“Much better,” she says, sizing me up and giving the laundresses a nod of approval. “Now, come with me. You will be stationed with the girls, preparing the dining table and polishing the silver until it is time for service,” she says, turning back down the hallway we came from then taking a left turn to a larger room where a few fae servants are seated having tea and scones.
They stop their chatting to stare up at me and I have a memory flash through my mind of a morning not too long agowhere I was still at home, in the human realm, walking down the stairs to see Marissa and her friends gossiping conspiratorially on the couch in the living room. A twang of homesickness punches me in the gut but I quickly shake it off, feeling that this bunch might jump at any sort of weakness. Their scowls say it all, I am not wanted here.
“Juniper, please see to it that this one is useful. I will check in on you periodically and when you least expect it,” is all Miss Colette says before departing, leaving me with the sneering fae.
“You heard her ladies, I am in charge,” the one named Juniper says, puffing herself up. She is the deer fae that came to fetch me earlier. She has dark, tan skin, the colour of Oleander’s mother’s fur and dark hair pulled up in the servant’s fashion. She has little horns coming out of the top of her head and hooves for feet. I ponder whether her whole legs are that of a deer and catch myself staring. When I meet her gaze she looks utterly unimpressed at my blunder and rolls her eyes.
“Right, well come on then, let’s get to work.” She motions me to follow her as the other girls stay behind to clean up their meal.
We are linedup along the back wall of the dining hall holding our designated platters when the lords and ladies walk in. They are dressed in their finery; the women in elegant floor length dresses made of jewel toned velvet with black lace up corsets over top and the men in three piece velvet suits with long coat tails and shining metallic buttons on the front.
The opulence of this party leaves me feeling paltry and drab in my servant’s clothing. All I want is to get Embrys to look over just once.
Come on Nuria, stop swooning over a man, this isn’t like you.
I know I have to focus and figure out how to adapt to the change of plans but so far I am coming up blank. As they enter and find their seats they don’t even glance our way and I can feel my annoyance rise as even Embrys won’t look at me. Their conversation from the drawing room carries on as they slowly file in.
“The lack of water seems unprecedented. Even our staff water diviners are coming up short. The King’s theories about the link between both realms must have some merit, but he shows no signs of action to remedy it. Perhaps we should take matters into our own hands. We must send some of your vargs over to see what they can find out about what the humans are up to.” A tall, gangly man with a sharp nose and long, white hair gestures to Pyralis.
“The humans would never accept a varg into their ranks, or any creature-of-fae, for that matter. Besides, they are all idiots, Gaelheart. Has The King mentioned his plans to address this problem?” Pyralis responds, looking over his shoulder to the tall, sharp featured lord. From the swirling, silver crest embroidered on his suit jacket I recognise him as the Lord of the House of Wind, a prominent family of Elemental fae that run the sprawling, wind swept lands that are east of The House of Flame. We had a briefing before the dinner on who everyone is so we could address them appropriately if we were beckoned to speak.
“No, he has been shut in the Palace, supposedly pouring over old lore texts. He has called in the Seers of Mount Aethel but will not share his plotting as towhywith any of us. I would have thought he had includedyouin his inner workings Pyralis,” Gaelheart says, peering down his nose at the Lord of the House of Flame. “If we cannot send your vargs then perhaps we could send one of Clayborn’s many daughters to do the job. They aren’tuseful for much else and there are far too many of them to marry them all off successfully. Why not Eunice?” Gaelheart says, raising a questioning eyebrow at Clayborn, the portly, red-faced head of the House of Soil. Clayborn chuckles and nods along, not even denying that his daughters are good for anything other than marriage and breeding. I am trying to keep my expression trained into a neutral mask but have to bite my lip to stop from shouting at these lunatics. I see why Oleander left.
“Come now, Gaelheart, she would be stuck with the humans and have to live out a mortal life. Even you are not that cruel,” Embrys replies nonchalantly. I try to catch his eye but he ignores me as he walks towards his designated chair. His association with these men irks me.How can I be attracted to someone who believes in this treatment of women? Is he just playing along? I bloody hope he is…
A male fae pulls out the chairs for each guest and as they are seated the servants with the selected wines move forward to fill the goblets. It is all a very well-orchestrated dance and my part is up next. I have to take a steadying breath to be able to convince my feet to move and my hands to serve.
I start with the wife of Lord Clayborn, a sickly pale woman with black hair and red stained lips. My task is to scoop potatoes on their plates until a hand shoots up as my signal for when to stop. I nearly drop the whole platter in Lady Clayborn’s lap because she was inches away from slapping me in the face but I managed to do a little twirl to keep my balance, making it all look like part of the show. I hear a low chuckle and look up to catch Embrys’ eye for a brief moment before he continues his conversation with Gaelhert’s wife.
I make my way around the table, counterclockwise, without any word from either Embrys or Pyralis but as I reach Lord Gaelheart he suddenly grasps my wrist and pulls me closer, nearly knocking the platter out of my hands.
“Now where did you get this fine specimen, Pyralis? I thought you did not partake in the keeping of slaves but alas, you have outdone us all. She is a beauty, not a single animal part to be seen. Unless it is hiding underneath,” he says, eyeing up my body with a prowling sweep of his eyes.
I can feel my cheeks go red but the rage I feel trumps the embarrassment. His wife’s face remains cool and distant.
“She’s not human though is she? Those are even rarer to come by. Iwillwin that young one off you one day.”
Does he mean Lillian? How dare he? What is this backwards realm?I clench my jaw to keep from growling in his face but am met with his disgusting thoughts instead.I will steal this one away later; I will find out for myself what hides beneath that frock,I hear before I can peel my eyes away to keep from hearing the rest.
I catch Embrys’ eye and he subtly shakes his head.Leave it be Nuria, go back to the kitchens.His low, soothing voice rumbles through my mind and I look down to see that my hands are trembling.
I can’t be here anymore without throwing these potatoes at the heads of these revolting fae so I turn to leave through the back door but Juniper steps in my way, blocking the door.
“Turn around and act normal or you will make us all look bad. You can go fetch the dessert in a moment,” she whispers, nudging me to get back to my spot along the wall.
Pyralis scoffs at Gaelheart’s last remark. “She owed me a debt. It is true, I do not go out of my way for slaves, Gaelheart, but this one seems to have fallen into my service,” he says as the lords and ladies laugh at my predicament. “And unfortunately for you, Miss Lillian is not for sale. She is not my slave but rather my employee and I have taken a liking to her,” he adds.
I stand still, staring at the wall, envisioning the whole table on fire until Juniper finally dismisses me to go fetch the dessert platter.
I burst into the kitchen seething, tears streaking down my cheeks. The gromlins all stop their work to look up at me and I can see the concern written on all of their faces.
These creatures care for me… Ok, new plan.I storm down the steps and bee-line straight to Olaf, my best bet, as I let my tears and rage fully take over my expressions.
“Nuria! What has happened?” Olaf says, dropping the dough he was just kneading, dusting his hands on his apron.
“I am a slave Olaf! Look!” I show him my brand, and can see the signs of his impending flip already taking shape as his hands start to shake and his eyes go wide.
“Wh-what? What did they do?” he says with a shaky voice, and I have a split second of guilt about what I am about to do before I keep pushing.
