The air tasted of salt and the hint of snow Bowen had mentioned in the carriage. My neck heated as embarrassment tipped the scale over fear. I hadn’t had an attack like that in a long time, and I always hated the feeling afterward. The knowing stares. The pity.
Bowen’s lame attempt at conversation was likely for my benefit. An attempt to diffuse the situation. He probably thought I was a lunatic! My lips trembled on a hysterical smile as I replayed his puzzled features. He’d made a joke about stabbing the upholstery, but he definitely thought my dagger was meant for him.
I did threaten him, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
I watched as he bounded up the cracked steps and spoke quietly with his housekeeper. She nodded once. Then he disappeared into the manor. There wasn’t anything left to do but follow.
Climbing the manor’s stairs, I tilted my head back as I crossed beneath the pillared archway. Vines choked the stone, and giant cracks made me question the soundness of the structure. The housekeeper ushered me inside the foyer. She had severe features, angular cheekbones, and hooded eyes set beneath thick brows. Her uniform was starched and her hair pulled back, yet she’d let a few ringlets loose around her ears, which gave her a somewhat youthful appearance.
“I’m Ms. Wilder. I run the manor and manage a small team of servants. As an employee here, you’ll report directly to Lord MacKenzie, and then to myself for smaller issues. I’ll show you to your room, and then I’ll show you to your workspace.” She bobbed her head in a curt nod, but then her features softened slightly, her mouth gracing me with a thin smile. “I realize the manor is quite intimidating, but it isn’t a terrible place to work. Just follow the rules and don’t touch anything.” With that, she turned toward a massive mahogany staircase with ornate balusters and a giant branched lighting fixture made of wood and metal.
My room was on the third floor, and even though the outside of the manor was in major need of repair, the inside was fairly tidy and in good shape. At least the parts I could see. The dark-paneled walls gleamed beneath the light of wrought iron wall sconces, but with almost no natural light, the halls were shadowed and grim. Decorations ranged from woven tapestries depicting battle scenes to bronze shields affixed to the walls. A suit of armor was stationed on the third-floor landing, and I rushed past it, afraid it might reach out and snag my cloak with its metal fingers. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure it hadn’t moved before continuing down the hall.
“Here we are.” Ms. Wilder swung open a door and gestured inside with her hand.
I peered into the gaping blackness, and a bubble of panic lodged in my throat. Ms. Wilder strode into the room and pulled back a pair of heavy drapes, letting in a thin stream of meager light. She lit a candle, handed me the iron base, then proceeded to turn down the canopied bedsheets.
“It’s lovely,” I murmured weakly, taking stock of the unique furnishings and what appeared to be a second suit of armor tucked into the corner. The metal statue made my insides queasy. How was I supposed to sleep withthat thingin here? Hopefully, it wasn’t too heavy, and I could drag it into the hallway—or at the very least, make it face the wall.
Finished with her chore, Ms. Wilder clapped her hands and retreated from the room. “We’ll have whatever personal items you require—clothes, toiletries, etcetera—delivered to your room. Meals are served thrice daily. You can take them in your room or your workshop, though Lord MacKenzie has also instructed you’re welcome to use the dining hall if you wish.”
I gazed back inside the bedroom. Unless I ate pressed up against the window, I wouldn’t even be able to see my food.
“Come along, this way. It’s time to head down to your workspace.”
Ms. Wilder led me back to the first floor and then to the far end of the manor, where another staircase plunged us into a cavernous system of stone corridors. We passed an armory, various storage rooms, and a forge. At the end of the corridor was my workspace.
The housekeeper paused outside the door. “If you go back in the other direction, you’ll find the antechamber to the gallery where Lord MacKenzie stores the vast majority of his collection.” Her gaze narrowed with stern precision, and her tone grew dire. “You may look, but do not touch.”
I nodded, sticking my hands behind my back, worried she might slap them preemptively. Ms. Wilder reached for the door handle, wincing a little before she accompanied me inside. A single grungy window set high near the ceiling let in a muted light. I raised the candle, my heart sinking at the appalling scene in front of me.
Bowen MacKenzie was a hoarder.
Crates of varying sizes were stacked almost to the rafters. Barrels used as mini tables were laden with rusted tools, piles of screws, and blocks of wood. The floor was covered in layers of dust and soot, and lengths of chain-link metal snaked the scuffed wooden beams, waiting to snag unsuspecting feet.
Every square inch of the wall was draped with some sort of hanging apparatus, all of which looked broken or ready to crumble from disuse. I moaned as my gaze landed on the main workbench, littered two feet deep with clutter, cans of paint, oil canisters, and stacks upon stacks of tattered parchment.
“Okay, well, if you need me, don’t hesitate to pull the servant’s bell in the main foyer. I’ll leave you to get started.” Her eyes were wide and her smile brittle. The woman couldn’t wait to hightail it out of the pit of squalor where it appeared all things went to die. Who could blame her?
“Thank you,” I mumbled, still dazed by the wretched workshop.
I felt a draft from her exit.
Expelling a long breath, I swept my hand across the worktable to make room for the candle. Somehow, my palm came away sticky, and I suppressed a shudder.
Nope. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.
***
“Move that rack of spears to the corner, please.” I pointed to the space I’d spent all day clearing of clutter.
The man—Gavin, I believe was his name—grunted his disapproval but still bent to heft the heavy rack. When he only dragged it a few inches, he snapped his fingers at a waiting servant to grab the other end.
I nodded in satisfaction, surveying my progress over the past couple of days. The space might be a useable workshop when I was through with it. Gone were the crates and most of the junk. Anything that was even remotely rusted had been tossed or melted in the forge. The floor had been thoroughly dusted and scrubbed clean, and any item that didn’t serve a purpose had been removed.
A few of the servants had graciously offered to help me with cleaning. I sensed their pity but didn’t care so long as it came with two hands and a broom.
“What are you going to do with all these lanterns?” Gavin asked, studying the rows I’d lined up on the worktable.
