of disapproval.
“ That’s quite the expression. You look like you want to punch my face in, but you’ll have to save your anger for the training grounds. We’ll go as soon as you’ve finished your meal.”
He’s licked his plate clean. My nose wrinkles.
“Why not go for seconds?” I sneer.
Marchus licks his lips and smiles that lopsided smile. The one that’s starting to scare me a little.
“Why not, indeed?” he laughs. His wooden chair squeals as he pushes from the table. He joins the cook’s line again, leaving me alone.
No one has bothered to join us or introduce themselves.
I guess it makes sense, considering we are a soldier and a maid who have been inseparable since day one of my servitude here.
Still, the empty benches stretching to my right and across from me make me uneasy.
It’s like they know who I am and they’re doing their best to avoid any and all contact.
But that isn’t possible… Is it?
I glance around the mess hall, at the curved beams of wood arching into the stone ceiling, at the flickering bronze sconces lining the hall.
Not all servants are here. Certain maids I’ve seen are not present, maybe missing their midday meal to attend to a noble instead.
But no one talks about these things. Or at least, even with my elven hearing, I haven’t heard anything suspicious. That, in itself, is interesting.
I subtly move my jaw, and my ear pricks outward, not as effective as the curvature of my tapered ears, but I’m learning my elven qualities haven’t entirely disappeared.
With my hearing opened, I listen keenly to the conversation at the table in front of me.
They speak in hushed tones, but I still hear them.
“—seemed incredibly furious. I’ve seen him angry, but not like that ,” a younger maid says. Her voice shakes a little as she speaks.
The male servant next to her, dressed in black and gray plainclothes, pats her gently on the shoulder. This seems to calm her down a bit.
“We’ve all witnessed his feverish tantrums,” he says with a huskiness. “It’s what he was talkin’ about that’s important.”
“His son,” a maid slightly older than the other snaps, her tone higher pitched. “His damned son, that Xavelor. His Majesty knew he couldn’t keep his death from us forever. And everyone knows his other son doesn’t have what it takes to replace him.”
“I’ve seen him try to string a bow. Did you know he practices whenever he gets the chance? Sometimes I watch him, but he’s never hit a target. Not once!” The man snickers. “The prince who pales in comparison to his older brother. One has to feel sorry for him.”
My hands stiffen, and I have to move them to my lap before I react. It feels wrong to hear others belittling the prince who’s requested my teaching. No wonder he’s so determined to prove his kingdom wrong; they have no hope in him at all.
I try my best to soften my expression in case anyone notices.
“We probably shouldn’t be vocalizing our opinions of those we serve,” the younger maid says with a shudder. “Need I remind you?”
I tilt my head to see around the male servant, to understand what the maid is talking about, and then I choke on my next breath. Before they realize I’ve been eavesdropping, I clear my throat before I can cough. A few hits with my fist do the trick.
The younger maid has been branded for her gossip. A bloated red A for Azriel over her heart. Or maybe it’s an A for Arioch. Either way, it’s a symbol she will never be able to remove, and one that’ll always mark her as an object owned by another.
I’ve always known King Azriel to be an immoral ruler bent on destroying the lives of my people and the creatures of Aldorin, but I never once stopped to think that his brutality extended to his own people.
My stomach twists.
There are eyes and ears all around , Bernadette had said. I feel it now more than ever.
“What did I miss?” Marchus says cheerfully as he plops down next to me with a steaming plate of…
I’m unable to stifle the gag searing my throat. Marchus chuckles before scarfing down the concoction of meat and fat sizzling on his plate. Either he can’t taste how horrid it is, or he’s truly in love with this garbage. Should I be impressed or scared?
“Nothing. I’m ready to go. I’ll be waiting outside.” I quickly slide away from the fresh aroma of stink he brought with him.
I lean a foot against the wall and stare into the inner courtyard.
Hedges, bushes, and pots overflow with glittering flowers.
They are the first plants that seem to be thriving here.
I’m tempted to enter and see if the vegetation holds any magic, if any ley lines lie beneath, but the soldiers stationed in the shadows warn of the consequences for setting foot inside.
Three maids shuffle past, muttering to one another. A brunette catches my stare and looks away immediately.
I hear two words in their scattered whispers. Special and treatment.
Before I can defend myself, they rush away, hands stiff at their sides.
Marchus appears seconds later, patting his stomach as though he has a roundness to boast about.
I almost laugh at his actions. He reminds me a little of Pluto, who was always capable of lightening the mood just as it starts to darken.
I make a mental note to thank Ramiel later for not leaving me completely alone while he’s away.
He snorts. “You have the most entertaining arrangement of facial expressions. Did you know your eyes have the ability to change color? If His Majesty sees that, he might think you have some kind of special ability you’re using.”
I blanch.
He doesn’t seem to understand the curse, but I hadn’t realized my eyes are still changing even under the influence of Ronan’s elixir. How many others have noticed? How many have wondered who I am?
Marchus stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “Lucky for you, I don’t serve the king directly, or you might’ve already been reported and punished for disobedience to the throne.”
“That’s ridicul?—”
“Ah, but it’s not. The king allows zero questions, zero potential for traitors, and zero useless servants. You’re here now, so you must not be useless. But don’t show him the other two, or you’ll be in for the punishment of your lifetime.”
The concern in his eyes makes me hold my tongue. He’s warning me, I realize, but I still can’t trust him, even if it’s slowly starting to seem like he doesn’t hold any ill will against me.
“Shall we?” he says with a smile.
I nod, then stride forward. He folds his hands behind him and, with a laugh, falls into pace beside me.
“What kinds of weapons are you familiar with?” he asks.
I quirk an eyebrow at him, thinking of the obsidian blade pressing warmly against my inner thigh. Hidden beneath my clothing, it is my security and sole defense without my magic. Gods forbid nothing goes wrong, and I won’t need to use it.
“If you can count everyday items as weapons, such as the bucket of slop water used for the washboards in the launderer’s room or the linens we wring before scrubbing dishes, then I’m familiar with those, Sir Marchus,” I reply with a sweet smile.
For a moment, I hold my breath. The half truth is strong.
I am familiar with most any weapon he can think of, but the condition in my statement implies that no, I’ve not held a weapon.
After a beat, nothing happens, and I release my breath as casually as I can.
Marchus cringes. Cringes . As though he’s deeply disturbed by my reply. But it isn’t as though he sees through my lie. No, he’s disturbed by…my smile ? His eyes are fully focused on my lips, which now curve down.
It takes a great amount of self-control not to pummel him in the arm.
“I’m asking because we should focus on one area for now. It’ll be too suspicious for you to show any expertise in other categories too soon.”
He’s not conceding. He isn’t letting go of the suspicion that I’m anything more than a mere maid. Which means I have to be more convincing.
I stop, take a quick breath, and glare at him. He stops soon after, blinking at me over his shoulder.
“You—” I start, but shake my head. I can’t let my annoyance rise to the surface this easily, not over something like this. But I still have to know why he would make such a statement. “Who do you think I am, exactly? What do you want?”
Marchus bites his lip, almost excitedly, then glances around to see if anyone is within earshot. He advances toward me, and I step defensively away. He doesn’t come any closer. “I’ll tell you when we’re on the training grounds. Too many ears here. Sound like a deal?”
I breathe deeply, wondering if he’s aware of my identity. If he is, it doesn’t seem to burden him, or he isn’t inclined to reveal it. He’s awfully calm about it too.
“Fine,” I concede. He grins and we continue down the corridor. The training grounds are just beyond.