Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 34 - Leavi

Over a week working at the manor and I still haven't managed to make sense of its layout. My arms burn under the weight of a pastry tray as I wander through. This place is massive, its estate likely a fourth the size of the village. Jacin says it was probably some old warlord's fortress, but it feels more like a maze.

The food is supposed to go to some meeting room I've never heard of, and the supervisor who shoved the platter into my hands hurried off before I could ask for directions. I tried to stop someone else, but around here, everyone's either busy or trying to look that way.

This part of the manor is strangely quiet. My footsteps stall as I look around. The path ahead doesn't look promising—more quiet, featureless halls—and the path behind has already failed. My lips press together. Maybe there's a turn-off I missed. I start to pivot when a noise catches at the edge of my hearing.

I pause, listening. It comes again, and relief washes over me. Voices. I hurry that way.

Their words echo down the hall through a barely cracked black door. "You need better security down here, Miss Veradeaux." The low, gravelly voice is unmistakable, and I freeze. The Man from the East.

"My title is Lady Veradeaux, as I've told you before," my employer's voice clips. "I stopped being 'Miss' thirty years ago."

"And you stopped being 'Lady' when you fled your country. Yes. We know much more about your past, Miss Veradeaux, than you think. My master doesn't take on business lightly—especially not with women of the black market."

A furious silence fills the quiet.

"Now," the man continues. "As I was saying—security. Apparently a maid wandered into the wing." My heart jumps a beat, thinking for a second he's talking about me.

"They're not allowed down here."

"An order to steer clear is not a guard against prying eyes, Veradeaux! You need men, ones with tight lips, securing this sector. Otherwise, I will take our business into my own hands and you'll never be 'Lady' again. Do you understand me?"

Her words are ice. "Of course." A short silence follows, broken by a pop of the lady's lips. "Whatever did you do with the... misplaced maid?"

"She's been taken care of." His tone sends a tingle down my spine.

Lady Veradeaux hmms. There's a rustling as the pair moves to stand. I cast back the way I came, but the hall behind me stretches straight, long, and empty.

Lady Veradeaux's heels clack against the stone.

I swing back around. There. Just past the door, a twist in the corridor, somewhere they won't see me.

Clack, clack.

I hurry forward, trying to keep the tray from slipping.

Clack, clack.

I can make it if I can make it just a few more steps...

Clack, clack, clack.

The door opens just as I press myself against the turn of the wall. My heart pounds and hands shake, but I force my breath to still, terrified they'll hear me. I wait, every moment dragged out to a nerve-wracking millennium. Please don't let them turn this way.

The footsteps fade down the hall.

I gasp, releasing my pent breath. I have to get out of here, but I don't dare look back around the corner. My only other option is to follow this side hall.

I glance around. This area of the manor doesn't look much different from anywhere else. A little dustier, perhaps, but that's about it. I can't help but wonder what they have hidden here that's so important. I shudder. She's been taken care of. Words that should be so innocent. A tone that makes them so menacing.

There's got to be a way out of here.

Walking through these inner hallways feels like navigating some ancient, torch-lit maze. The soft slippers of my uniform whisper against the floor. Old, splintered doors along the passage monitor my progress, and I'm terrified one of them is going to open and reveal me. The corridors continue to twist and turn with no end in sight. I'm about to give up on finding a different way out and take my chances backtracking when I spot something odd.

There's a door. Just a simple wooden door, identical to all the others in these halls. Well, identical but for two things. No other door has a sliding hatch, right at eye level.

And no other door has an iron bar set across it.

Haltingly, I approach. I lay the tray on the floor, eyes locked on the mystery. As I stand, my fingers run along the wood, and I reach up, gently sliding back the hatch.

The room inside is dark, visible only by the torch on the sconce behind me. At first, in the still black, the space looks empty. Then something moves, and my eyes widen.

A boy with ragged blonde hair and a gaunt, dirt-covered face lies against the wall, arms bound behind his back. Shockingly soft mahogany eyes plead with me, and when he speaks, his voice is a whispered rasp. "Help me..."