Cinders

Chapter 3: The Terrible Return

PLEASE READ:  Hey!  So as I stated before, this story is subject to changes.  Now it was fairly minor altering some of the dialogue, but I needed a system to keep track of servants so they have numbers assigned to them now.  These numbers are pinned to the smock they wear.  Evelyn (Lyla) is 6-0-1 while Annette is 2-4-9.  They switch numbers when going about their jobs and then trade them back before going to sleep so they are still accounted for at night.  That is all!

-Kitty

Annette sits across the table from me, eyeing me suspiciously. I glance up, bleary in my sleepiness, eating my wonderful mush.

She purses her lips. "Why have you been so tired lately? You look horrible."

"Thanks," I drag out grimly. "I apologize if my haggard appearance offends you."

"Well it's definitely not pleasing."

I narrow my eyes at her, but I can't maintain the scowl when her face breaks into a grin. "Oh, shove off."

We get up to wash our bowls, and Nat nudges me to attention. "So...I was thinking that maybe I can return to the Dwell."

I look at her. "Do you think you're ready?"

"Absolutely!" she shoots out cheerfully. "I thought I'd tell you now, so you can make preparations with Helen, and then we can switch in a couple weeks after the Wash."

"We'll arrange it for you," I tell her with a half-smile.

We head our separate ways and I set about working in the Dwell. After two weeks of a fairly consistent routine, I had become accustomed to my new schedule. I woke, worked, and spent most of the night reading. I had finally managed to finish the Book of Stars, and its end came as a blessing and a curse; I felt accomplished, but yearned for another page to turn. It remained tucked under my pillow, hidden from sight.

I sit sewing silently at my post later in the day when I overhear two of the servants chatting quietly.

"Did you hear about that suspicious messenger that came round last evening?"

Her listener shakes her head. "Not a whisper. Was he of House?"

"I doubt it. Patty was on her way to tidying up the ballroom and she said she spied some shady fellow on his way to the visors' rooms. Dressed up all nice in green livery, still fresh off a horse with his muddy riding boots, tracking in God knows what," the woman finishes with a grumble.

"She mention his business?"

"She told me he had a messenger bag; thinks him a carrier."

"But what was he doing here? No one comes anymore."

"You think I'm not puddling over the same thing? Especially when I don't trust those weasels sitting in their fancy chairs. I don't know who they're rubbing shoulders with, but I reckon it isn't good," the woman looked around for a moment, so I kept my eyes trained on the stitches at hand. I had to strain to hear her next words. "I daresay, the Prince better watch himself. With the King as he is, I wouldn't blink if the 'visors swallowed him whole by supper."

Her companion looked at the woman wide-eyed. "You keep your mouth shut, missy. You're gonna get us both in mighty trouble if people be hearing whispers like that."

"I'm stating the truth about things. That's all."

"No one cares about the truth. We care about our heads," she spits.