“They’re easy enough to make, Mistress. It’s finding whole brambleberries this time of year that’s the tricky part.” He plopped onto the settee next to me, tossing one into his mouth.
“Do you enjoy baking sweets, Piffle?”
“Oh, yes. Cooking for the Master—and now you—has been a great joy in my life. And now that you’re here, I’m finding more joy in sewing your garments. That reminds me—” He slid off the settee shouting, “NOTEBOOK!”
A golden bound notebook popped onto the seat cushion with eyes and that distinct mouth. Almost as quickly, a gold feathered quill appeared. The book opened to a page already littered with notes. I turned my head, curious to glance over what was inside.The quill spun across the page in some of the finest handwriting I’d ever seen with big swoops and swirls.
Piffle-the-Notebook said something muffled into the cushion as he finished.
“What was that?” I questioned, jumping only slightly as he changed back into his fae form.
“I was asking if there was anything you need at the market? I’ll go in the next day or two before we’re run clean out of food.”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. I don’t plan to stay much longer.”
Giving me a cagey look, he settled himself back onto the settee, bringing his cup of tea with him. “I think you’ll heal quickly with the broth and perhaps some beef, carrots, and onion stewed in as well. We’ve got to keep your strength up and replenish what you’ve lost.”
“My, Piffle, you take on so many roles here. I do hope Arthur appreciates you.”
“He does! We go all the way back to when he was a boy. The Master is a kind soul, and I did miss him terribly when he left Heartstone to live as the Duke of Riche.”
“Duke?” I said in surprise. “Of Riche?”
Piffle nodded into his teacup. “The Kingdom of Heartstone Wood has always had close ties to the Kingdom of Riche. It was a few centuries back, I believe, when the title of land in Riche was given to one of the Kings of Heartstone. Some kind of thank you for a service he had done—I’m not sure of the complete history. But when the Master’s father died and Arthur could leave Heartstone Castle, he did, and rarely came back to visit his mother.”
“But she stayed? Even though Arthur’s father was dead?”
“Yes. She’d made a home in that castle and had no life outside of it.”
“She didn’t live in the Underrealm with Arthur’s father?”
He pursed his lips, busying himself with untangling thetassels of a pillow. “Marianna never loved André. At first, it seemed likely she could. But then…”
“But then?” I pushed.
“No use in speaking of the past, Mistress, when the present needs us to get you well.” He hopped off the settee again, rushing away to pull the sheets off the bed. “I’ll have these clean in no time. I’ll be back shortly with some dinner. Please stay and rest, Mistress.” He carried the linens out the door, shutting it behind him.
I despised sitting still. The only time I ever did was with a decent book, and by the looks of this room, I wouldn’t be finding one. Arthur had mentioned a library. Perhaps if I started down the corridors I’d find it. All I needed to do waswantto find it, as he’d said.
I appreciated the pockets Piffle had sewn into my gown, now full of little bottles of curses, clinking softly as I walked the long glowing corridor. I gave up on my high heeled shoes, choosing to traverse the Underrealm with nothing on my feet but the sheer black stockings Piffle had left for me.
My strength was returning quicker than Piffle or Arthur could understand it would. My Goddess heritage was behind me—eons of Ravenfae power invested in my bones, fueling me to replenish all my parts.
Except those teeth marks.
They remained, small, but visible, partially hidden by the cut of the dress.
Each turn along the halls, lit in orange candlelight, pulled me toward what I wanted, until I found myself at the base of the stairs that led the surface.
I turned around, searching for a library door, finding only the one carved in blackened wood. Shivering in the chill breezing down the stairs, I studied the carvings across the door. Just as intricately carved as the corridors throughout the Underrealm, the door was littered with scenes of fae. Their sharp faces andlong pointed ears were unlike any I’d seen before. Groups of them were depicted carving into the walls while others were hauling stones across their backs. Stepping away from the door, I saw it for what it truly was—an ode to the makings of the Underrealm.
These were the faekind who had dedicated centuries to carve out every stone corridor and room in this place, and this door showed how they did it. I pushed down on the lock and pulled on the handle. The door was just as heavy as it looked and as I stepped inside, expecting a library full of books, I was instead met with another set of stairs, these leading down into the dark. I stepped back to grab one of the candles from the sconces in the corridor and began my descent.
The steps dipped in the middle—well worn with use, and along the narrow walls, claw marks were etched across the stone from something wanting to get out or something trying to stay in.
“Hello?” I called, nearing the bottom stair.
Silence answered as I crept through a stone archway. I entered a room already lit by candlelight. It flickered softly over an enormous bed draped in crimson sheets, tucked in perfectly as if the occupant hadn’t slept there in some days. A black stone fireplace heated the space and a large chair rested nearby. A few books were scattered around the tables and floors.
