Page 55 of The Filigree Key

“Is Cernunnos not dining this morning?”

“He’s gone, milady. Took his horse at daybreak and I’ve been told not to expect him back until this evening.”

He’s actually hunting down Wystan! And that would explain the absence of the hobs—there was no need to prepare a twelve-course breakfast when it was just me dining.

As the badger bustled off, I set Auggie where I could watch it and pounded my fist three times as inconspicuously as I could against the nondescript stone door of the servant passageway. There was no immediate response, so I knocked again.

“Did you hear something, milady?”

“Just fumbled this flour jar.” I let it slip through my hands again, forcing a hearty rattle. “Oops!”

“Hmph.”

“Come on, Roland,” I muttered, checking over my shoulder to make sure Mrs. Bilberry was appropriately preoccupied.

After a third knock, I could put off the starter no longer. After removing the cloth cover, I added flour and water to Bruno’s jar and beat it in with a heavy wooden spoon. The greedy starter smelled heavily of strong, healthy yeast and bubbled happily as I fed it breakfast. Then I slid it back into its warm place by the ovens and harassed the servant passageway one final time.

There was a click and a release of gaseous pressure, then Roland’s whiskered face poked through the crack between door and wall. “He’s still at it, lass,” he informed without my needing to ask. “Joe and Walt are helping him.”

The breath I seemed to be holding since last night exited my lungs in a rush. “Thank the Green Mother.”

“I still can’t believe you let a cat in here,” he hissed, taking a look around the kitchen in case the cook was watching.

No doubt the other woodchucks knew about Sawyer—except Dale, as he was quite the chatterbox—but Mrs. Bilberry didn’t know about the cat. The hobs seemed adamant to keep it that way. Of all the castle staff, she interacted the most with Ossian, and they wanted no nervous slip of the tongue to incriminate them all.

“But he’s not like anything he made him out to be, is he?” I whispered back, careful not to invoke Ossian’s name, just in case.

“No,” Roland admitted begrudgingly. “And I suppose Ricky’s worth it. Cantankerous old ’chuck that he is.” He ducked his head back into the passageway and started closing the door. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Tell him to hurry,” I whisper-shouted after him. “And that I’ll be at Shari’s!”

The wall became a seamless expanse of manilla stone once more, and I had enough time to adjust the massive sourdough starter jar and retrieve the snail before Mrs. Bilberry could see anything suspicious.

Or so I’d thought.

“Talking to your starter, milady?” she asked, her dark eyes skeptical.

Well that was close. “As a fabulous cook, I’m sure you know the importance of treating your food with love.”

“Hmph. Here you are, milady.” She handed me a deboned chicken that she’d sandwiched between the two halves of an entire loaf of bread, all wrapped up in brown parchment paper. The cook added an apple, a pear, and an entire round of Brie cheese on top of the package, making it clear without words that I was to stay out of her kitchen for the rest of the day. Or until it was time to feed Bruno again.

No doubt so I wouldn’t question the freshness of any of her other ingredients.

“Thank youuu!” Cradling the food close to my chest, I scurried out of the kitchen.

With breakfast, lunch, my snacks, and snail in hand, I trotted up the spiral staircase. It would be a short jaunt to the foyer, then the courtyard and the bridge beyond. I should stop by the stables to get a headcount on the horses and see just how many Brothers were out there helping their fae king hunt down the hobgoblin. While I’d declared my intentions to have another dress fitting, I didn’t want to skulk to Shari’s hut if I didn’t need to. Ugh, especially with Shane in tow. It was mind-fraying to constantly worry about being surveilled or spied upon or—

“Oh!”

A Brother, not Alec or Shane, shoved away from the archway where she’d been leaning. Brother was more of an affiliate term here, as the magic hunter before me was female. She was the one I’d seen outside the Magic Brewery, the one who’d suggested harassing Emmett.

Carissa.

She stood half a head taller than me and wore her hair shorn along the sides and long on top. That length was always plaited in a fishtail braid to keep it out of her eyes. Eyes that were dark and glinted like flint.

“Good morning,” I said with false cheeriness, stepping around her. “Busy day at the dressmaker’s and then it’s off to the gardens—”

Carissa stepped in front of me, blocking my way to the foyer and the sweet, sweet winter-laced freedom of open air. With a sneer, the magic hunter produced a container of fizzy red liquid. “Cernunnos wanted to make sure you had your tonic this morning.”