Page 26 of Secrets of the Six

Chapter 9

Ines

Five days later, the clock sitting on my nightstand chimes ten times. Ten o'clock and sleep has once again eluded me after a lengthy day of lessons.

I could toss and turn another hour or two until I finally drift into slumber, or I can put on one of the many dresses hanging in my closet and walk around the casita for my own personal tour. No one has alluded to the notion I am not permitted to walk around the house on my own but when I slip into the quiet hallway, I can't shake the feeling that I'm trespassing.

Ironically, I should be used to tiptoeing through fancy estates at night, but this time, I'm not searching for trinkets and jewels to lift – I'm welcome here and that makes my stomach flip.

I press my hand to the soft bodice of the black dress I picked and take a deep, steadying breath. The thought that perhaps I do belong here flirts dangerously close to the line of knowing my place.

I don't snoop through any rooms or parlors on the second floor – mostly because they are sleeping quarters and are occupied – but the downstairs is free game.

Apart from one creaky stair betraying me and alerting anyone who might still be awake of my presence, I glide to the library and take a good look at the books on display. Each spine is splendid, decorated and hand painted, if not made of leather. As I walk down the line, I realize Doña Otero has an array of interests; history, economics, mathematics, and architecture alongside plenty of fictional options such as fantasy, mythology and romance.

As I allow my fingertips to graze the spine of an ancient tome, a sudden crash sounds from down the hall, startling me, but not enough to stay my curiosity. I head toward the origin of the shattering glass and press my hand against the swinging door leading to the kitchen. I sneak a peek through the crack of the opening to find Lupe sweeping up a broken porcelain plate, muttering obscenities under her breath.

A wide grin stretches across my face as I push inside and tsk, "Cursing is not ladylike."

A frightened gasp escapes her before an angry wrinkle mars her forehead and she narrows her brown eyes, pointing an accusatory finger my way. "Neither is sneaking up on your elders, mocosa."

I bite my bottom lip to ensnare the laugh begging to slip free and offer to take the broom. "Let me help you."

Her frown deepens, if that's even possible, and she waves me away. "That wouldn't be proper for a lady to do."

"I'm not a real lady, Lupe, so it's not improper." I reach for the broom once more but this time, I'm met with a smack against my hand.

"I said, no! Are you hard of hearing?"

"Fine." I surrender, throwing my hands in the air. "Stubborn anciana."

It's only when my focus is no longer on Lupe and the broken dish that I catch a strong whiff of chocolate. Across the u-shaped kitchen, freshly fried churros and a cup of dark chocolate sauce sit on a porcelain plate. My mouth immediately waters from the smell and sight alone. I've never actually tried the fried pastry before, although I've seen the elite enjoy them in the Market and Entertainment Districts. Dusted in cinnamon and golden-brown in complexion, my stomach growls, even though I ate my fill of dinner a couple hours ago.

"Since you're here you might as well try one." Lupe scoops up the shattered pieces in a dustpan and tosses them in the garbage can hidden inside one of the bottom cabinets. She places the broom back in its place in a large pantry before bounding toward me, wiping her hands on her white apron. "Go ahead, girl."

Not willing to risk her fussing at me thrice in one night, I reach for the churro. As soon as I grab one, the cinnamon adheres to my fingers.

"Now dunk it in the chocolate," Lupe instructs, swiping one of the fried pastries and showing me what to do.

I silently obey and dip the tip of the dessert into the sauce and take a bite. In a satisfying crunch, the warm pastry melts on my tongue, the cinnamon and sugar burst in my mouth. Not to be outdone, the dark chocolate sauce is rich and bitter and is the perfect complement to the churro.

I moan as I swallow the warm morsel. I knew the popular delicacy would be delicious, but I greatly underestimated how life-changing the simple dessert is. "Ugh," I take another bite. "This is so good. When everything is said and done, I might try to steal you away to work for me."

"When what is said and done?"

Suddenly the chocolate dancing on my tongue turns to ash. I've spoken under the assumption that Doña Otero's household were privy to their mistress' doings, but it seems I've made a terrible error. Part of me wants to pretend nothing was said, but the other part of me wonders if I'll have to silence Lupe. I spy a fork within reach. It would be a messy death for sure, but at least nothing of the rebellion would leave this room.

Lupe holds up a hand and snaps her fingers, startling me. "Just like that, with carefree words and a loose tongue, you could have blown everything we have worked fifteen years to build. Mind who you speak with and always be on your guard."

Shame creeps into my belly as my fist relaxes and my eyes abandon the utensil. If I hadn't hesitated to hear her out, I would have plunged the fork into her neck –

I don't want to think about it. She's humbled me this evening but she's correct in doing so. I was careless. I'm only glad I learned the lesson here in the kitchen than out in Orlencia surrounded by jackals and serpents.

Lupe takes another bite of her churro when I fail to offer a response. "Damn," she nods approvingly, licking the powdered cinnamon dusting her lips. "You're right. I am a fine baker."

I appreciate her attempts at levity and smile. "The finest in Orlencia."

"Flatterer," she waves a dismissive hand, but a small, albeit mischievous smile stretches across her face. "So, I heard you and Señor Salvador put on quite the show the other day before your dress suffocated you. Shame I missed it."