Page 31 of The Thirteenth Count

Willem cocked a brow. “Is High Blackwell here? Is he ever here?” He shook his head. “That’s a poor excuse and you know it. You want to know what I think? I think you enjoy treating them this way. Makes you feel as though you’re a Highblood. That you’re important. But you know what, Silas? You’re not important. You’re as replaceable as the rest of us.”

Silas slid a butcher’s cleaver from the workbench, scraping metal against wood. Fern tensed and took a step back. Really wish I had that knife now.

“Take the new girl and get out of my kitchen before I make you regret those words, Willem.”

Willem laughed, loud and boisterous. Silas turned a brilliant shade of red.

Fern tugged on Willem’s sleeve at the elbow. He glanced at her.

“Fine, fine. Let us dine together, Fern. Wouldn’t want Silas here to do something stupid.”

As they entered the dining hall, Fern gripped her plate tighter. Long empty tables filled the space, enough seats to feed thirty men at a time. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She was completely alone with a man she did not know.

Her mouth had gone dry.

“Where shall we sit?” Willem asked, twirling a butter knife. “Perhaps there?” He pointed the utensil at the table furthest from the door. “Or maybe there? So many options to choose from.”

“This table right here is fine.” Fern took her seat, trying hard not to fidget. “I am quite hungry and those tables are so far away.”

Willem sat across from her and rested his elbows against the wood. He simply watched her while she ate.

“Aren’t you… going to eat?”

He popped a berry into his mouth, chewing quickly. He never broke eye contact. “I’m taking my time in case you’re still hungry.” He gestured to her plate. “You didn’t take much, and your first day at the Keep can certainly be taxing.”

Fern hummed and went back to her food. She supposed he was being nice, which she appreciated. Lina was rather kind, too. She had expected everyone to be like the Blackwells, but here were two people who seemed more like Rootfolk.

“Thank you for your help, by the way,” Fern said. “In the kitchens. I… was nervous.”

Willem smiled. “As I said, the first day in the Keep can be overwhelming. Working for the Blackwells isn’t all bad. Once you get used to it, it’ll get easier. I promise.”

Fern twisted her fork against her plate. “I should tell you…”

“Hm?” Willem leaned in. “Go on.”

“I—I’m not to work here. That… isn’t the reason I’m here.”

In an instant Willem’s demeanor shifted. He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in his chair. Gone were the jovial grins, replaced with a stoicism Fern thought only a statue could portray. Or Cassius Blackwell. Had she said something wrong? She’d only been trying to be friendly.

“I know who you are, Miss Silverbell.”

Fern’s hand moved toward the knife on the table, but Willem didn’t move at all. He only looked at her the way her father looked at families come to him with bad news.

“The girl from the Count,” he continued. “The white smoke. Lord Blackwell—Cassius—he’s been preparing for your arrival.” He glanced toward the door. “I’m his valet. And his friend, if I’m being honest.”

Fern relaxed, though only slightly. “Why are you telling me this?”

Willem leaned forward. “Because you need to understand what you’re being forced into. Everyone in this Keep knows who you are.”

Fern glanced at the door.

“Yes,” Willem said, “even Silas. They’re watching, waiting to see what High Blackwell will do with you.” His voice softened. “I’ve served Cassius since we were both boys. He’s… he’s not like his father. But he’s…” He shook his head. “If you’re going to survive here, you need allies.”

“And you’re offering to be one?” Fern asked. “What would possess you to risk yourself for me?”

“Don’t misconstrue my sentiment,” Willem said. “I’m offering to help where I can, but I’ll do little to jeopardize my position. And in return, I ask you not to judge Cassius too harshly. Lord Blackwell is constantly being watched. But me?” He shrugged. “I’m just a servant. I can move through the Keep freely.” He stood, adjusting his vest, and slid his untouched plate across the table to her. “Eat, Miss Silverbell. Keep your strength up. And if you need anything—anything at all—find me in the servants’ quarters or send word through Lina. I’ll see what I can do.”

Fern stared at the two plates for so long she didn’t notice Willem slip out. Her appetite was gone, but his words remained. Keep your strength up. So she forced herself to eat, chewing and swallowing, tasting nothing.