I make it back to my bedroom fine, because I’ve done this for a year, because I’mfineon my own. Besides, I still have to clean up the mess thenachtmahrleft, and get Poldi his grits and honey. I run my hands through my hair, let out a long, long breath, and go to dig up a fresh face plaster and a servant uniform.
It takes a trip down to the kitchens to fetch a bucket of water and Poldi’s dinner, made even longer because I have to detour around a couple who have turned the nearest servant corridor into their own personal Lovers’ Road. I elect to cut past the entrance hall on the way back. Adalbrecht’s voice thunders down the hall as I draw near. Doubtless he’s stationed himself there to see off the guests who aren’t staying in the castle.
Then I almost trip as another voice echoes back to me, clipped and precise and completely unexpected.
“. . . mishap at the outpost, and I find myself in need of lodgings, sir. I thought I would see if your gracious offer of hospitality was still open.”
Hedidn’t.
I don’t run, because you don’t run with a bucket of water in one hand and a bowl of grits in the other unless you want to spend a long time cleaning up both. Instead I walkvery quicklytoward the entrance hall and peer around a corner.
Sure enough, Emeric is there, futzing with his scarf. He must have doubled back after—but—but—Adalbrecht’s tried to kill both of us now and it’s not safe for him here—what is hethinking?
Adalbrecht laughs like a wave crashing. He claps Emeric on the shoulder so hard his spectacles nearly fly off. “Of course, boy. Want me to dig up the little ginger wench?”
Oh no. I try to edge away.
“Not necessary,” Emeric says quickly. “Sir.”
“Are you sure?” Adalbrecht looks around and spots me. “Look, there she is now. Girl! Get over here.”
Emeric looks about as appalled as I feel, ears turning brilliant scarlet. “Really, sir,” he says, “I just—”
“She can show you to a guest room.” The margrave’s not giving a suggestion.
“Right away, m’lord.” I bob a quick curtsy, glaring daggers at Emeric. “Follow me, sir.”
Another group of guests comes along to distract Adalbrecht, and I take the opening to stalk as indignantly as I can up the stairs to the riverfront wing, Emeric trailing behind me. It’s not that I don’t understand why he’s doing this, I just don’twantto understand why he’s doing this.
I’m fine on my own here. I’mfine.
I leave the bucket by my door and march us to the neighboring room. I know it’s empty because I’ve made sure it’s empty as long as I’ve been here, rather than risk someone witnessing me scale the trellis. Sure enough, the door swings open to chilly, undisturbed dark. Poldi pops up in the hearth and sets about helping himself to the logs stacked nearby.
“You are an absolute fool, Emeric Conrad,” I tell him, because I will not admit I’m glad he’s here, with or without a knife to my throat.
A tired, crooked,insufferablysmug smile slips over his face, one that says he knows anyway. He heads inside, shrugging off his cloak. “Then it must be nice not being the only one for a change. Good night, Miss Schmidt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR
Fare for theFerryman
The door closes, and I stomp back to my room, deeply annoyed with him and even more deeply perturbed at the odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I drop Poldi’s grits and honey on the hearth. When he arrives for them, I’m sponging blood out of the carpet.
“You want me to toss that boy in the river again?” Poldi asks, seating himself on the hearthstones. I shake my head, putting perhaps a little too much enthusiasm into scrubbing out the blood. “Not . . . not tonight.”
Ragne returns as an owl a few minutes later. I was starting to get worried, though that’s pretty high up on the list of things I won’t admit without a death threat. She wings over to a spare nightshirt I’ve left on a chair for her and crawls in, emerging a moment later as a human.
“I have another question,” she declares, sitting up. “If I put my mouth on a human’s face, is it still a kiss?”
I squint at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping, a lot?”
“I will soon. I am very tired.” She rubs her eyes. “But is that still a kiss?”
“Uh. Well. It depends where. If you put your lips on someone else’s lips, we usually just call that a kiss.”
Ragne shakes her head and taps her cheek. “Here?”
“That’s being kissed on the cheek.”
