“No no, all the other servants eat in the servant’s hall. They think they are above us because we cook their food,” the creature scoffs as it heaps a spoonful of pie in its mouth.
Damn, how am I going to meet her brother if they never even come in here?I’m starting to feel dejected as my plan from earlier seems more complicated than I thought. I decide I will just have to bide my time for the moment and wait for when he and I can speak privately.Surely I will meet him soon…
“Are the other servants gromlins as well? Are you all indebted to Master Pyralis?” I ask, genuinely unsure who the fae tend to employ and what those contracts might look like.
“Gromlins only work in the kitchens silly. We have to stay hidden because of the danger if we flip. Happens a lot less when we are amongst our own kind and no, none of us are indebted,we are paid a fair wage. The Master is only one of few major household lords that stayed true to The Owl King’s ways. The Wolf King has allowed the other lords to use fae and creatures-of-fae as slaves,” the Gromlin on the other side of me answers and I catch it glance down at my wrist where Pyralis branded me.
Am I the only one who owes him a debt?I look down at my wrist before pulling down my sleeve and hiding it under the table. When I look back up the gromlin looks as if he is starting to shake and his eyes are changing from black to red.
“Simmer down Olaf, go dunk your head!” Smudge calls from the end of the table and Olaf nods, rushing over to the sink to pour some water over his head.
“What happens when gromlins… flip?” I ask as I look at Olaf’s head steam under the running water.
“Ha! Just wish you never find out girl,” is all the response I get in return from another gromlin. I eye the large group of them warily and truly hope I never find out.
After dinner I find myself helping with the dishes, trying not to sway too much from the exhaustion from minimal sleep I have had over the past few days. Smudge gives me a sweeping look before she graciously scoots me out of the kitchen so I can go to bed.
My feet feel like bruises as I climb the stone steps to my room, the door creaks loudly as I push it open. The space is illuminated with candles in sconces that I hadn’t noticed before and my bed looks newly made. There is a clean white nightgown on top of it, and I can see the bathtub is full of sweet smelling, steaming water.
Where did all of this come from?I wonder but am too tired to reflect on it as I peel my uniform off and step into the deliciously warm waters. I groan, rejoicing in the heat as it seeps into my aching back from being hunched over all day.
I untangle the braid that Oleander had given to me days ago, giving my scalp a little massage to release the tension. I nearly fall asleep in the bath and it takes all of my will power to pull myself out, put on my nightgown and flop on the bed. I don’t even get under the blankets before I fall into a deep sleep.
Hazel eyes ensconced in soft flickering flames fill my mind, my tense muscles relax in their glow.
You are safe there. Wait for me,his deep voice comforts me.
Rather than finda way out of this place, I just wait. What I am waiting for I am not sure. Perhaps I am waiting for the joke to end or to wake up from this dream. More disturbingly, I think I am waiting for the man of my visions to come rescue me, for Embrys to come rescue me…
The worst part isn’t the cutting of onions or scrubbing of dishes. It's waiting for some external force to come and get me out of here. The worst part is expecting something different, and yet all I do is sit and wait.He said to wait. Why am I listening?
The next two weeks are much of the same, although I eventually graduate from peeling and chopping vegetables to assisting with making doughs and sauces when Smudge notices I am somewhat competent at cooking. I have Delia to thank for that skill; she was always an amazing cook.
Am I already resigning to never seeing her again?I try not to think of my parents and Easthelm. The panic is not helping my headspace.
So I keep my head down, hoping for a day that Jacob might walk into the kitchen but I haven’t even seen Lillian again since that first day and I am starting to lose hope. Only a few servants dressed in much nicer frocks than ours come in and outduring meal times to fetch the platters of food. They barely even acknowledge my presence.
I am often too tired and busy from my work to even think about plans to escape anyway. My thoughts always seem to return to where Marissa might be and if she is all right though.
All visions of Embrys have ceased, although I find myself searching for his fiery eyes in my dreams almost every night. He said I am safe here but what danger was he alluding to? I just feel stuck in here while Marissa is out there.
I findout from one of the gromlins named Lorn that the water of the house is heated by Master Pyralis’ magic and the constant source of water is from Nerius’ skills at bending the flow from the water shelf beneath the land. I am grateful for the hot bath every night but sometimes wonder at this never ending supply of water when I haven’t experienced a single rainy day since I have been in this realm.
I am slowly getting used to the workload which allows me to split my focus more and join in on the conversations with my fellow gromlins, which helps pass the time. They are turning out to be quite the bunch of gossips. I find the social workings of gromlins to be similar to that of high schoolers which makes me miss the days of walking in on Marissa and her cronies giggling on the living room couch.
There has also been some more serious talk amongst the gromlins lately of local farms struggling to grow their crops because of the relentless drought and a strange eerie haze in the air, curling in from where the bigger cities are.
“It’s a curse upon the land!” one of the gromlins speculates. I can’t help but wonder at the similarities between the issues thathave been plaguing the human realm in the past few years and am not sure if it is a curse that is to blame.
The days start to blur and I can’t help but submit to my fate and feel like I am turning into a kitchen Gromlin myself. Every now and again I try to think of an escape plan but my every move is watched by either the gromlins or the vargs. My hope is waning.
What my poor parents must be experiencing worries me, the guilt at what I have gotten myself into pulls me further into my slump. I have no calendar here but I think it must be nearing the beginning of September which means university will be starting up soon, but this information has no relevance to my current situation and only adds to my depression.
I think of Mr. Bugg waiting for my emails that will never reach him again and my unfinished guide to mushroom identification. Little things that felt so big, so important, only a few weeks ago, have no use to me now. I’m still unsure if I can ever cross The Gate again.
A few weeksor perhaps months in, when I have stopped trying to peek through doors I shouldn’t be or trying to wander off, Smudge notices my low mood and trusts me enough now to graciously let me fetch eggs from the chicken coop in the mornings. A small mercy.
This is the only time I get to be outside and I start to notice my skin has turned a milky white colour from the lack of sun. The brief respite from the kitchen walls always gives me a moment of joy as I stand towards the warm rays, feeling it tingle on my face. When I dally too long Lorn is sent out to fetch me, snapping me out of my reverie.
