8. First Night
Fern and Lina stood not more than three feet apart, staring at one another. Fern didn’t know what to do. Sprout, on the other hand, had taken to exploring the room with a vigor that had been sorely lacking upon entering the Keep.
“You should sit.” Lina moved to a bar cart near the hearth. She poured wine into an expensive-looking crystal glass, the liquid catching the firelight as she turned back.
Fern remained standing. “Are you allowed to do that?”
“Of course,” Lina said as she handed Fern the glass. “You are a guest. Feel free to help yourself. Though I will say, be mindful about how much you drink. It’s quite strong.”
Fern eyed the shimmering gold liquid.
“Come now, it’s just wine.” Lina lowered her voice and rested her hand briefly over Fern’s. “It will help calm your nerves. Please.”
Lina poured herself a small measure and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.” She hesitated, then added more quietly, “I know you don’t know me yet, but I wouldn’t offer you anything that wasn’t.”
Fern sighed. It was clear she wasn’t getting out of here, at least not any time soon, and she was anxious.
Still, she held the glass up to a wardcandle.
Her mother had taught her about tinctures that could coat a glass invisibly, leaving a greasy residue when touched.
Highly poisonous. She lowered the glass and wiped her fingers along the rim. Clean.
Lina leaned in, tilting her head. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the glass for poison.”
“You know how to do that? I didn’t think Rootfolk knew such things.”
Fern drank the wine and set the glass on the bar cart. “Rootfolk know plenty. Having less doesn’t make us ignorant. Most of us can read, you know.”
Lina flushed. “I’m so sorry, Miss Silverbell. I didn’t mean to offend—”
“I know,” Fern interrupted, the wine already warming her cheeks. “You’re a Stemblood, right? You can’t help what you were taught.”
“I… I suppose you’re right.” Lina straightened. “Why don’t we get your things put away, and I’ll show you the wardrobe?”
Fern nodded, still a little unsteady, but the wine was doing good work to ease that.
Lina took the travel bag from her before she could protest and crossed the sitting room, pushing open the arched door that led to the bedroom. Warm air spilled out, carrying the faint scent of lavender and starch.
The room was decorated much like the sitting room, blue and silver with plush velvet fabrics.
Lina was already unpacking, placing Fern’s things inside a drawer beside the bed.
She paused over the pressed flower in its glass panes, turning it once in her hands, then stood it upright on the side table where the wardcandle could reach it.
Lina gasped as she pulled out the black dress. “This is stunning. Where did you have it made? I’d love to have Mrs. Cordelia place an order for Lady Blackwell.”
“I wish I knew. It was handed down by my mother.”
“A shame.” Lina moved to the wardrobe, opening the double doors.
It was already full of dresses. She added the black dress to the stock.
“Lady Blackwell made sure that you were well-prepared for life in the Keep.” She opened the drawer below.
“Here you’ll find sleeping gowns.” She pointed to the drawer below that one.
“This one has undergarments.” Then the last. “This one is empty. I’ll fold your things and put them in there. Shall I draw you a bath?”
Lina moved closer, stopping abruptly as a loud grumble sounded. Fern’s cheeks heated.
“Are you… hungry?” Lina asked. “By the Mother. Of course you are. The tenth bell has already tolled.” She turned Fern around by the shoulders and steered her back into the sitting room.
“Do you remember where the kitchens are? I’ll tidy up in here, but you must eat.
I’ll not have you dying of starvation on my time. ”
Fern swayed. Wine on an empty stomach was making her vision swim. She glanced at Sprout, who had taken up residence on the mantel.
“Don’t worry about…” Lina scratched the familiar’s chin. “What’s his name?”
“Sprout.”
“Ah! Adorable.” Lina grinned. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll look after the little man.”
“I don’t know…”
Sprout chirped and nuzzled into Lina’s palm.
“I promise it’ll be fine,” Lina said. “Now really, you must go get some food. It’s late, anyway. It’ll be mostly empty down there.” She turned fully to face Fern. “Remember though, don’t go farther into the East Wing.” She dropped her gaze. “It’s heavily guarded, and they are not nice.”
Fern’s stomach grumbled again.
Don’t go farther into the East Wing.
She nodded. “I’ll eat if I must.”
Sprout lifted his head as she crossed the room. “I won’t be long,” Fern said, more to him than to Lina.
Then she slipped out of the blue suite and into the hall, the door closing softly behind her.
It didn’t take long to reach the entry hall, but she lingered there, the door built into the staircase catching her eye. Her fingers itched to find out where it went. A few servants passed, casting wary glances. Another time.
Outside the kitchens, Fern tapped her fingers against her thigh. She’d already made it this far; why was it so difficult to step inside? Cassius Blackwell had made it abundantly clear where she could and couldn’t go. The kitchens and the dining room were permitted. And the library, at least.
The door opened and a man in a neatly pressed servant’s uniform stepped out holding a plate of food. He stopped mid-step, brown hair slipping loose over his shoulder, and looked at Fern with curious green eyes.
“Are you new?” he asked, taking in her attire. “Must be. We haven’t met yet.” He held out his free hand. “Willem. Pleasure to meet you…”
“Fern.” She shook his hand, his palm surprisingly soft. “Could you… could you help me? Show me what to do?”
Willem grinned, faint lines creasing his eyes. “I’d be glad to.” He held open the door and stepped aside. “After you.”
Fern eased past him, glancing back once as she crossed the threshold. I should have brought a knife. She nearly snorted at herself. As if that would help.
The kitchen staff didn’t so much as glance at her.
There were at least six people bustling around, cleaning dishes, wiping down workstations, prepping ingredients.
Herbs hung to dry on the wall; they reminded her of home.
A home that felt very far away. A large rectangular table stood in the center of the room, holding an impressive amount of food.
Cutlery sat at one end with clean dishes on a shelf beneath.
“Don’t just stand there,” a gruff man said as he set down a new bowl of sweetcorn and wiped his hands on his heavily stained apron. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”
“Come now, Silas,” Willem said as he added a scoop of beans to his already full plate. “That’s no way to treat a lady. Besides, she’s new.”
Silas shrugged his meaty shoulders. “What do I care? They’re here until they’re not. That’s the way of it.” He shoved a bowl into a small woman’s hands. “Like Sasha here. You’ve been here since when, Green Spring?”
Fern looked down at her sage dress. Simple, next to what the Highbloods wore, but still quite beautiful. She didn’t think she looked like the help. Though being the help may be the better position.
Sasha cradled the bowl, head dipped. “Yes.” Silas narrowed his eyes, and Sasha added, “Sir.”
“Come on, girl. Get your food,” Silas said.
Fern said nothing and quickly added a little bit of everything to her plate.
“Ever think it’s because of how you treat them?” Willem asked, watching Sasha scurry back to her station. “You could stand to be a bit nicer.”
“I don’t make the rules.” Silas thrust a wooden spoon at Willem. “You know High Blackwell wants it to be so.”
Willem cocked a brow. “Is High Blackwell here? Is he ever here?” He shook his head.
“That’s a poor excuse and you know it. You want to know what I think?
I think you enjoy treating them this way.
Makes you feel as though you’re a Highblood.
That you’re important. But you know what, Silas?
You’re not important. You’re as replaceable as the rest of us. ”
Silas slid a butcher’s cleaver from the workbench, scraping metal against wood. Fern tensed and took a step back. Really wish I had that knife now.
“Take the new girl and get out of my kitchen before I make you regret those words, Willem.”
Willem laughed, loud and boisterous. Silas turned a brilliant shade of red.
Fern tugged on Willem’s sleeve at the elbow. He glanced at her.
“Fine, fine. Let us dine together, Fern. Wouldn’t want Silas here to do something stupid.”
As they entered the dining hall, Fern gripped her plate tighter. Long empty tables filled the space, enough seats to feed thirty men at a time. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She was completely alone with a man she did not know.
Her mouth had gone dry.
“Where shall we sit?” Willem asked, twirling a butter knife. “Perhaps there?” He pointed the utensil at the table furthest from the door. “Or maybe there? So many options to choose from.”
“This table right here is fine.” Fern took her seat, trying hard not to fidget. “I am quite hungry and those tables are so far away.”
Willem sat across from her and rested his elbows against the wood. He simply watched her while she ate.
“Aren’t you… going to eat?”
He popped a berry into his mouth, chewing quickly. He never broke eye contact. “I’m taking my time in case you’re still hungry.” He gestured to her plate. “You didn’t take much, and your first day at the Keep can certainly be taxing.”
Fern hummed and went back to her food. She supposed he was being nice, which she appreciated. Lina was rather kind, too. She had expected everyone to be like the Blackwells, but here were two people who seemed more like Rootfolk.
“Thank you for your help, by the way,” Fern said. “In the kitchens. I… was nervous.”
Willem smiled. “As I said, the first day in the Keep can be overwhelming. Working for the Blackwells isn’t all bad. Once you get used to it, it’ll get easier. I promise.”