The Witch in the Dead of Night (The Flamebearer Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

The scent of copper wrinkled my nose as I peeled the sheets from the four-poster bed.

Relieved to find that the mattress beneath was unstained, I dropped the linens with a splat into the tin bucket at my feet.

Rocking back on my heels, I scrubbed my hands down my apron, the once-white fabric now stained with streaks of red.

A couple lounged on a settee at the other end of the chamber, their limbs tangled together.

What little moonlight that was not obscured by clouds seeped through the windows, its muddled glow gilding them in silver.

The woman giggled, nestled against her companion’s chest. Twin puncture wounds stained the skin of his throat, but he was otherwise unharmed.

His gaze flicked to me as he ran his fingers through the vampiress’s hair, a dark curl coiled like a serpent around his finger.

I ducked my head, wary of the nobles and the trouble that their attention could bring.

Stretching fresh linens over the mattress, I glanced at the woman standing squarely before the open door.

The skin around her beady eyes creased as she tracked my every move.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, just below the silver brooch that denoted her station.

Gathering my things, I joined her at the threshold. “I’ll take these to the laundry, Mrs. Cathers,” I announced, gesturing at the soiled sheets. “The rest is done.”

The housekeeper sniffed, scratching the ruddy tip of her nose. “Far too cheerful for a chambermaid,” she grumbled. I fought the urge to recoil from the whiskey vapors that wafted off her breath. She scanned the chamber, searching for mistakes I knew she wouldn’t find.

I flexed my fingers, my nails brittle from scraping grime from between the flagstones tracked in on silken slippers.

I breathed a sigh of relief as she turned on her heel, disappearing from sight without a word. Slipping into the corridor in her wake, I stole a final glance at the couple before pulling the door closed. They didn’t notice me, instead lost in each other’s eyes. I swallowed, heat searing my cheeks.

The cold seeped through my shoes as I descended the servants’ stairs, the soles flimsy and frayed after years of daily wear.

The staircase wound its way through the castle like a worm, the invention of the long-dead architect of Valnar Castle.

The dim and narrow passages were designed to keep the staff out of sight, just as Mrs. Cathers preferred it.

My eyes watered as I entered the laundry in the bowels of the castle.

I nodded at the laundress, a stout woman with liver-spotted skin and several missing teeth.

Wisps of gray hair had escaped her cap, curling around her hairline in the humid air as she leaned over one of the massive vats of churning water.

“Evening, Sigrid,” I said.

“Letlas save us,” she groaned, invoking the king of gods as she laid her eyes on the bundle in my hands. “The lot of them are driving me mad.”

I chuckled, shifting the sheets into one hand and dabbing my brow with my sleeve.

The days leading up to the winter solstice were always like this.

The staff had been readying the castle for the celebration for weeks.

It was an extravagant, days-long affair, culminating in a ball that would last from sundown to sunup on the shortest day of the year.

The king’s guests had been trickling in for days, inundating the staff with requests for fluffier pillows, warmer fires, and solutions to red wine stains on their finest gowns.

“If they’re going to be biting each other, I wish they would do it in the washroom rather than in the godsdamn bed,” she said, her hands on her hips.

I gritted my teeth as I drowned the sheets in a vat of water and vinegar. The laundrymaids kept the solution cold enough to draw out stains, and blood immediately leached out of the fabric in a cloud of crimson.

Sigrid waved over one of the laundrymaids, a mousy girl with long brown braids. “Don’t bother, Finn. One of mine will do it.”

“Who was it?” asked the girl with a whisper, as she dipped a wooden paddle into the vat. “Lady Kerr? I heard that she has quite the thing for young humans. And that they have quite a thing for her.”

A nervous laugh escaped me as my mind drifted back to the couple on the settee. The dark-haired, sultry vampiress and her human companion, who had appeared entirely at ease despite the fang-marks in his throat. “I’m afraid I didn’t recognize them.”

“Supposedly it’s an incredible sensation,” the girl continued, undeterred.

“What is?”

“The bite. I’ve got a friend from back home who married a vampire. She says it’s like having an—”

“Enough of your drivel, Ruby,” barked Sigrid, shooing her away. “I swear that girl will get herself into trouble one of these days, spreading rumors about the nobles right under their noses.”

“She seems harmless enough.” I smiled.

She grunted. “Are you finished for the evening?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I have one more room to attend to.”

“Take this, then.” She thrust a fresh apron into my hands. “Even vampires don’t want their staff walking around in bloodied garments.”

“Thanks,” I replied, loosening the strings of my own and tossing it into the churning water.

Climbing back up the stairs, I set off toward the northern end of the castle, my steps slowing as I passed a tapestry depicting the first ruler of Valen, King Daemon the Realmmaker.

He stood atop the ruins of an ancient city on the eve of battle over two thousand years ago; a battle that would wipe out the old kingdom.

The king’s troops stared up at him in awe and admiration as he claimed the land as his new capital.

Two wyverns were silhouetted against the stormy sky above him.

They were winged, lizard-like creatures that were extraordinarily rare in Valen.

I had only caught glimpses of them a handful of times since I arrived three years ago, and I preferred it that way.

One was as black as a raven’s feathers, the other the color of spilled blood.

I knew them well from the royal crest that adorned the castle banners, which depicted them intertwined at the tail.

My fingers danced down the brocade, twisting off a loose thread poking out from beneath the king’s sabatons.

Tucking the thread into my pocket, I continued down the corridor. I paused as I reached a familiar mahogany door, fishing a small, leather-bound book from my pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

I cursed silently as the seneschal’s insufferable apprentice stepped out from the shadows. “Tending to my duties, Maxence,” I replied. “Mrs. Cathers tasked me with tidying the library.”

“The library?” he parroted. “What use is that this close to the solstice?”

I shrugged. “I suppose even nobles know how to read.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” he warned. “There are quite a few vampires among them, and they can hear through stone.”

I scoffed. “That can’t be true.”

His brows shot toward the mess of dark waves atop his head. “You’ve served in King Mordric’s court for nearly three years now, and you don’t know that?”

“They don’t have vampires where I come from,” I replied. “Kings or otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes. “The Outlands are an anomaly.”

“I don’t disagree,” I continued. “Besides, we don’t have any on staff, if you don’t count the Royal Guard.”

“I don’t count them,” he replied. “And I know precisely who is on my staff, thank you very much.”

“Your staff?” I countered. As seneschal, Maxence’s master oversaw the upkeep of the castle and its many workers.

And yet I hardly ever saw him. Instead, he offloaded most of his responsibilities to his apprentice, much to Mrs. Cathers’s chagrin.

Maxence was only too pleased to take up his master’s mantle, adding to his already overinflated sense of authority.

His brown eyes narrowed. “What is that?” he exclaimed, snatching the book from my hands. “You don’t have time to read. This better not be from the library, either. The Lord Seneschal would have my head.”

I snorted. “As if you would take the blame for that. I found it in one of the rooms. I was just returning it.” I gestured to the book, a rather innocuous copy of Valen and its Storied Histories, a common find.

Maxence sniffed, dropping it back into my hands. “Fine,” he conceded. “Hurry up then.”

I bit back a retort. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have an irritable housekeeper to keep company?”

He coughed, the skin of his ears turning from olive to pink. “Important palace business,” he said finally. “Not that you would understand.”

I grinned as I felt the warmth of his embarrassment wash over me.

The space between us pulsed, like the thrum of a pounding heart.

My grandmother called it intuition—my uncanny ability to sense others’ emotions before they had even put them into words—but only because she didn’t understand it for what it truly was—or was afraid to admit it.

Magic.

“Not looking for Niamh, are you?” I asked.

His ears burned even brighter. “I have no interest in your friend, chambermaid,” he insisted. “I’m only doing my rounds to ensure that everything is in top shape for the celebration. Besides, I didn’t even see you here, scurrying around like a field mouse.”

“Then if you don’t mind …” I turned my back to him, cracking open the door.

“Be on your best behavior,” he warned before stalking off.

The library at Valnar Castle was lit by two fireplaces, one at either end, at the foot of which squatted plush armchairs in hues of emerald green and scarlet.

Along the walls, staircases wrought of iron curled around themselves like serpents, leading to the second floor.

I suspected that Mrs. Cathers only assigned me here due to its sheer size.

Cleaning the library alone was a near-impossible task for an ordinary chambermaid.

I, however, was no ordinary chambermaid.