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He had been hired by Nemesis, to leave a very specific message. He dipped his hands in the paint, smearing it across the walls of the Duke’s large, fancy room.
Nemesis had been looking for someone who could slip into places, unnoticed. Someone who was able to get things done. For this, the boy was perfect. The only problem had been his illiteracy. For weeks, the murderer had prepared him for this, making him form the letters, over and over again.
Now, the boy knew them by heart. He did not know what they meant, though. He merely knew that it was imperative that he get them right.
Nemesis had his sister. If he didn’t get them right, then Nemesis would kill her. He finished, stepping back to view his handiwork. All of the letters, done correctly. Since his arms were small, they were oddly-shaped, which made the effect even more unsettling. That, and the fact that the paint was dark red—like heart’s blood. The blood that came, when someone was bleeding to death. The boy shuddered at the effect.
The boy let out a deep breath, then picked up the can. Moving quickly, he returned to the servant’s hallway, slipping back out of the sleeping household.
Once outside, he waited in the bushes. He waited for the sounds of the two men, who were keeping watch. They walked by the boy, talking so loudly that anyone could hear them coming. He waited, his hand over his mouth, to disguise his breathing. Once they were out of sight and hearing, he left the bushes, running quickly and quietly.
He cleaned his hands and face, out in the woods, then got back up on the horse that the murderer had supplied him with. He only had a day and a half to return. He was going to make it, he had to.
* * *
Arabella awoke the next morning, feeling as though she were floating on a cloud. Annette helped her dress, yawning as she did.
“I feel like it’s going to be a wonderful day,” Arabella declared.
“Even though you’re not to fence, My Lady?” Annette asked, doubtfully. Arabella, when not able to do something active, was on the disagreeable side.
“Even though I’m not to fence,” she stated, standing still so Annette could do up the buttons of her dress. The soft, lightweight silk swished delightfully about her legs.
“Being in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world,” Annette mused.
“Have you been in love, Annette?” Arabella asked, surprised that her maid hadn’t told her. She had thought that they were much closer than they were.
“I thought I was, My Lady,” Annette replied as she finished hooking the buttons which ran up Arabella’s spine. “I was mistaken.”
“I’m so sorry,” Arabella said, watching her lady’s maid in the mirror.
“It happens that way, sometimes, My Lady.” Annette shrugged with one shoulder, her gaze on the slippery silk-covered buttons. “All done, My Lady.”
Arabella turned, taking her maid’s hands in her own. “Well, I hope it works out for you, someday.”
Annette smiled at her. “Thank you, My Lady. Can I add some more curls?” She inspected the neat, high bun that she’d fixed earlier. There were a few curls, framing Arabella’s face.
“No, thank you. I’m heading down to breakfast,” Arabella declared, turning and then leaving her room. She walked downstairs, and even the house seemed different. Lighter, somehow.
She opened the door to the breakfast room. She gasped as her eyes took in—awkward, grotesque lettering, smeared across the painting of her great-great grandfather, in dark red.
Is that blood?
“By Winter, you die.”
Arabella screamed.
