Chapter Six
The light above the dungeon level was so bright that Kestrel was at first blinded, then forced to squint.
Even after being escorted to the council hall for questioning five times, she still wasn’t accustomed to that stinging light, and the crispness of the air.
But something about this occasion was different.
She didn’t know why exactly. The guards were new faces to her, but they were armed and dressed like the previous ones.
The cold, officiousness manner in which she was tugged along was the same. And yet, something was off.
Was this to be the end of the inquest? When she’d be tried and sentenced? Between the months in the dungeon broken up only by hours of questioning from the council and the cruel visits from Gerard and The Wolf, some part of her was beginning to feel as if she truly was somehow guilty.
Especially with the scornful looks she received from servants and courtiers on her way to and from interrogation sessions.
But then the guards led her down a corridor in the opposite direction of the Council Hall. Kestrel’s heart leaped with hope. Was she finally permitted to see her father? Her slippered feet quickened their pace until a guard grabbed her shoulder to stop her from running ahead of them.
At last, they stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall and opened it.
“Your new quarters, Miss Goshawk,” the guard on her left said.
As always, part of Kestrel winced at the lack of proper address, which should have been “Lady,” “Mistress,” or “Healer.” But then the rest of his words sank in and she gaped at the room, which was a little small and plain for Lord Aylmer’s castle, or even her own apartments at Raptor’s Roost, but equal to the guest rooms she’d stayed in when visiting the small country estates of lords equal to her father in status.
Compared to the cramped, dark, and damp cell in which she’d spent the past four months, it was a luxurious suite. Kestrel stepped inside, gasping in surprised pleasure at the sight of her trunks beside the wardrobe and one of her own gowns laid across the bed.
Just when she was about to rush to the gown, a thin dark-haired woman stepped into view.
“My name is Millicent, Miss.” She dipped in the slightest of curtsies, her thin lips pursed. “I shall be your lady’s maid for as long as His Lordship wills it.”
Kestrel’s heart soared. At last, another woman to keep her company. In her long weeks of isolation she’d been so lonely that she almost missed the frightening Wolf.
She curtsied lower than was usually done for servants and smiled at the woman. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Millicent.”
Millicent nodded stiffly, then addressed the guards. “You may leave us now. The girl requires a bath and a change of clothing.”
Once more, Kestrel inwardly cringed at being referred to in such a diminutive manner. Still, she’d happily be called “Miss” and “Girl” if it meant she never had to set foot in the dungeon again.
Could this move to guest quarters and the return of her personal effects mean that she was soon to be exonerated at last? Could it even be possible that information had come forth to reveal that Father was innocent after all?
Oblivious to Kestrel’s racing thoughts, Millicent strode into the small bathroom and turned on the faucet to fill the small bathtub.
Wurrakia eschewed many technological and magical implements that were commonly used either in Aisthanesthai’s other nations or in the Earth realm, but plumbing, including running and heated water were not only a luxury that Wurraks embraced, they were likely among the first civilizations in either world to invent it.
While the bath was running, Kestrel attempted to establish friendly conversation with her new lady’s maid, but Millicent would either reply in monosyllables or refuse to speak at all.
Millicent was relieved that Kestrel refused the lukewarm offer to help and took a seat by the door with the beginnings of a knitted cap.
The servant’s coldness hurt a little, but Kestrel forgot all about it when she sank into the blissfully hot water.
For a few moments, she closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of being in a bath after months of only having access to a sink with only cold water, rag, and a bar of lye soap that stung her skin.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and begun the arduous task of scrubbing herself clean from head to toe. Kestrel had to drain and refill the tub three times, and by the time she was finished, her arms, neck, and shoulders were sore and there was a filthy dark ring around the edge of the narrow tub.
She gathered her magic and began to recite the words for a dirt-moving spell, but a hand snatched her wrist in a painful grip.
Kestrel found herself face to face with Millicent.
“Prisoners of the crown are not permitted to use magic, Miss.” The maid’s eyes flared with fury. “I’ll clean the tub.”
After being released, Kestrel rubbed her wrist and watched with astonishment as Millicent opened a cabinet and removed a rag and a bottle of cleaning solution instead of performing a simple spell that would remove every molecule of dirt from the tub and deposit it in the trash bin.
“You’re a null?”
“That’s right.” Millicent glared at her as if expecting Kestrel to mock or disparage her.
Instead, she did her best to conceal the surge of pity and nodded. “I will dress myself, then.”
“Don’t leave these rooms without me.”
“I won’t.”
Although she was disappointed to still be a prisoner, Kestrel’s spirits soared at being freed from the dungeon and having someone other than the surly Wolf to talk to.
She put on her favorite blue gown, intended for formal banquets with Sir Gerard and hummed with pleasure at the feel of velvet sliding over her clean skin.
Faint hope floated around her like traces of perfume. Perhaps her father was innocent after all.
Food was brought up, leftovers from the nobles’ morning meal that had gone cold.
Millicent’s disapproval at the tepid repast nearly tempted Kestrel to tell her about the first few horrid things she’d been given in the dungeons before the Wolf brought her something edible.
But the woman’s sour face made her hold her silence.
After the meal, Kestrel opened the wardrobe and inspected the trunks and shelves, reacquainting herself with all the things she’d once believed she couldn’t live without.
Aside from carefully selected gowns for court, there were things she’d treasured far more.
There was her hairbrush, its wooden-handle carved with hawks, its bristles made of boar’s hair crafted by one of the Tolonquan tribes.
She still remembered her mother giving it to her on her twelfth birthday.
“The faelin may be infamous for their strange and beautiful hair, but the tribes view hair as sacred and know better than anyone how to care for thick and straight tresses like ours.”
She also had a pair of Tolonquan moccasins, made from elk hide, lined with rabbit fur, and decorated with brightly colored beading patterns that she’d tried to learn when she was a child.
Kestrel almost hadn’t brought them, for many Wurraks loathed the tribes, but they were so comfortable and protected her feet from cold stone castle floors.
She had books of poetry and her favorite romantic novels, her sewing basket, and sketchbook.
However, several things were missing. All three blue robes Kestrel had packed for events that called for her to dress as a healer mage, her chest of magic herbs, stones, and spellbooks were gone.
While she could understand that Lord Aylmer and the noble council wouldn’t want her practicing magic while she was imprisoned, the notion of other people handling her own personal magical implements rankled.
But it was another absence that nearly drove Kestrel into a fury. They’d taken her jewelry box, in which almost every piece had been passed down to her from her mother.
“Those bastards!” she hissed aloud.
Millicent gasped. “Just because you’re the daughter of a traitor doesn’t mean you should forget your lessons in speaking like a lady.”
“They took my jewelry.”
“When a Wurrakian commits a crime, it is the lord’s right to confiscate all of his assets.”
“And when I’m declared innocent?”
“In that unlikely case, I imagine that would depend on whether or not His Lordship determines the jewels to belong to you or to your father.”
Deciding not to dignify that mean-spirited answer with a reply, Kestrel buried herself in her favorite novel, The Lady Who Tamed a Dragon.
The next few days passed with a mixture of enjoyment and frustration. While Millicent constantly made her displeasure at being forced to serve someone she’d deemed a criminal, Kestrel was usually able to ignore her hostility by burying herself in reading, painting, and needlework.
She tried taking walks, but the joy of being out of confinement was dampened by the presence of Millicent and an armed guard.
However, Millicent was useful in her knowledge of routes they could stroll without encountering the judging eyes of courtiers.
Kestrel knew the maid was only looking out for herself with those private, quiet paths, but she was grateful all the same.
And, the few times when her armed guard was the Wolf, Millicent’s sheer terror alleviated Kestrel’s own fear of the scarred warrior. It was even somewhat amusing.
***
Three weeks after being moved from her dungeon cell, Kestrel and Millicent had come to an uneasy truce. But that didn’t mitigate her ever-growing frustration anger and frustration with her imprisonment and the inquest, which was slow as molasses.