Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 23 - Leavi

All of the Ladies in the castle wear deep red today. They look like drops of blood against the stone walls. Groups of them congregate in the largest drawing room, murmuring to each other. Servants move through the crowd silently, passing out goblets of wine.

I wind through the courtiers as I look to pass out my last note of the morning. Aster only had two for me today, and with most of the women already in one room, they've found little need for my feet.

A Lady's voice drifts through the crowd. "How long do you think we're supposed to mourn for?"

"Riletta!" her companion scolds.

"I'm not trying to be insensitive! It's just my wardrobe wasn't really prepared for an extended..."

Her voice disappears as I move on, but I wonder how many of these other contrite mourners are really just playing politics and planning their next tea. I find High Lady Misanette talking quietly with another two women, thankfully neither of which is Valaecití. "A message for you, milady."

Misanette looks at me. "Oh. Thank you."

She breaks the seal on her note, and I'm grateful she doesn't seem to recognize me. I wait as she reads.

"What is it, Misanette?" one of the other Ladies asks.

She waves her hand. "The Second was inquiring about something I'm already taking care of. Oh, but that reminds me." She opens her clutch to store her note and pull out a different one. She hands it to me with a wooden coin. "This needs to go to the kitchens."

"Yes, milady."

"Post-coronation arrangements," she explains to the other women as I turn and go. The letter is unsealed, and when I make it to the first floor, I turn into a quiet hall to read it. It's just a dinner menu with a list of contingencies—if we can't have that, then do this—and I don't even bother recording it in my notebook. As I head toward the kitchen, soft voices drift through the halls. I freeze. There are rarely Ladies on this floor during the day.

And servants don't have any reason to whisper.

Taking my hard-soled slippers into my hand, I sneak forward to catch the hushed scraps of their conversation.

"...asking. What did you..."

"...just what you told..."

"Then why is he..." The man's voice drops into deeper, harsher whispers. I ease up to the corner, back against the wall, heart pounding in my throat.

"I don't know!" a girl cries.

"Shh! Do you want to get caught?"

The girl whimpers.

"That's what I thought." The man's words fall off again, and my ears only catch parts of words.

The girl's voice pitches higher, like she's holding back tears. "She'll notice."

My ears strain for the man's response. "Then you'll have to do it quickly, and when I give the sign. I won't need it for long."

"I can't keep doing this!"

I bite my lip, thinking of the barren cell I'll land back in if I'm caught. Dark whispers mean little, though, with no lips to attribute them to. Drawing a breath, I crouch and peek around the corner.

At the back of a dead end hall, a red-headed maid and a tall man stand. The maid is half-turned, as though about to walk away, but the man grips the girl's wrist. His murmur floats low on the air. "One last thing, and it'll all be over. Just one last thing."

"You said that last time."

The man twists the girl's arm. "And I'll say it until this ends. You're in too deep now, girl, and you know it."

She flinches.

"So. Do we have a deal?"

She nods, eyes squeezed shut, and he relinquishes his grip. A white ring marks where he held her too tightly.

I lean out of sight and rise, fleeing on bare feet through the halls. I have to tell Aster. Skidding onto my favorite out-of-sight corridor, I crouch behind the vase, pull my notebook out, and pen down the conversation as best as I can remember. I also go to sketch them but stop. Their faces blur in my memory like a song I can't quite remember the words of. Was the man sharp-faced or broad-boned? Did the girl have blue eyes or brown? I feel like I almost know—but I'm not sure. I curse. My mother used to lament about how poor people's memories are, how they'll twist and add to. I fear to write down anything more than the absolute truth lest I land someone in trouble they don't deserve. I've studied specific details all my life, been trained by one of the best mentaliti professors in Erreliah on how to pay attention to people. I should know this, but I don't. Frustrated, I just pen what little I do remember.

Whatever these people are up to, we need to catch them before they get away with it.