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Chapter One
The Master
The first time I saw Master Nicolo, he was striding down the corridor that led from the Prince’s Tower to the Great Hall.
I had, of course, already heard of him. It was impossiblenotto have heard of him. Not with a reputation such as he had.
Regardless, I remained focused on my work, dusting the frame of one of the royal portraits that lined the corridor. A maidservant who was caught doing anything but working was asking for trouble from Mistress Rosana, who governed the maids with an iron hand (and a bamboo stick), but I allowed my eyes to drift in Nicolo’s direction anyway. Truth be told, I couldn’t help it.
My gaze lingered on him as he passed.
Nicolo was very tall, broad and muscular, with unruly dark hair that curled around his ears, ending at the point where his neck met his shoulders. It was almost but not quite black and in the right light, could almost look as though streaked with blue. In general, he always had the appearance of not having shaved for at least a few days, his strong jaw rough with stubble. His clothes were always black—darkness seemed to be the image he wanted to project.
He wore a soft leather jerkin, black, that terminated mid-thigh, a silk shirt buttoned up to his throat, also black, and stretched hose that clung to the contours of his strong legs. Those, too, were black as were the high leather boots that hugged his calves. He strode with an easy confidence, not as if he owned the place, but as if it didn’t matter that he didn’t.
His eyes, which remained focused straight out ahead of him (though I got the sense he noticed everything happening around him), were violet. I’d heard about his violet eyes before, as rumors have a way of persisting, but I never really believed it until I saw them for myself. And truly, they appeared as two gems inserted into his face, glistening and sparkling amethyst.
Yes, Master Nicolo was an arresting sight.
But my first impression of the man was based more on how everyone else reacted to him. When in his presence, maids, like myself, suddenly became deeply focused on whatever task they were doing; soldiers standing guard found a point in middle distance and stared blankly at it. No one wanted to meet that violet gaze, afraid if they did, he might noticethem. And that was exactly what you didn’t want—Master Nicolo noticing you.
Members of the nobility deferred to him, got out of his way and bowed as he passed, as afraid to meet Nicolo’s eye as were the servants, because who knew what the consequences might be? Technically Nicolo was their social inferior, but that didn’t matter because he was still and always would be:MasterNicolo.
Still more fascinating was how everyone reacted after Nicolo passed, when they all wore their relief to be out of his gaze—no doubt pleased to be less liable to cause unintended offence. Every eye surreptitiously followed him, of course. They all feared Nicolo, so that made sense. But their interest went beyond mere fear—people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, as they are drawn to power and to danger.
To his face they called him ‘Master Nicolo’, but in the whispers behind his back, he was known as ‘The Terrible’.
***
The second time I saw Master Nicolo was in the banqueting hall of the Great Castle that sat in the middle of the vast, multi-castle complex of Woodfall Gath.
I’d served the lower tables before, but this was my first time waiting on the horseshoe of grand tables on the raised dais, looming down on the rest of the hall. It was unusual for a newcomer like myself to be trusted with such a responsibility (one slip of the ladle and both I and Mistress Rosana would be in trouble) but I only had myself to blame. It had become a simple matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time—I’d walked in on an argument among the other girls.
“I did it last time,” said the redheaded maid. I believed her name to be Elsie.
“That’s not how it works,” said the pockmarked one. Perhaps Trudy? Or Katy?
“She knows that’s not how it works.” No, that one was Katy.
“We draw lots,” said another of them, whose name I’d missed.
“Can’t we choose differently this time?” asked Elsie.
“We’ve always drawn lots, that’s how we’ve always done it,” this said by the pockmarked one. Yes, I did believe her name was Trudy.
“Yes, butIdid it last time! And if someone did it most recently, that person should be excused from drawing this time!” Elsie yelled.
“You’re only saying that because you drew ‘the Terrible’,” Katy pointed out.
“No, that’s not why.”
“Regardless, it’s how we’ve always done it,” Trudy said.
“Done what?” I asked, joining the conversation.
The five girls having this debate all looked at me sharply (the newest girls were decidedly lowest on the totem pole). “We’re deciding who waits on the royal family for the banquet tonight,” Katy said.
“We’re deciding who waits onMaster Nicolo,” another girl corrected. I’d never seen her before.
