Page 177 of Fallacies

I roll my eyes at his back, tempted to push my boot into the crook of his knee like Jude used to do to me when we were kids. It always made me stumble, and if he did it hard enough, I’d fall flat on my face.

Something tells me the Hound wouldn’t fall so easily.

Forcing down a deep breath, I urge my racing heart to settle and keep close behind as he turns towards the double doors. There’s a guard posted at each side of the entrance, but they pay us no mind as we pass over the threshold.

Salem goes right, and I go left.

The Hound takes his seat at the end of the dining table, and I head straight for the kitchens, mercifully switching into autopilot.

The Countess is the only one who turns her head in my direction as I pass, but the weight of her stare settles uncomfortably on my skin. Cold and sharp and suspicious.

Glass shatters, and the Countess’s attention darts in the direction of the sound.

“Oops,” Salem says, and I hear the scurry of servants swarming in to clean up whatever mess he’s just made.

I take advantage of the distraction and hurry across the dining room, pushing open the door to the kitchens. I’m not even all the way inside when the Umbra grabs my bicep and hauls me up to her face.

My hood falls away, and the stare she pelts me with doesn’t threaten death; it guarantees it.

“Alesi,” she sneers, releasing my arm like she’s discarding a bag of trash.

I stumble back a step, strengthening my illusion.

“You’re like a godsdamn cockroach. Just when I think I’m rid of you, you come crawling out of whatever hole you hide in.”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I take a quick scan of the busy kitchen, and when I look back at the Umbra, she’s observing the black cape I’m wearing a little too closely.

“The Hound sent me,” I force out, effectively capturing her attention.

Her dark lips purse. “Sent you?”

“I was trying to run away, and he found me. He sent me back here to apologize,” I tell her, dipping my eyes in an attempt to look shameful. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, Umbra, and he’s right. You deserve more respect.”

Something in the Umbra’s face brightens, her lips spreading into a conspirator's smile. “The Hound told you to say that?”

I nod. “He’s…pretty fond of you, I guess.” Gods, I hate that this is working. “He said I should appreciate you more.”

Really, he said, flattery goes a long way. To which I said, this has nothing to do with flattery and everything to do with the way these women are quietly intrigued by you.

Then he shrugged as if he already knew that.

And right now, it seems to be working in our favor.

The Umbra brushes her fingers over her purple-painted smile, letting the words sink in, and when they do, her expression hardens on me. “He is right. At least someone appreciates what I do for this place.”

She gives me a once-over, and though it looks painful for her to say, she relents, “Go help Greer with the bread baskets. You will be the last one to leave these kitchens tonight.”

“Yes, Umbra.” I dip my head and shift past her, but instead of making my way to Greer, who is neatly placing dinner rolls in brown wicker baskets, I join the young boy polishing glassware by the sink.

He’s young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with white hair cut short to his head. His nails are painted a dark purple, and his skin is nearly translucent, his yellow eyes bright with power.

When he notices me standing there, I make a show of looking appalled. “What are you doing?” I gape at him.

His eyes widen, and his stare falls to the glass he’s wiping clean. “I’m polishing the drinkware?”

“The Umbra wanted you on bread baskets with Greer.” I gesture to the far side of the kitchen, and the boy tracks my gaze. Whatever he sees sets him into a panic, his attention darting to his half-finished task.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, nodding to the drinkware. “I’ll handle this.”