The air seems to cradle me as I walk the last few paces, and a laugh bubbles in the back of my throat. I transfer both shoes to one hand and grip the skirting, using it to swing myself through the open window, landing in a narrow hallway like an agile cat.
My smile is so wide it feels like my face is splitting.
I dart down the corridor lined with tall, peek-a-boo windows to my left. It takes a sharp bend, then a fall of stairs has my feet hammering the ground at a swifter pace. The steps flatten to a landing, and I slide my hands over the wall to my right, applying pressure until it swings open and reveals a secret entrance to The Tangle.
This elbow is tight, squiggly, and dark—a trail I have to work my way through by feel alone—but a short route that spits me inside a blanket box. I shove the lid open and clamber out, brushing myself off in the dusty storage room that’s stacked full of old furniture. I pat my hair, secure any loose bits, then step out the door into a loud, bustling hall doused in the smell of baked seafood.
The kitchen is ahead on my left, a steady stream of servants flowing in and out.
I walk at a brisk pace, keeping my chin high and eyes trained forward as I pass the door, inserting myself amongst the river of servers clothed in black—
“Stop right there, missy!”
Dammit.
I spin to chase the source of the fiery inspection burning the side of me. “Hi, Cook ...”
She clicks her tongue, then herds me toward a quieter section of the hallway and eyes me up and down, dusting flour on her already chalky apron while I try not to fidget.
“I was told you weren’t attending, and that I’m to serve a plate of honey buns at the base of your tower once the sun goes down.” She reaches deep into her pocket and pulls out a black key that makes me cringe internally.
“Whoever told you that must have gotten the message wrong,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the flow of servants. “I’m actually headed there now, so I’ll jus—”
“The High Master himself told me.”
Oh. Crap.
I nod, hating that I got caught lying to Cook, but her family lives in a nearby village ...
I’m doing this foreverybody.
“Sometimes Rhordyn doesn’t know what’s good for him,” I mutter, and her gaze softens.
“Well. That’s something I can agree with.” She stuffs the key into her pocket and motions for me to step closer. “Quick, let me help you put those shoes on. If you bend over, you’ll tear that dress to your tit.”
My cheeks blaze as I squash a sigh of relief, swinging my shoes into Cook’s awaiting hands so fast I almost flog her with them. She kneels, holds them out, and I slip them on one by one.
As she fastens the buckles, I watch servant after servant rush past with round, silver platters encumbered by brimming champagne flutes, overhearing one of them natter about some announcement that’s about to take place ...
I frown.
“What announcement?”
Cook stands, gives me a sweeping scan, and rearranges a few pins in my hair. “You and I both know which announcement they’re referring to, my girl.”
My heart drops as I glance down the hall, wishing the backs of my eyes weren’t stinging. Wishing the extra surge of determination had everything to do with my will to do good—that it was untarnished by the thorn of resentment poking holes in my heart.
Yes, I know exactly what announcement they’re referring to.
The lilting tune of a distant fiddle accompanies a riot of bodies flowing in and out of the grand ballroom.
Some are maids carrying those silver trays laden with champagne flutes; some are poised women dolled up in dresses cinched at the waist, their skirts flowing behind them like liquid. Their painted smiles and beaded hairstyles make them look untouchable.
Two are dressed in gray gowns that cover every inch of skin aside from their pinched faces—hair pulled back in tight hairstyles that showcase upside down v-shaped scars in the center of their foreheads.
Those people ... I make extra effort to avoid looking at their eyes.
Men are clad in tailored suits that square shoulders and taper hips. Suede suits. Velvet suits. Silk suits as polished as their slicked-back hair.
