Page 32 of The Thirteenth Count

When she couldn’t stomach another bite, Fern stood. A servant would collect the plates. That’s what servants did in the Keep. The thought made her uncomfortable; she’d always cleaned up after herself at home.

Home.

She pressed her thumbnail into the pad of her finger and made herself walk.

She found her way back to the entrance hall easily enough. The blue suite was just across the way—first door on the left in the West Wing. Simple.

But when she stepped into the vast space, Fern stopped.

The heavy oak door built into the curve of the grand staircase. No guards. No servants. Everyone was likely finishing their evening duties or already retired for the night.

Don’t concern yourself with it, Cassius had said. Keep moving.

She crossed the marble floor. The door loomed before her—ancient wood, iron hinges, a heavy lock. Cold iron bit into her palm as she gripped the handle and pulled.

It didn’t budge. Locked.

Fern pressed her ear against the wood and held her breath. Silence.

She stepped back, memorizing every detail. The lock. The hinges. The thick wood.

Later. I’ll find out later.

“Miss Silverbell?”

Fern spun around.

A guard stood at the far end of the hall, watching her. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“I—” Think, Fern. “I was just… I got turned around. Looking for my quarters.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer.

“The blue suite,” Fern added quickly. “In the West Wing. Lord Blackwell showed me earlier, but I… I’m not used to the Keep yet.”

The guard studied her. Then he jerked his head toward the western corridor. “That way. Don’t wander.”

“Thank you.” Fern hurried past him, forcing herself not to run, not to look back at the door.

She could feel his eyes on her until she turned the corner.

Fern locked the door behind her and leaned against it, catching her breath.

Lina looked up from folding linens. “Miss Silverbell? Are you alright? You look pale.”

Sprout chirped from the mantel before returning to a berry. Lina must have gotten a bowl for him. How kind.

“I’m fine,” Fern lied, moving to scratch Sprout. “Just… it’s a lot. The Keep. Everything.”

Lina nodded. “I know this place seems frightening. But you checked your wine for poison in front of a stranger and told her so to her face. You’ll manage.”

Fern looked at her—really looked at her. Lina was young, maybe only a few years older than Fern herself. Kind eyes, but they went to the door before she spoke. Every time.

“How long have you worked here?” Fern asked.

“Three years.” Lina smoothed the thin blanket resting on the back of the sofa. “It gets easier. You learn the rules, learn who to avoid, learn how to… disappear when you need to.”

“And if I don’t want to disappear?” Fern’s tone was sharp. “If I want to fight?”