Page 65 of Fae Farewells

What I thought to be the staff’s quarters was really just more empty, unlived in space. I was beginning to think the staff didn’t stay, that maybe they worked in shifts and went home. We’d talked about all the people we’d seen, but we were only able to account for maybe a dozen staff members and six guards.

That wasn’t enough people to help run a kingdom, much less two.

So where were the others?

Eventually, Briggs and York pointed out what they assumed to be Alania’s wing. The ornate double doors at the entrance weren’t warded, but every door beyond that was. The hall smelled sterile, too clean for anyone to live here. No portraits hung on the walls. There were no tracks left in the floor runner from consistent traffic.

None of this was adding up.

The desolation was making me wonder if this was some elaborate hoax or trap.

I stopped and put my hand out, gently tugging on a ward. There was a soft zap of electricity, but like Anahein’s ward, taking it down was a matter of unknotting the magic. I pushed and pulled, unraveling stands for warm blues and pale oranges until it was all gone.

“What did you do?” my wolf inquired, sniffing the air.

“I removed the ward,” I replied absently, catching a floral aroma.

“She’ll know someone has been here,” York cautioned, too little too late. “And it won’t be hard to guess who.”

Briggs bounced his gaze from us to the door. “Do you smell that?”

I nodded. “It’s familiar.”

“The ward was blocking the scent?” my druid asked.

“It’s the maid.” Briggs leaned toward the door. “Or it’s her room.”

“The green lady? Lashul?” York’s brows furrowed as he frowned. “Why would she be here?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I don’t know she would be up here, but someone is in there. I can hear a heartbeat.”

I cracked the door open, and Lashul’s head snapped to us, her eyes wide with fear or concern. I couldn’t decipher her expression. She was sitting in a wooden chair by a tall, thin window. The knitting needles in her hands froze between stitches, abandoned in her lap.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she warned. “But I knew you would come.”

“Why are you here?”

“It’s my room.”

I blinked once, twice, then finally forced my confusion into words. “Why here?”

“She likes to keep us close.”

“But why?” I repeated, gobsmacked. “Don’t you have staff quarters to live in? We saw the apartments on the bottom level, but they were all—”

“There are some here, but we don’t live there.” She shook her head. “Before we moved, I had a flat in the winter palace. This hasn’t always been the way of things. But she’s paranoid.”

“This isn’t right,” Briggs mumbled.

I silently agreed as I observed Lashul. Those last three words… They were foreknowing, factual. Similar to how I would speak of something after tapping into my sight.

“What can you do?” she commented, resignation heavy in her tone, though her eyes sparked with a challenge.

“We can free you,” York whispered harshly.

“I won’t leave until those kids are safe.”

“What kids?” I demanded. “We haven’t seen any children.”