Free from the tasks of the day, I head to what’s becoming my new favorite place: the library with its sprawling dark wood shelves and endless stories. I just want to sink into the tufted couch and get lost—preferably in a nap insteadof a book.
I freeze in the doorway, spying a stressed-out looking Holly behind the old mahogany desk. In front of her grimacing face sits a mountain of paperwork. Upon further inspection, it isn’t her usual scowl, no, her eyes gloss over like she’s cramming for a last minute test; all she’s missing is a mountain of energy drinks and a few stray candywrappers.
“Ooof, I hate paperwork. I always had to hire an accountant because like what evenisa write-off when everything you do is a part of your job, you know?” I ramble, sliding into the seat acrossfrom her.
Holly flinches, straightening in her chair before briefly regarding me. “What a shame. I would not mind handing this task off toanyoneat this point.”
“Even me? You must be desperate,” I tease, leaning over the desk to inspect the piles. Holly has been nothing if not cryptic, a trait that must run in the family. I’m shocked when she doesn’t swat myhand away.
“Mother does not care much for bookkeeping.” She points to a section thatI thinkis supposed to be about accounting. “An adequate amount,” it reads in flowing cursive script under a heading that says “finances.”
Ooof—and I thought independent business taxes were bad. This… this is ahot mess.
“Would it help if I sorted them into piles for you?” I scan through the documents, snatching two up in my hands that seem to match and piling themtogether.
“Fine.” She huffs. “Just don’t misplaceanything.”
“How would you even be able to tell?” I ask, trying banter on for size, and while I can’t tell if she’s annoyed, it’s a better dynamic than when I was trying to befriendly.
“You have a point.” Holly groans, placing her hands over her face long enough for me to admire her blue iridescent nails. “Do your best—or worse—it matters very little.”
With that vote of confidence, I get to work finding anything that looks vaguely similar and piling it together. Usually I’d put on music while doing a task like this, but since I don’t want to drain my phone battery, and dragging a harp player into the library seems a little much, we work in silence. Okay,mostlysilence.
I try, okay?
“So, what do you like about embroidery?” I ask, noticing the little project she has off to the side. “That is yours, right?”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, um, what do you like about embroidery, like as a hobby?” Iask again.
“Oh. Well, similar to training on the field, how do I put this…” She wrinkles her nose, tapping her quill toher cheek.
“Is it thestabbing?”
“I was going to say repetition.” She hums in the melodic way both Moth and Queen Plume speak.
“Oh yeah, that totally makes sense—”
“But the stabbing doesn’t hurt.” She picks up the embroidery hoop, turning it over in her hands before violently shoving a needle through the fabric. “In this instance, at least.” My blood runs cold at the sight of the repetitive andvery, very stabbymotion.
God, she is so freaking scary—but warming up to me, I think? I should try to keep this momentum going. What else can we talk about?
“So, your momtold me–”
“The queen.”
“Yes, your mother,the queen, mentioned that, there are other kingdoms in this realm,” I say as I sort through the stacks of papers. “Anything I should know about?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know… the goblins and stuff!”
“Are you worried about things that go bump in the night, former human?” She raises a thick eyebrow, not bothering to look up from the paperwork.
“No—yes—wait.” I draw in a deep breath, steeling my nerves. “Why do I feel like you’re about to tell me you’re expecting a hoard ofvampires?”
She blinks before confusion turns to a sly smile. “Yes, and?”
