Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Sixty Three: New Freedom

"You're telling me he's been holed up without me for days and nobody has stepped in for the foot-rubbing duty?"

The guard blinked in earnest confusion. "You rub Lord Harkenn's feet every evening?"

"What do you think he uses me for? An ornament? You can get ornaments that aren't an ongoing maintenance expense, you know." Nova stared boldly back. It was her fourth day of trying to get an audience with the lord, and she was starting to have a little too much fun with her reasons for wanting to get in. She had been refused admission without exception, supposedly on the lord's orders, though Yddris had confided that he'd not witnessed the lord make any such order. In fact, when she knocked, he seemed not to hear her at all.

If she could not get in today, then by tomorrow the lord was going to find that the entire barracks believed he ordered her assistance with his daily bathing. The lord had never required her assistance for the smallest things regarding his physical condition, and the staff weren't allowed anywhere near his washing room while he was in it. It would set rumours humming like insects through the castle corridors.

She was essentially being cornered into helping her tormentor of years – she had to get her recompense somewhere.

"Are you going to do it instead, then?" she asked, when the guard continued to look hopeless. "He likes to start with the toes, and..."

"You're not getting in," the other guard said. He was fighting a grin. "The instructions were very clear."

"Fine." Nova pretended affront and walked back to the stairs. "Don't say I didn't warn you. He gets terrible stocking fluff."

She left them, smirking as a loud guffaw sounded behind her, quickly stifled. Then her smile faded. She had tried, and as far as she saw it, she owed the lord nothing. She owed Shadow's Reach nothing, and if she found a way of getting free before the Caelumese sunk their claws in... Though it wouldn't make a difference, she knew. There wouldn't be a scrap of land between the borders of the Whispering Wall and the lodestones that her uncle would not ensure he had a tight grip on. She would be found eventually, no matter how good she got at hiding; either by a demon or by her uncle's scouts. And that was if anyone got that far; if the Unspoken sided with Harkenn until the end and Caelum couldn't bully or coerce an alliance from them, the Angels would only be a temporary threat before all the rune nets collapsed and demons won the battle that had raged in Nictaven since people arrived in it.

It was a bleak prospect. She just wished that the only way to avoid it didn't involve Harkenn staying alive.

"That's a dark look." Grace looked up from mopping the kitchen floor. She didn't look much lighter of spirit than Nova felt. "No luck again?"

"Of course not." Nova crossed her arms over her chest and drew closer to the hearth fire. With the encroachment of the light season the biting cold was lifting, but the castle corridors were still haunted by draughts and chill breezes and she was still dressed in a sacking shift. She startled as Grace draped a wool shawl over her shoulders. It was dyed deep burgundy red and had the softness of high quality weaving.

"Jordan sent it up with Nika this morning," Grace explained. "It's very warm. Not good for mopping in, though."

"One would almost think he was trying to make up for something," Nova mumbled, watching shapes flicker in the fire embers. Grace snorted.

"If he wants to do that, he can explain to me what the hell is going on. He can buy me all the clothes he wants, but without that he can consider himself unforgiven."

"And if he never does?"

Nova had turned to watch Grace work, so she didn't miss the hurt that flashed across Grace's face. "He will. He has to. He can't expect me to do all the work, finding everything out by accident." The next expression that occupied her face was a shrewd stare. "Unless you want to fill me in."