"Leo? I'm back. I found an herb at the market that can make your toes fall off! So if you don't answer my questions, I'll try it out on you!" I'm feeling quite chipper, Leo has to cooperate now. I'm standing in the doorway, bag in hand. These little rooms that I've been staying in for the past few weeks, so different from my rooms back at the academy, are quite lovely despite being almost completely underground. Back at the academy, though we lived in quite literally a castle, rooms were cramped and everyone had roommates. Starting your first year, you were assigned a roommate and a room, would stay there until graduation. So Cat and I have shared the same air for more than six years. The rooms there are quite large, even with two people, enough for each girl to have a bed, desk, wardrobe, anything else they might need. My bedroom here is very small, but it's a bit refreshing to sleep without ground-shattering snores.
The layout of my rooms is interesting too. There's only one entrance and exit, I suppose I could leave out my window in case of a fire, but there's only one door. When you walk in, you're greeted with a large parlor covered in overstuffed leather chairs retired from the inn above my head and fainting couches, several decades out of style but still beautiful, covered in midnight green fabric. After the parlor comes the kitchen in a door off to the right. The kitchen is small, brick, with a gas stove and a baking hearth. There's a large table in the middle of the floor where I have been storing all the spices and produce and nibbles. There's a door on the left side of the kitchen that connects with a hallway that also winds past the parlor, right from the front door. If you follow that, the hall will curve left, and right at the bend is the study that Leo is stewing in. I've dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and now give the study door a sturdy kick. Nice. I continue to walk, curve with the hallway. There's a linens closet on my left, a bathroom on my right that connects to my bedroom, the last at the end of the hall. Though it cannot possibly compare to my room at home, I've tried my hardest to make this room my own. Cat snuck some long sheer curtains into my bag while I wasn't looking, so they're hanging over my one window. My bed is pushed up against the left back corner, the edge of it positioned so sunlight can stream down onto my face. There's a small chimney on the right side of the room, this morning's embers gone grey and cold. I have a small wardrobe, though to be quite honest, most clothing is strewn about the room or half stuffed into carpetbags. Cat is even worse than I am with that, there are constantly bolts of shiny fabric and little spools and buttons flung about the room. Its disheveled here, yes, but nothing close to the tornado that she brings. I have a big desk under the one window, cracked open right now, letting in a sweet autumn breeze. The seasons aren't violent here like they were in my childhood home. Sure, the winters may snow occasionally and sometimes the summers have dogs panting, but nothing too drastic, so I can afford to leave windows open almost every day of the year. On the desk under the window there's several half-melted candles, pens, pencils, inkwells, paper and wax pressers. The other big thing in the room is Flyta's gilded cage, currently empty. She's a smart raven and knows she needs to come back at dark but I let her out on nice days like this. She has made several little nests in parks where she can steal shiny things like coins and charms without being noticed by anyone but children.
I need to change clothes after the market fiasco, also I haven't bathed in three days so I wipe down with a towel and rosemary soap. The smell is heavenly. Then, take a minute to pick up my clothing, just to throw it all on the freshly made bed. I have several different disguises, the red dress from the party, common maids clothes, dresses for high society, my signature breeches and button up, hats and gloves and purses and stopwatches and one whorehouse costume that Cat insisted I take because 'who knows when I might need to use it'. I don't think she was talking about espionage for that one. Needless to say, the costume has not been used, I think it was Gaja's favourite though. I throw on my favourite clothes, they've molded to the shape of my body by now. Tight brown leather pants, black well-oiled boots with brass buckles, a white button up shirt, rolled and pinned above the elbow with a v cut neckline. When I'm comfortable I wear no rings, no jewelry, hair down or in one long plait down my back. Cat says I look like a pirate and Em says I look like a prostitute dressed as a pirate. I love it.
My knuckles rap on the door to the study. I'm guessing Leo has fallen asleep, or is angry at me for leaving him alone for several hours because he doesn't answer. I won't just bust in because want him in a good mood for when I try this new strategy with the herbs. "Leo, I'm coming in! Get ready to answer some que-" He's not there. The chair, the wooden chair he was tied to in the middle of the room is tipped over and more importantly empty. His ropes are on the floor, severed, fraying at the edges. I glance around the room, scanning every corner. Nothing. No boy behind the door, no boy under the table, no boy anywhere. I run over to the ropes lying in coils on the floor. They were thick, pilfered from the port at the edge of the city, made for tying luggage down in the cargo holds of ships. They wouldn't have broken under the weight of Leo. Either he escaped, or someone broke in and snatched him, but the door was locked when I arrived and I didn't see any bootprints or dirt on the floors. And touching the ropes, they're cut clean. How did he get out? I didn't leave any things sharp enough for him to cut through the bindings with, the pegs of the chair are rounded and dull. I'm crouching, feeling around on the floor for any shards of glass, anything that will tell me how he got out.
"Ah shit." A few tiny little metal things. Nail files, thick needle-like things, little serrated edges, pieces of wire. It looks almost identical to kits we put together back home to help ourselves escape kidnapping. That means Leo had those when I brought him in three days ago, and was just waiting for me to leave. These lockpicks and my stupidity aided him out of my clutches. I'm kicking myself now, wondering how to find him now, when a bigger problem smacks me across the face. Leo knows my voice, my age, fuck, my exact birthdate and my face. And if I had escaped from a seemingly insane girl who had applied very gentle torture to me for three days, I'd want revenge.
YOU ARE READING
Mad Honey
FantasyWIP - Azalea is an academy trained spy, an occasional assassin. She's sent on mission to find and interrogate a boy who has been watching the academy, and her. But things go wrong when she is kidnapped and thrown into a conspiracy much bigger than h...
