Page 88 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

Not for the first time, I envied how easily Donavyn and the other men prepared for these events. Donavyn bathed half an hour before he was required to be anywhere in the castle, donned a handsome suit or leathers, then walked out the door.

I had to be fitted in my dress earlier in the day, then allow the servants to dress my hair in the style suitable for the gown—then usually required assistance even putting the corset and dresses on. Tonight, the corsetry of this gown was even more restrictive than usual, holding my breasts in a tight, perfect curve and sucking me in all the way down my stomach and over my hips to provide structure for the heavy fabric gathers and pleats.

It would be impossible to bend properly forward tonight. I worried I’d struggle to sit. Luckily, when I’d been preparing for the fitting, I’d remembered the vials Terra gave me. I’d carried them in my leathers pockets at times, but had relied more on my blade. The sleep potion wasn’t a weapon, per se. But it was protection. And with the restrictive dress, it sat snugly under my breast without being noticeable. It was better than nothing.

The modiste was placed in the lowest level of the royal residential wing, so I had to climb three flights of stairs, then take a lengthy walk to reach the main hall. It had already been a long day and I was weary, but my steps bounced because of that energy that bubbled in my veins.

It was time. It had to be time. We had to move.

I’d just reached the right floor and turned at the top of the stairs to follow the wide corridor that would eventually lead me back to the banquet hall, when the skin on the back of my neck prickled.

I didn’t let my steps stutter, didn’t make my discomfort obvious, but reached out with my senses, allowing only my eyes to move quickly, using apparently benign movements to smooth fabric at my hip or check a sleeve to give me reason to turn my head and scan the empty corridor, but found nothing.

Every hallway in the Fyrehold castle was peppered with alcoves—some offering access to storage rooms or servants stairways, others merely housing busts or art on occasional tables. One or two offered shadowed benches or lounges, that the Ladies of the court giggled about whenever we passed them. Regardless of their contents, each alcove was framed with curtains that could be released from the golden ties that usually kept them swept back like curtains for a stage. A comparison that the ladies also liked to laugh about.

But just ahead in the corridor, one of the sets of curtains had been released, the heavy folds sagging to the floor and hiding the alcove from any passing eyes.

My nerves ratcheted up. I would pass that space in a few moments. It could house a noble couple conducting very adult affairs. Or a villain lying in wait. Or nothing—the error of a servant called away before they’d finished cleaning.

I kept my pace steady, but my thoughts swung back and forth—to sneak up on the curtain and check what was behind, hopefully without being perceived? The carpet on the floor here was thick, and it was unlikely my footsteps had been heard.

Unless, the curtain were down specifically to hide someone lying in wait. But then, why would they be so obvious?

While it was strange that the corridor was so empty, it was also true that during these events for the festivals, most of the servants were called elsewhere. They cooked, served, and cleaned up after a bevvy of nobles who would grow increasingly drunk as the night progressed.

It could be coincidence.

Still uncertain of the best course, I slowed my steps marginally, perking ears and eyes for any sign of movement or sound behind the curtains.

“Next time, find a reason to turn aside earlier.”

I almost leaped to the ceiling like a startled cat as the disembodied voice whispered in my ear and breath fluttered tendrils of my hair.

I whirled, bringing my arms up to defend instinctively, only to find a very smug Voski, in dark leathers that had been dulled and softened with age, his hood up and deep, and the soft-soled boots that were entirely unsuitable for flying, but apparently excellent for hiding footsteps in a Palace.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I hissed, stopping and turning to look up and down the corridor, relieved when I didn’t see anyone.

Voski’s face was shadowed in the hood, but I caught the smile and the movement of his brows rising. “Don’t you know where you are?” he murmured, taking my elbow and drawing me towards the curtained alcove. With one quick look in either direction, he slipped into the dark space beyond at the edge near the wall, rather than the center of the curtains, then turned to face me.

With no candle or lantern, and the curtains down, I could barely make out his form in here. But it wasn’t hard to sense his smug grin.

“You scared me!” I hissed.

He gestured for me to be quiet, then leaned into my ear again. “When you want to draw eyes away from your location, you create an oddity elsewhere.”

I swallowed and tried to focus. He was teaching me, and I needed to put the pieces together.

“The alcove—you closed the curtains so people would look there, instead of… wherever you were?”

He nodded, a sliver of light that slipped between the curtains outlining his hood so I could see it move. “But what are you doing here? The General said you weren’t to do the searching.”

I frowned. “I’m not. I’ve been at the queen’s modiste and I’m on my way to the banquet.”

Voski tipped his head. “Through this corridor?”

“It’s the shortest way. Why?”

“Ruin’s chambers are in the next hallway. Hanson’s as well—you didn’t know that?”