Page 70 of A Divided Duty

It was also, on occasion, dangerous. Oleander de Merelands had been able to infiltrate the knowe by masquerading as a newly hired member of the kitchen staff. Since the hiring would have been done by someone higher up in the household, all she’d needed to do was avoid attracting too much suspicion before she was ready to start killing people. I was reasonably sure that was also how she’d been able to infiltrate King Gilad’s court, back before the 1906 earthquake had given her the opening she needed to assassinate him and begin the destabilization of our kingdom.

It’s possible to take feudalism too far, is what I’m saying here, and Faerie does so on a fairly regular basis. We never met a bad decision based on perceived hierarchy that we didn’t want to embrace with disastrous gusto.

I made my way slowly down the hall, not creeping along, but not hurrying to announce my presence either. I was allowed to be here, had been invited on multiple occasions, and was well-beloved enough by several members of the senior staff that I would never get in trouble for trespassing on their private quarters. And I remembered belonging here as recently as eight months ago, when the staff had treated me wholly as one of their own.

Whether in or out of Titania’s enchantment, this was where I’d spent some of the best parts of my childhood. The servants at Shadowed Hills had always been happy to welcome me with a mug of hot cocoa and a plate of sandwiches. During the times when I’d felt isolated from both my mother and Sylvester, they’d been there for me, always. Which made me hate what I was about to do even more than I would have otherwise.

If Athan was telling the truth about the person who’d helped them find Raysel, I was going to find them here, probably in the servants’ quarters. And I didn’t want to.

The sound of voices drifted down the corridor from up ahead, some of them laughing, some chattering merrily away. Dishes clattered and silverware clanked, and I was almost to my destination.

Then I reached the doorway and stepped around the corner, looking into the vast, familiar shape of the main kitchen at Shadowed Hills. Hobs were stationed at the multiple stoves needed to feed a household of this size, some stirring pots, others sliding trays into and out of ovens; others stood by the counters, chopping and readying ingredients for the next round of dishes to be prepared.

And in the middle of it all, like a conductor before an orchestra, stood Melly. Melly, my old friend, practically family in every way that mattered. She was calling orders to a young pastry chef with flour on his elbows and in his hair. He was grinning virtually ear to ear, and it was clear that whatever was happening, it was a merry and gleeful thing.

Melly half-turned, adjusting her field of view to encompass the other half of the kitchen, and jumped when she saw me standing in the doorway. One hand went to her chest, clutching a handful of fabric just above her heart.

“Sweet Oberon, October, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaimed. “You could have given me my death of fright, and then where would you be? Explaining to Kerry that she needs to give up having her own bakery and come home to Shadowed Hills to take over from her dearly departed mother.”

“You’re not going to die of fright. If you were, I would have killed you years ago,” I said.

She shook her head. “You’re right, of course. But it seems like I might, when you go on so. What are you doing here, October?”

“I need to talk to some people. Rayseline’s missing.”

She paused, but not long enough: I’d known her for most of my life, and I saw the way she glanced to the side, assessing her routes out of the kitchen. My heart sank. There was only one reason I could think of for her to look so suspicious when I’d just told her that our mutual liege’s daughter was missing, and that was if she wasn’t surprised.

If she knew.

Sylvester didn’t have a formal chatelaine, but Melly came close. Melly would have been the one to prepare a room for Raysel, if it needed to be done; Melly knew everything that happened in the duchy.

Melly held all the secrets.

“The poor lamb,” she said unconvincingly.

I took a deep breath. “Melly?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is Kerry your only child?”

FOURTEEN

MY WORDS SOUNDED DEAD to my own ears, and from the way the color drained out of Melly’s cheeks, they sounded even worse to her. She took another look around the kitchen, furtive this time, almost guilty—although that may have been me projecting the guilt my heart said she should feel—before striding rapidly toward me and grabbing me by the upper arm.

Hobs are small as fae go, with the average adult woman barely topping out at four feet. Melly was not a tall example of her line. They’re also deceptively strong, and when she pulled me toward the far end of the kitchen, I couldn’t help but stumble along with her. The other Hobs watched us go, but didn’t say anything, only turned back to their chopping and stirring. They knew what it looked like when someone was about to get a scolding, and they didn’t want to get involved.

Melly shoved open a door set between a large woodburning stove and what looked like a medieval pizza oven, revealing the pantry on the other side. Then she stormed through, dragging me along with her, before turning to scowl directly at me.

“We do not speak of her,” she said, voice sharp and clipped. “Kerry is my only child yet living, and she deserves that distinction, not to be standing in the shadow of a girl she’ll never be nor know.”

“How long ago?” I asked.

She looked at me with the weariness of decades in her eyes. “Before Kerry was born. Long before. I came to Shadowed Hills when I realized I was pregnant again. We had all heard the tales of the one Duchy where they lit no candles, lost no children … where his Hunt would never trespass. Although we didn’t know the reasons, then. We only knew that somehow, impossibly, this was the one place where Blind Michael never hunted. I’d been foolish to trust that the Duchy I served before coming here could keep my Nara safe.”

That wasn’t a name I’d heard in Blind Michael’s halls. I had no idea how long ago she’d been lost, or whether she’d become a Rider or stayed in the Children’s Hall forever. All I could say for certain was that she had never been saved.

“I’m so sorry, Melly,” I said. “How long ago was this?”